Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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LINES WRITTEN ON THE LAST NIGHT OF THE
YEAR 1832. |
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| II. |
 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
LINES WRITTEN ON THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR 1832.
Now heavily returns the solemn night,
Veiling in sables her recondite brow—
Last of the year—once pregnant with delight
To my young heart; but oh! how alter'd now!
Gone is gay fancy's soft vivacious light—
Gone are my boyish hopes of bliss below,
And calm and lonely as the anchorite
I count my fleeting hours, and smile upon their flight.
Ah! what a change a few short years can bring!
But late, I was a wild and thoughtless boy,
Who would have laugh'd at such a sober thing
As I am now, with nothing to enjoy
Save silent meditation. In the ring
Of frolic I was first, and last to cloy,
But now my spirit hath relax'd its spring,
And sickens o'er the scenes to which it wont to cling.
Veiling in sables her recondite brow—
Last of the year—once pregnant with delight
To my young heart; but oh! how alter'd now!
Gone is gay fancy's soft vivacious light—
Gone are my boyish hopes of bliss below,
And calm and lonely as the anchorite
I count my fleeting hours, and smile upon their flight.
160
But late, I was a wild and thoughtless boy,
Who would have laugh'd at such a sober thing
As I am now, with nothing to enjoy
Save silent meditation. In the ring
Of frolic I was first, and last to cloy,
But now my spirit hath relax'd its spring,
And sickens o'er the scenes to which it wont to cling.
Oh! with what rapture such a night as this
Was hail'd by my concomitants and me:
Long ere it came, the source of fancied bliss;
And when it came, a fund of fun and glee
To boys, disguised and masking youths, whose dress
Excited mirth—whose long beards reached their knee;
Flowing from chins whose smoothness did confess
They were too long to grow from so much happiness.
Was hail'd by my concomitants and me:
Long ere it came, the source of fancied bliss;
And when it came, a fund of fun and glee
To boys, disguised and masking youths, whose dress
Excited mirth—whose long beards reached their knee;
Flowing from chins whose smoothness did confess
They were too long to grow from so much happiness.
And I was there, acting my part with these,
Laughing as loud, and mingling with the mirth;
But years of silent sufferance and disease
Tries all our pleasures, and displays their worth,
And makes us court deep solitude and ease,
And calm reflection on the lonely hearth—
For that which pleased in health will scarcely please
The soul whose watchful eye waits for its last release.
Laughing as loud, and mingling with the mirth;
But years of silent sufferance and disease
Tries all our pleasures, and displays their worth,
And makes us court deep solitude and ease,
And calm reflection on the lonely hearth—
For that which pleased in health will scarcely please
The soul whose watchful eye waits for its last release.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |