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So must it be; the weaker, wiser race,
That wields the tempest and that rides the sea, Even in the stillness of thy solitude
Must teach the lesson of its power to thee; And thou, the terror of the trembling wild,
Must bow thy savage strength, the mockery of a child!
TO MY COMPANIONS.
MINE ancient Chair! thy wide-embracing arms Have clasped around me even from a boy; Hadst thou a voice to speak of years gone by,
Thine were a tale of sorrow and of joy,
Of fevered hopes and ill-foreboding fears,
And thou, my Table! though unwearied Time.
And in my memory thou art living now;
Thou melancholy Mug! thy sober brown
Hath something pensive in its evening hue, Not like the things that please the tasteless clown, With gaudy streaks of orange and of blue; And I must love thee, for thou art mine own, Pressed by my lip, and pressed by mine alone.
My broken Mirror! faithless, yet beloved,
Thou who canst smile, and smile alike on all, Oft do I leave thee, oft again return,
I scorn the siren, but obey the call;
I hate thy falsehood, while I fear thy truth,
Primeval Carpet! every well-worn thread
Has slowly parted with its virgin dye; I saw thee fade beneath the ceaseless tread, Fainter and fainter in mine anxious eye; So flies the color from the brightest flower, And heaven's own rainbow lives but for an hour.
all! there radiates from our own
Like echoed music answering to its key.
And these poor frailties have a simple tone,
THE LAST LEAF.
I SAW him once before,
As he passed by the door,
The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane.
They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."