Why, yes; for memory would recall My fond paternal joys; I could not bear to leave them all; I'll take - my — girl — and — boys! The smiling angel dropped his pen, "Why this will never do; The man would be a boy again, 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. MARE RUBRUM. FLASH out a stream of blood-red wine! By Nature's magic power is laid To sleep beneath this blood-red stream. It filled the purple grapes that lay Their milk-white ankles splashed with red. Beneath these waves of crimson lie, Those flitting shapes that never die, The swift-winged visions of the past. Kiss but the crystal's mystic rim, Each shadow rends its flowery chain, Springs in a bubble from its brim And walks the chambers of the brain. Poor Beauty! time and fortune's wrong Like emptied sea-shells on the sand; As if the sea-shells moved again Their glistening lips of pink and pearl. Here lies the home of schoolboy life, With creaking stair and wind-swept hall, And, scarred by many a truant knife, Our old initials on the wall; Here rest their keen vibrations mute The shout of voices known so well, The ringing laugh, the wailing flute, The chiding of the sharp-tongued bell. Here, clad in burning robes, are laid Nay, take the cup of blood-red wine, - Calmed, but not chilled by winter's snow! To-night the palest wave we sip Rich as the priceless draught shall be WHAT WE ALL THINK. THAT age was older once than now, Or silvered on the youthful brow; That babes make love and children wed. That sunshine had a heavenly glow, Which faded with those "good old days." When winters came with deeper snow, And autumns with a softer haze. That mother, sister, wife, or child - The "best of women" each has known. Were schoolboys ever half so wild? How young the grandpapas have grown! |