'A basket on her head she bare; •No fountain from its rocky cave There came from me a sigh of pain I look'd at her, and look'd again : -Matthew is in his grave, yet now As at that moment, with a bough Of wilding in his hand. W. WORDSWORTH CCLXXXII THE FOUNTAIN A Conversation We talk'd with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke And gurgled at our feet. 6 Now, Matthew!' said I, let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon. The Fountain 'Or of the church-clock and the chimes That half-mad thing of witty rhymes In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old man replied, The gray-hair'd man of glee: 'No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years And here, on this delightful day, 'My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirr'd, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away, • The blackbird amid leafy trees, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. • With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age 331 But we are press'd by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. 'If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. 'My days, my friend, are almost gone, And many love me; but by none Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains: 'And Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee! At this he grasp'd my hand and said, 'Alas! that cannot be.' We rose up from the fountain-side; Of the green sheep-track did we glide, And ere we came to Leonard's rock About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewilder'd chimes. W. WORDSWORTH The River of Life 333 CCLXXXIII THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live, more brief appear The gladsome current of our youth, But as the care-worn cheeks grows wan, Ye Stars, that measure life to man, When joys have lost their bloom and breath Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, It may be strange-yet who would change When one by one our friends have gone Heaven gives our years of fading strength And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness. T. CAMPBELL CCLXXXIV THE HUMAN SEASONS Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings. J. KEATS CCLXXXV A LAMENT O World! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime ? No more-O never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more-O never more! P. B. SHELLEY |