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Chapter 99 : Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with such a spell In the soul's m

Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with such a spell In the soul's mysterious fountains, Whence the tears of rapture well, As that melody of nature, That subdued, subduing strain Which is played upon the s.h.i.+ngles By the patter of the rain.

Coates Kinney [1826-1904]

ALONE BY THE HEARTH

Here, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone: And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone.

Saddening it is when the night has descended, Thus to sit here, Pensively musing on episodes ended Many a year.

Still in my visions a golden-haired glory Flits to and fro; She whom I loved--but 'tis just the old story: Dead, long ago.

'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger (Thus pa.s.sion errs), Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger-- Once it was hers.

Nothing has changed since her spirit departed, Here, in this room Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted, Sit in the gloom.

Loud 'gainst the window the winter rain dashes, Dreary and cold; Over the floor the red fire-light flashes Just as of old.

Just as of old--but the embers are scattered, Whose ruddy blaze Flashed o'er the floor where the fairy feet pattered In other days!

Then, her dear voice, like a silver chime ringing, Melted away; Often these walls have re-echoed her singing, Now hushed for aye!

Why should love bring naught but sorrow, I wonder?

Everything dies!

Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder Holiest ties.

Years have rolled by; I am wiser and older-- Wiser, but yet Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder, Can I forget.

So, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone; And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone!

George Arnold [1834-1865]

THE OLD MAN DREAMS

Oh for one hour of youthful joy!

Give back my twentieth spring!

I'd rather laugh, a bright-haired boy, Than reign, a gray-beard king.

Off with the spoils of wrinkled age!

Away with Learning's crown!

Tear out life's Wisdom-written page, And dash its trophies down!

One moment let my life-blood stream From boyhood's fount of flame!

Give me one giddy, reeling dream Of life all love and fame!

My listening angel heard the prayer, And, calmly smiling, said, "If I but touch thy silvered hair, Thy hasty wish hath sped.

"But is there nothing in thy track To bid thee fondly stay, While the swift seasons hurry back To find the wished-for day?"

"Ah, truest soul of womankind!

Without thee what were life?

One bliss I cannot leave behind: I'll take--my--precious--wife!"

The angel took a sapphire pen And wrote in rainbow dew, The man would be a boy again, And be a husband, too!

"And is there nothing yet unsaid, Before the change appears?

Remember, all their gifts have fled With those dissolving years."

"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.

Oliver Wendell Holmes [1809-1894]

THE GARRET After Beranger

With pensive eyes the little room I view, Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long; With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song: Making a mock of life, and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun, Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

Yes; 'tis a garret--let him know't who will-- There was my bed--full hard it was and small; My table there--and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall.

Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun; For you I p.a.w.ned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

And see my little Jessy, first of all; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow cas.e.m.e.nt, curtain-wise; Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did woman look the worse in none?

I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheers, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, And distant cannon opened on our ears: We rise,--we join in the triumphant strain,-- Napoleon conquers--Austerlitz is won-- Tyrants shall never tread us down again, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

Let us begone--the place is sad and strange-- How far, far off, these happy times appear; All that I have to live I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here-- To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun, And drink all life's quintessence in an hour, Give me the days when I was twenty-one!

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

AULD LANG SYNE

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne.

We twa hae rin about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wandered monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roared Sin' auld lang syne.