So fast out of his heart, I thought -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds Alas! the gratitude of men Has oftener left me mourning. W. WORDSWORTH. 220. THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I have had playmates, I have had companions I have been laughing, I have been carousing, I loved a Love once, fairest among women : I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man: Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, How some they have died, and some they have left me, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. C. LAMB. 221. THE JOURNEY ONWARDS. As slow our ship her foamy track From all the links that bind us; When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then And when in other climes, we meet As travellers oft look back at eve Still faint behind them glowing,— Of joy that's left behind us. T. MOORE. 222. 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: 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. O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, scene, As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me! LORD BYRON. R 223. A LESSON. There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine, That shrinks like many more from cold and rain, When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, 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," To be a prodigal's favourite—then, worse truth, A miser's pensioner-behold our lot! O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth Age might but take the things Youth needed not! W. WORDSWORTH. 1 224. PAST AND PRESENT. I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun He never came a wink too soon I remember, I remember 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; |