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I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I loved a Love once, fairest among women :
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her-
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man :
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.
Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood,
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling ?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces,
How some they have died, and some they have left

And some are taken from me; all are departed;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

C. Lamb


As slow our ship her foamy track

Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still look'd back

To that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loth we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us ;
So turn our hearts, as on we rove,

To those we've left behind us !
When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years

We talk with joyous seeming-
With smiles that might as well be tears,

So faint, so sad their beaming ;

While memory brings us back again

Each early tie that twined us,
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then

To those we've left behind us !
And when, in other climes, we meet

Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet,

And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss

If Heaven had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this,

With some we've left behind us !
As travellers oft look back at eve

When east ward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind thcm glowing,-
So, when the close of pleasurc'; day

To gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

T. Moore


takes away

YOUTH AND AGE There's not a joy the world can give like that it 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 bloon 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 Auent 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


A LESSON There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, That shrinks like many more from cold and rain, And the first moment that the sun may shinc, Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again ! When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past, And recognized it, though an alter'd form, Now standing forth an offering to the blast, And buffeted at will by rain and storm.

I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice,
' It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold ;
This neither is its courage nor its choice,
But its necessity in bcing old.
“The sur shine may not cheer it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in its decay ;
Stiff in its members, wither'd, changed of hue,'-
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray.
To be a prodigal’s favo. itetnen, worse truth,
A miser's pensioner-be. ld our lot !
O Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not !

W. Word.squorth


I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came reeping in at morn ;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my bre: h away.
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
Thc violets, and the lily-cups-
Those flowers made of light !
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day,–
The tree is living yet!
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
The fir trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky :
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther oft from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

T. Hood


Oft in the stilly night

Ere sluniber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me :

The smiles, the tears

Of boyhood's years,
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

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