 | Days and Hours |  |
6
SONG OF AN OLD MAN.
I
Though Winter yet be not o'er-past,The breath of Spring steals o'er the lea;
Is it in mercy unto me
April, thou comest in such haste?
II
Ah! gentle friend, I would beholdThy fair young face, thy tender tears,
In thy soft voice my spirit hears
Itself speak cheerly, as of old.
III
When ere the dawn I wake and weep,To think of hearts that beat no more,
And cruel memories haunt me sore,
Come thou, and through my lattice creep.
7
IV
And murmuring in the ivy leavesWaken the early morning bird,
Whose mirth, by the first daylight stirr'd,
Sings to me from beneath the eaves.
V
Oh! the first snowdrop let me see,The first young primrose laughing out;
When the rathe violet sheds about
Its magic soul, bear that to me.
VI
When in their hearts thy life is born,The young man laughs, the young girl sighs,
And love in light of their blue eyes
Moves, as in heaven the star of Morn.
VII
Wild horses run in valleys wide,The deer leaps up in oaken glade,
The lion from his rocky shade
Roars, and runs down the mountain side.
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VIII
When thy swift life moves in their bloodLike lightning, lo! the strong arise,
And do great deeds, and o'er the wise
Roll godlike visions like a flood.
IX
The Poet bares his suffering browsUnto thee, and his voice is heard
Mingling with song of tree and bird,
Like God's beneath the garden boughs.
X
But I am old, and in my breastThe embers of the ancient fire
Flame not again at my desire—
Oh! I am old, and crave but rest.
XI
Lead me a little in the sunKind hand of maid, or loving child;
My tears the light of Heaven shall gild
Until my wintry day be done;
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XII
Though in my heart the voice of SpringWith its bright flowers and carols clear,
Tells me not of the passing year,
And the new life in everything;
XIII
But takes me back where lie inurn'dThe ashes of imperial joys,
Discrowned hopes with quenched eyes,
Great passions with their torches burn'd.
XIV
Some spirit out of darkness brings,And sets upon their ancient thrones
The scatter'd monumental bones
Of thoughts that were as mighty kings.
XV
Some voice thrills in mine ear like breathOf virgin song, and fair young Love
Is seen his golden plumes to move
Over the dim gray land of Death.
10
XVI
My heart is like a temple dim,Down whose long aisles the moonlight floats
And sad celestial organ notes
Hover, like wings of Cherubim,
XVII
Touch'd by some unseen hand, aroundThe marble figures of the Dead;
But at this hour no living tread
Is heard, no disenchanting sound.
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