While memory brings us back again And when, in other climes, we meet Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, 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 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 CCLXVII A LESSON There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 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 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 I used to think their slender tops But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. T. Hood CCLXIX THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber'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 cheerful hearts now broken! Thus 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 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— The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods'- 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. And walk'd with inward glory crown'd- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; 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 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. |