Golden Histories, etc By Wathen Mark Wilks Call |
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Old Playthings
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 | Golden Histories, etc |  |
173
Old Playthings
He wondered that the real sports of childhood should not so
delight him, as the emblems of these sports, when the child that
had carried them on was standing, grown up to manhood, in his
presence.—Carlyle's translation of “Life of Quintus
Fixlein.”
Strange memories haunt me from youth's primrose-ways.
As thus mid Toys in sober years I stand,—
Here is the ball that once, in happier days,
Flew lightly bounding from my lifted hand!
As thus mid Toys in sober years I stand,—
Here is the ball that once, in happier days,
Flew lightly bounding from my lifted hand!
Here is the bat that won in well-thought field,
And here the kite that soared above the cloud,
Here is the boyish rapier, here the shield,
And here the bugle that blew long and loud!
And here the kite that soared above the cloud,
Here is the boyish rapier, here the shield,
And here the bugle that blew long and loud!
Here is the fairy boat I loved to sail!—
The sight recalls a calm and liquid joy,
I plunge, I plunge, and now the shore I hail,
Where one dear willow bends to greet the boy.
The sight recalls a calm and liquid joy,
I plunge, I plunge, and now the shore I hail,
Where one dear willow bends to greet the boy.
174
Come back! come back! O tender vernal prime!
Sail, fairy bark, across that mimic sea!
Fly, fly, O Kite! as in that grand old time;
Soar, soar to heaven, and bear my heart with thee.
Sail, fairy bark, across that mimic sea!
Fly, fly, O Kite! as in that grand old time;
Soar, soar to heaven, and bear my heart with thee.
Wave, wave, loved Elm! in whose green throne I read
How fair Prince Ahmed loved the fay of old,
—But ah! Time's silver hand is on my head,
O Friends! I have outlived the age of gold.
How fair Prince Ahmed loved the fay of old,
—But ah! Time's silver hand is on my head,
O Friends! I have outlived the age of gold.
Take, take them hence, the symbols of my youth,
For nevermore my childhood's sun will rise;
Fade gorgeous dream before the dull grey truth!
O rainbow, vanish from these leaden skies!
For nevermore my childhood's sun will rise;
Fade gorgeous dream before the dull grey truth!
O rainbow, vanish from these leaden skies!
—But no! we ne'er unlearn what Life hath taught,
In the grave pauses of our childish-play;—
I hear the dear old voices yet in thought,
I yearn for the still faces far away.
In the grave pauses of our childish-play;—
I hear the dear old voices yet in thought,
I yearn for the still faces far away.
Again I stand in youth's enchanted ground,
That ground whereon no pilgrim ever sleeps,
Again I see the Mill's weird sails go round,
While o'er the stream the one dear willow weeps.
That ground whereon no pilgrim ever sleeps,
Again I see the Mill's weird sails go round,
While o'er the stream the one dear willow weeps.
Again the apple reddens in the leaves,
The gauzy petal drops from sylvan brier,
The tall laburnum, near our cottage eaves,
Dips its long garlands in the sunset's fire.
The gauzy petal drops from sylvan brier,
The tall laburnum, near our cottage eaves,
Dips its long garlands in the sunset's fire.
175
Again I see, encampt in that dim land,
The soldier-poppy in the glad green corn.
Again a child with brave Boy Blue I stand,
And scare the cattle with my elfin horn.
The soldier-poppy in the glad green corn.
Again a child with brave Boy Blue I stand,
And scare the cattle with my elfin horn.
Once more they shine, those summers long and bright,
Their sun, new-set, makes roses in my West,
Soft glows within the consecrating light,
As thus, in youth's green bowers, a man I rest.
Their sun, new-set, makes roses in my West,
Soft glows within the consecrating light,
As thus, in youth's green bowers, a man I rest.
| Golden Histories, etc | |