O

254

I'M OLD TO-DAY.

I'M OLD TO-DAY.

An aged man, on reaching his seventieth birthday, like one surprised, paced his house, exclaiming "I am an old man! I am an old man!"

I WAKE at last; I've dreamed too long.
Where are my threescore years and ten?
My eye is keen, my limbs are strong;
I well might vie with younger men.
The world, its passions and its strife,
Is passing from my grasp away,
And though this pulse seems full of life,
"I'm old to-day — I'm old to-day."

Strange that I never felt, before,

That I had almost reached my goal.
My bark is nearing death's dark shore;
Life's waters far behind me roll;
And yet I love their murmuring swell
Their distant breakers' proud array ;
And must I- can I say, "Farewell"?
"I'm old to-day - I'm old to-day."

This house is mine, and those broad lands
That slumber 'neath yon fervid sky;

Yon brooklet, leaping o'er the sands,
Hath often met my boyish eye.
I loved those mountains when a child;
They still look young in green array:
Ye rocky cliffs, ye summits wild,

"I'm old to-day - I'm old to-day."

'Twixt yesterday's short hours and me
A mighty gulf hath intervened:
A man with men I seemed to be;

But now 'tis meet I should be weaned

From all my kind from kindred dear;

From those deep skies that landscape gay

From hopes and joys I've cherished here; "I'm old to-day -I'm old to-day."

O man of years, while earth recedes,
Look forward, upward, not behind!
Why dost thou lean on broken reeds?
Why still with earthly fetters bind
Thine ardent soul? God give it wings,
'Mid higher, purer joys to stray!
In heaven no happy spirit sings,
"I'm old to-day- I'm old to-day."

THE UNTHANKFUL.

HOME! there's a sacred sweetness hid
In that one short and simple word,
And cold and worthless is the heart

That is not by its utterance stirred.

Y there are those who rudely turn
Away from all the bliss of home,

Who spurn the joys that, pure and bright,

Light up the old parental dome.

They scorn the mother's holy love,
The father's fond affections slight,
And crush with cold, remorseless hand
The hopes that made the future bright.

"Tis sharper than the serpent's tooth," To see the proud, ungrateful child, Who in its earlier love and truth Upon its doting parents smiled, Turn scornfully to stranger hearts, Their worthless favor strive to win, And thrust aside the gentle love

That hath a guardian angel been.

Alas! that such should dare to speak wondrous thought

Of pure emotion

Of feelings not to be expressed,

So deeply, so intensely wrought; I'd sooner trust an oyster's heart,

I'd rather with a tiger roam,

Than strive to move the soulless breast
That feels no interest in home.

THE VOICE OF HER I LOVE.

How sweet at the hour of silent eve
The harp's responsive sound!
How sweet the vows that ne'er deceive,

And deeds by virtue crowned!
How sweet to sit beneath a tree
In some delightful grove!

But O, more soft, more sweet, to me
The voice of her I love.

CHARLIE MOSS.

A LEAF FROM MY COUNTRY NOTE-BOOK.

EVERY morning a little curly-haired, rosy-cheeked boy came whistling down the lane, preceded by a drove of the most beautiful cattle I ever beheld.

I am not "passionately fond" of animals; indeed, I can hardly confess to the idiosyncrasy of petship; but I admire beauty, even if it chances to enshrine itself in just such a commonplace object as a farmer's cow; and these cows were positively worthy of admiration. They were fine, noble, well-proportioned animals; with such an expression of grave wisdom reposing in their huge, massive features, it struck me as bordering very closely upon intelligence. Then they trod the ground so calmly and independently, stopping here and there to crop a mouthful of dewy grass, as if fully conscious that the shining sleekness of their brightly-spotted coats was sufficient security against any undue proximity of a certain long beech rod, which seemed carried, like the clergyman's cane, rather for show than use.