Part 3 (2/2)
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh! the dying leaves, Like a drizzling rain, Falling round the roof-- Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days, Trooping past the faded fire, Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild O'er the whistling Earth; And we front a feeble flame, Sitting round the hearth!
Sitting by the fire, Watching in its glow, Ghosts of other days Trooping to and fro.
Oh, the nights--the nights we've spent, Sitting by the fire, Cheerful in its glow; Twenty summers back-- Twenty years ago!
If the days were days of toil Wherefore should we mourn; There were shadows near the s.h.i.+ne, Flowers with the thorn?
And we still can recollect Evenings spent in mirth-- Fragments of a broken life, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Cheerful in its glow, Twenty summers back-- Twenty years ago.
Beauty stooped to bless us once, Sitting by the fire, Happy in its glow; Forty summers back-- Forty years ago.
Words of love were interchanged, Maiden hearts we stole; And the light affection throws Slept on every soul.
Oh, the hours went flying past-- Hours of priceless worth; But we took no note of Time, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Happy in its glow, Forty summers back-- Forty years ago.
Gleesome children were we not?
Sitting by the fire, Ruddy in its glow, Sixty summers back-- Sixty years ago.
Laughing voices filled the room; Oh, the songs we sung, When the evenings hurried by-- When our hearts were young!
Pleasant faces watched the flame-- Eyes illumed with mirth-- And we told some merry tales, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Ruddy in its glow, Sixty summers back-- Sixty years ago.
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh, the dying leaves, Like a drizzling rain, Falling round the roof-- Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days, Trooping past the faded fire, Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild O'er the whistling Earth; And we front a feeble flame, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Watching, in its glow, Ghosts of other days Trooping to and fro!
Bellambi's Maid
Amongst the thunder-splintered caves On Ocean's long and windy sh.o.r.e, I catch the voice of dying waves Below the ridges old and h.o.a.r; The spray descends in silver showers, And lovely whispers come and go, Like echoes from the happy hours I never more may hope to know!
The low mimosa droops with locks Of yellow hair, in dewy glade, While far above the caverned rocks I hear the dark Bellambi's Maid!
The moonlight dreams upon the sail That drives the restless s.h.i.+p to sea; The clouds troop past the mountain vale, And sink like spirits down the lee; The foggy peak of Corrimal, Uplifted, bears the pallid glow That streams from yonder airy hall And robes the sleeping hills below; The wandering meteors of the sky Beneath the distant waters wade, While mystic music hurries by-- The songs of dark Bellambi's Maid!
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