Art hath naught of tone or cadence That subdued, subduing strain By the patter of the rain. Coates Kinney [1826-1904] ALONE BY THE HEARTH HERE, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Saddening it is when the night has descended, Bensively musing on episodes ended Many a year. Still in my visions a golden-haired glory She whom I loved-but 'tis just the old story: 'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger (Thus passion errs), Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger- Nothing has changed since her spirit departed, Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted, Sit in the gloom. Loud 'gainst the window the winter rain dashes, Dreary and cold; Over the floor the red fire-light flashes Just as of old. The Old Man Dreams Just as of old-but the embers are scattered, Flashed o'er the floor where the fairy feet pattered Then, her dear voice, like a silver chime ringing, Melted away; Often these walls have re-echoed her singing, 445 Why should love bring naught but sorrow, I wonder? Everything dies! Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder Holiest ties. Years have rolled by; I am wiser and older- Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder, So, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone; And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone! George Arnold [1834-1865] THE OLD MAN DREAMS OH for one hour of youthful joy! Off with the spoils of wrinkled age! One moment let my life-blood stream Of life all love and fame! My listening angel heard the prayer, "If I but touch thy silvered hair, "But is there nothing in thy track While the swift seasons hurry back "Ah, truest soul of womankind! The angel took a sapphire pen "And is there nothing yet unsaid, "Why, yes;" for memory would recall My fond paternal joys; "I could not bear to leave them allI'll take-my-girl-and-boys." The smiling angel dropped his pen,- And be a father, too!" And so I laughed,-my laughter woke The household with its noise, And wrote my dream, when morning broke, To please the gray-haired boys. Oliver Wendell Holmes [1809-1894] The Garret 447 THE GARRET* AFTER BÉRANGER WITH pensive eyes the little room I view, And a light heart still breaking into song: In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Yes; 'tis a garret-let him know't who will- Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. And see my little Jessy, first of all; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise; Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did woman look the worse in none? I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. One jolly evening, when my friends and I *For the original of this poem see page 3589. Let us begone-the place is sad and strange― For one such month as I have wasted here— William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863] "NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP" "Now I lay me down to sleep: I pray the Lord my soul to keep,” Oh! could the faith of childhood's days, Be recreated from the dust That lies around a wasted life, The fruit of many a bitter strife! I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” Eugene Henry Pullen (1832-1899] |