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Household Verses

By Bernard Barton
  
  

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 VII. 
 VIII. 
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A COLLOQUY WITH MYSELF.
  
  
  
  
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221

A COLLOQUY WITH MYSELF.

“As I walked by myself, I talked to myself,
And myself replied to me;
And the questions myself then put to myself,
With their answers, I give to thee.
Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself
Their responses the same should be,
O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself,
Or so much the worse for thee.”

What are riches? Hoarded treasures
May, indeed, thy coffers fill;
Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures,
Leave thee poor and heartless still.
What is pleasure? When afforded
But by gauds that pass away,
Read its fate in lines recorded
On the sea-sands yesterday.

222

What is fashion? Ask of folly;
She her worth can best express.
What is moping melancholy?
Go and learn of idleness.
What is truth? Too stern a preacher
For the prosperous and the gay;
But a safe and wholesome teacher
In adversity's dark day.
What is friendship? If well founded,
Like some beacon's heavenward glow;
If on false pretensions grounded,
Like the treacherous sands below.
What is love? If earthly only,
Like a meteor of the night;
Shining but to leave more lonely
Hearts that hailed its transient light.
But when calm, refined, and tender,
Purified from passion's stain,
Like the moon, in gentle splendour,
Ruling o'er the peaceful main.

223

What are hopes? But gleams of brightness,
Glancing darkest clouds between;
Or foam-crested waves, whose whiteness
Gladdens ocean's darksome green.
What are fears? Grim phantoms, throwing
Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way,
Every moment darker growing
If we yield unto their sway.
What is mirth? A flash of lightning,
Followed but by deeper gloom.
Patience?—More than sunshine brightening
Sorrow's path, and labour's doom.
What is time? A river flowing
To eternity's vast sea;
Forward, whither all are going,
On its bosom bearing thee.
What is life? A bubble floating
On that silent, rapid stream;
Few, too few, its progress noting,
Till it bursts and ends the dream.

224

What is death—asunder rending
Every tie we love so well?
But the gate to life un-ending,
Joy in heaven! or woe in hell!
Can these truths, by repetition,
Lose their magnitude or weight?
Estimate thy own condition,
Ere thou pass that fearful gate.
Hast thou heard them oft repeated?
Much may still be left to do:
Be not by profession cheated;
Live! as if thou knew'st them true!