But scarce a twelvemonth she was there,
And now he is alone!
Yet still ye sing, the New Year's come,
And the Old Year's gone.
Dance on, dance on! be blithe and gay,
Nor pause to think the while,
That ere this year has passed away,
Ye, too, may cease to smile:
For time, in his resistless flight,
Brings changes sad and drear,
The many hopes of youth to blight,
With every coming year:
But still be happy while ye may,
And let the dance go on,
Sing, gaily sing, the New Year's come,
And the Old Year's gone.
I LOVE MY LITTLE NATIVE ISLE.
I love my little native isle,
Mine em'rald in a golden deep;
My garden where the roses smile,
My vineyard where the tendrils creep.
How sweetly glide the summer hours
When twilight shows her silver sheen,
And youths and maids from all the bow'rs
Come forth to play the tambourine.
Ah! I love my little native isle, &c.
At morn the fisher spreads his sail
Upon our calm encircling sea;
The farmer labours in the vale,
Or tends his vine and orange tree:
But soon as ling'ring sunset throws
O'er woods and fields a deeper green,
And all the west in crimson glows,
They gather to the tambourine.
Ah! I love my little native isle, &c.
My native isle, my land of peace,
My father's home, my mother's grave,
May evermore thy joys increase,
And plenty o'er thy corn-fields wave.
May storms ne'er vex thine ocean surf,
Nor war disturb thy valleys green;
Nor fail the dance upon thy turf,
Nor music of the tambourine.
Ah! I love my little native isle, &c.
An old man and a little child
Together went their way,
Amid the blossoms of the wild
The child oft paused to play;
"Ah! trifle not amid the flowers,"
The grey-hair'd teacher said;
"For precious are the passing hours,
And mourn'd as soon as fled."
The old man took the little child,
And led him by the hand,
But still where'er a blossom smiled
The boy contrived to stand.
"Ah! linger not, although the flowers
To thee a joy may bring;
They but remind me of the hours
I lost in my life's spring."
The child went on-the old man fled,
But ne'er the boy forgot
The words that gray-hair'd teacher said
Through all his future lot:
And wisely are his children taught
When in some olden rhyme
He tells them how he first was brought
To know the worth of time.
I dreamt last night of our earlier days,
Ere I sigh'd for sword and feather,
When we danced on the hill, in the moon's pale rays,
Hand in hand, hand in hand, together;
I thought you gave me again that kiss,
More sweet than the perfume of spring.
When I press'd on your finger love's pure golden pledge,
The bridal ring! the bridal ring!
I dreamt I heard, then, the trumpet sound,
And at once was forced to sever,
That I fell on the heath with my last death-wound,
Lost to thee, lost to thee, for ever!
I thought that you gave me again that kiss,
Empearl'd like a flower in spring,
"Neath its warmth I awoke, on this dear hand to press The bridal ring! the bridal ring!
EXCELSIOR!
[H. W. LONGFELLOW.]
The shades of night were falling fast
As through an Alpine village pass'd
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner, with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad, his eye beneath
Flash'd like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone;
And from his lips escaped a groan,
"Try not the pass," the old man said,
"Dark low'rs the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide."
And loud that clarion voice replied,
"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast."
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answer'd with a sigh,
"Beware the pine-tree's wither'd branch,
Beware the awful avalanche."
This was the peasant's last good-night.
A voice replied far up the height,
A trav'ller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow, was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There, in the twilight cold and grey,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;
And from the sky serene and far
A voice fell like a falling star,
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side
On a bright May morning long ago,
When first you were my bride:
The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love light in our eye.
The place is little changed, Mary,
The day as bright as then;
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again;
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek,
And I still keep listening for the words
You never more will speak.
"Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the village church stands near-
The church where we were wed, Mary,-
I see the spire from here;
But the graveyard lies between, Mary,
And my step might break your rest,
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.
I'm very lonely now, Mary,
For the poor make no new friends;
But oh! they love the better far
The few our Father sends;
And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessing and my pride!
There's nothing left to care for now
Since my poor Mary died.
I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true!
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm going to.
They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there;
But I'll not forget old Ireland,
Were it fifty times as fair!
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