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For hopes that are colorless now and dead
Down at our feet in the dust that we tread! And we marvel that ever we lighted our way
With hues so painted and false as they ; For all the deceits we have seen depart,
For the scorn which fills and hardens the heart, For the knowledge so harshly acquired at last, The past-now what shall we give the past ? Oh, give it smiles !
WHAT DO THE FUTURES SPEAK OF?
IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION IN THE GREEK
They speak of never withering shades,
And bowers of opening joy ;
And bliss without alloy.
Within Hope's greedy ears ;
The music of the spheres.
And wisdom to the wise;
With fame that never dies.
In every language, every tongue,
The same kind things they say ;
In waking dreams by day.
She true, no faith could gain,-
A BIRTH-DAY. “A BIRTH-DAY!”-what a joyful sound Those words possessed to boyhood's ear, When Fancy shed her sunshine round; And Hope, the flatterer, still was near, With balm for every trifling wound, A smile for every tear.. Then life was sweet : the world, unknown, A fairy landscape bright and gay ; Each voice, 100, seemed like Friendship's lone, Or Love's more fascinating lay ; And Time-a playmate of my own, To sport with by the way. What is a Birth-day now? A sound To shake e'en manhood's sterner heart; Fancy no sunshine sheds around, And Hope has lost her healing art, While from the world's enchanted ground Its brighter hues depart. Pain's barbed shafts mock Friendship's shield, Love's smile can ill dark lempests brave, Time's scythe no longer is conceal'd, And life has little left to crave; Hope, Fancy, Friendship, Love must yield Their votary to the grave.
I speak, 't is true, of passing things,
"My birth-day"_what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
Less and less white the mark appears!
That Time around him binds so fast,
How hard that chain will press at last.
Who said, *_" were he ordained to run
• Fontenelle. Si je recommencais ma carriere, je ferai tout ce que j'ai fait.
He would do all that he had done." Ah, 't is not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birth-days, speaks to me;
Lavished unwisely, carelessly ;
Haply for high and pure designs,
Upon unholy, earthly shrines; Of nursing many a wrong desire ;
Of wandering after Love too far, And taking every meteor fire,
That crossed my pathway, for his star.All this it tells; and could I trace
The imperfect picture o'er again,
The lights and shades, the joy and pain,
Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships in my boyhood twined,
And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving ark,
Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark And comfortless and stormy round !