Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

THE SECOND CHILDHOOD.

As oft in many trees the autumn leaves

Assume a kindred hue of gold and green,

With which their boughs were clad in early spring;

So that the traveller, gazing from afar,

Would

pause to say

which season he beheld1:

A nearer view reveals the crimson tints

Are not the hues of verdure, but, alas!

The sure forerunners of an early tomb.
That vernal look is but the flickering glare-

Not of a coming, but a fading strength,-
The fitful flash the dying taper sheds

Before it sinks in everlasting gloom :

This is very much the case in the southern woodland districts of Devon, where the foliage presents an unusual variety of tint in both the vernal and autumnal changes.

So in old age the hues of youth appear

Once more; the simpleness and feebleness, Without the freshness, of a May-day bloomMan's second childhood—sorrowful old age.

BEDD GELERT.'

"TIS many a year

since that brave deed was done,

Yet still its music lingers o'er this dell;

While in a simple field a rugged stone

Points out the spot where faithful Gelert fell!

Though years roll on, and bury in their fall
Great deeds that promised well to rise to fame;
Yet Gelert's humble story lives o'er all,

In that sequestered dale that bears his name.

Learn, selfish man, who walk'st in Reason's pride,
A lesson from this brave dumb creature's deed.

To do thy duty let what fate betide;

And in the righteous cause to nobly bleed!

This lovely village in North Wales takes its name from the well-known touching tale of Llewellyn and his dog Gelert.

To stand at Danger's dreaded post, altho'

Thy constancy may doom thee to the grave; Rescue the drowning, though his dying throe

Shall draw thee down to death the friend that

came to save.

THE MARINER'S TOM B.

He lay by the sea he had loved in life,
And the waves moaned sadly around him;
And the winter surf in its foamy strife,
With its mantle of glory had crowned him.

On the wild and dreary island he died
With none to speak but the billow;

And the sweeping winds and the murmuring tide
Caught the sigh from his last rocky pillow.

But O in some homestead far from his grave
The lone ones are wailing and weeping-
But the deep pedal note of the caverned wave
Its solemn Dead March is still keeping.

« ZurückWeiter »