My soul 'twas formed for nobler deeds;
O'er hills and plains I cannot roam;
Oh, grant me but my only wish,
That is, to see my native home!

'Tis there my brothers are as free As soars aloft the eagle's wing; 'Tis there they wait and watch for me,My chair is vacant when they sing.

200

THE STOLEN CHILD.

Now say that you will set me free!
I'd rather die than linger here!
In dreams I hear my mother's voice;
In dreams I see the falling tear.

'Tis done, 'tis past, I'm free once more;
My native land I'll soon behold.
That spot is dearer now to me

Than rarest gems all decked with gold.

When We Are Old.

RE we're aware-ah! yes, how soon!—
Will life's bright morning change to

noon;

And noon's broad and dazzling light
Put on its sombre robes of night,
And like a story often told,

Will seem our life-when we are old.

To us, 'when old, this tempting earth
Will lose its rarest charms of mirth;—
All things will have an under-tone
Of quiet-not by right their own;
The summer flowers will still unfold

Their fragrance sweet-when we are old.

202

WHEN WE ARE OLD.

When we are old, we will not care,
To paint our face and dye our hair;
'Twill be no great desire then,

In gay and costly robes to shine,
Earthly fame and glittering gold,

Will lose their charms-when we are old.

When we are old, come when that will,
We'll cling to earth a little still;
We'll think it hard that we so soon
Have run the race that others run;

We'll sigh, and think that death is bold
To take us off when we are old.

When we are old, we then shall know
What 'tis to sojourn here below;

We'll know who were our friends indeed,
For, truth, such friends, are friends in need;
If they were sometimes warm, then cold,
They'll be the same when we are old.

When we are old, we all will be
Like tendrils clinging to a tree,

Our hands that toil from sun to sun,

Will need a staff to lean upon;

Our feet, so reckless, quick, and bold,
Will move so slow when we are old.

When we are old-those words now seem Like the rehearsal of a dream

We picture, as in prophetic rhyme,

That far-off spot on the shore of time—

That spot so distant, it seems quite bold;
Even to say when we are old.

When we are old-perhaps ere then,

We shall be borne from the haunts of men;
For lo! our dwelling may be found
Beneath the cold and silent ground;
Our name perchance may be enrolled
Among the dead—ere we are old.

Ere we are old,—that time is now,—
For youth and noon are on our brow.
Let not the moments idly fall—
Life has a thousand charms for all,
And some will always an influence hold
Within our minds-when we are old,