XVII. THE OLD MEN PLAYING. I. BEAR lightly on their foreheads, Time! Strew roses on their way, The young in heart, however old, Who prize the present day, And, wiser than the pompous proud, Are wise enough to play. II. I love to see a man forget His blood is growing cold, And leap or swim, or gather flowers, Oblivious of his gold; And mix with children in their sport, Nor think that he is old. III. I love to see the man of care Take pleasure in a toy ; I love to see him row or ride, And tread the grass with joy, Or hunt the flying cricket-ball As lusty as a boy. IV. All sports that spare the humblest pain, That neither maim nor kill; That lead us to the quiet field, Or to the wholesome hill, Are duties which the pure of heart Religiously fulfil. V. Though some may laugh that full-grown men May frolic in the wood, Like children let adrift from school; Not mine the scornful mood ; I honour human happiness, And deem it gratitude. VI. The road of life is hard enough, Bestrewn with slag and thorn; I would not mock the simplest joy That made it less forlorn, But fill its evening path with flowers As fresh as those of morn. VII. "Tis something, when the Noon has passed, To brave the touch of Time, And say, "Good friend, thou harm'st me not, My soul is in its prime; Thou canst not chill my warmth of heart; I carol while I climb." VIII. Give us but health and peace of mind, Whate'er our clime or clan, We'll take delight in simple things, Nor deem that sports unman; And let the proud, who scorn to laugh, Despise us if they can! XVIII. THE MIDNIGHT WATCH AT WALMER CASTLE. I. MOST sad! most beautiful! the calm, clear stars Shine on us, through the soundless deeps of time: The moaning sea strikes chafing on the bars Of the restraining land; its voice sublime Making sonorous music evermore A wail, a chant, a requiem, on the shore. II. Around the lonely room, where sleeps in death Fitful and low, of the expiring wind; |