And he gain'd his meek desire; So he lived. At last I miss'd him ;- And inditing, Death had beckon'd him away, But this man, so old and nameless, Kindly feeling To have flourish'd and endured; Meet reward in golden store To have lived for evermore. Who shall tell what schemes majestic Perish in the active brain? What humanity is robb'd of, What we lose, because we honour And dispirit Living merit, Heaping scorn upon its head? Or perchance, when kinder grown, Leaving it to die—alone! CHARLES MACKAY. THE BACHELOR'S COMPLAINT. RETURNING home at close of day, -Nobody! Who wheels about the easy chair, -Nobody! Who regulates the cheerful fire, Who piles the blazing fuel higher, And bids me draw my chair still nigher? -Nobody! When plunged in dire and deep distress, -Nobody! When anxious thoughts within me rise, Who soothes me with her kind replies? When sickness racks my feeble frame, -Nobody! Then I'll resolve, so help me fate, And will to Hymen's Altar take— SOMEBODY! ANONYMOUS. THE HUSBAND'S SONG. RAINY and rough sets the day, There's a heart beating for somebody; I must be up and away, Somebody's waiting for somebody. Thrice hath she been to the gate, Thrice hath she listened for somebody; 'Midst the night stormy and late,—— Somebody's anxious for somebody ! There'll be a comforting fire,- Will look to the table for somebody. There'll be a coat o'er the chair,- Love's fond embracement for somebody: CHAS. SWAIN. FATHER WILLIAM. "You are old, father William," the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are grey ; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ; "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, 66 And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone; 66 Now tell me the reason, I pray In the days of my youth," Father William replied, 66 I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past." "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away: You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death; Now tell me the reason, I pray?" |