While memory brings us back again And when, in other climes, we meet T. Moore CCLXVI YOUTH AND AGE There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath. Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scenc, As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though t..ey be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me! Lord Byron CCLXVII A LESSON There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past, I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, "The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; Stiff in its members, wither'd, changed of hue,'— O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth CCLXVIII PAST AND PRESENT I remember, I remember The laburnum on his birth-day,- I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. CCLXIX T. Hood THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, The smiles, the tears The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Tnus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so link'd together I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. Moore CCLXX STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION The sun is warm, the sky is clear, Like many a voice of one delight- With green and purple sea-weeds strown; Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown: The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, The sage in meditation found, And walk'd with inward glory crown'd- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear,- My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea |