Haply, within a few swift years,

A mind bow'd down with troubles and fears,
The commonest drudge of men and things,
Instead of your-conquering heroes and kings;
Haply, to follies an early wreck,-

For the cloud of presumption is now like a speck,
And with a whelming, sudden sweep

The storm of temptation roars over the deep;

Lower the sails of pride, rash youth,—

Stand to the lowly tiller of truth;

Quick, or your limber bark shall be

The sport of the winds on a stormy sea!

Care and peril in lieu of joy,—

Guilt and dread may be thine, proud boy:
Lo, thy mantling chalice of life

Is foaming with sorrow, and sickness, and strife;

Cheated by pleasure, and sated with pain,-
Watching for honour, and watching in vain,—
Aching in heart, and ailing in head,
Wearily earning daily bread.

-It is well. I discern a tear on thy cheek:
It is well,-thou art humbled, and silent, and meek:
Now,-courage again! and, with peril to cope,
Gird thee with vigour, and helm thee with hope!

For life, good youth, hath never an ill

Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill; And stubborn realities never shall bind

The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind.

The Song of Seventy.

I am not old,-I cannot be old,
Though threescore years and ten
Have wasted away, like a tale that is told,
The lives of other men:

I am not old; though friends and foes
Alike have gone down to their graves,
And left me alone to my joys or my woes,
As a rock in the midst of the waves :

I am not old,-I cannot be old,

Though tottering, wrinkled, and grey; Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold Call me not old to-day.

For, early memories round me throng,

Old times, and manners, and men,
As I look behind on my journey so long
Of threescore miles and ten;

I look behind, and am once more young,

Buoyant, and brave, and bold,

And my heart can sing, as of

Before they call'd me old.

yore it

sung,

I do not see her-the old wife there

Shrivell'd, and haggard, and grey,

But I look on her blooming, and soft, and fair,
As she was on her wedding-day:

I do not see you, daughters and sons,
In the likeness of women and men,
But I kiss you now as I kissed you once,
My fond little children then :

And, as my own grandson rides on my knee
Or plays with his hoop or kite,

I can well recollect I was merry as he-
The bright-eyed little wight!

'Tis not long since,-it cannot be long,-
My years so soon were spent,

Since I was a boy, both straight and strong,
Yet now am I feeble and bent.

A dream, a dream,-it is all a dream!
A strange, sad dream, good sooth;
For old as I am, and old as I seem,
My heart is full of youth:

Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told,
And ear hath not heard it sung,

How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old,
Is the heart, for ever young;

For ever young,-though life's old age

Hath every nerve unstrung; The heart, the heart is a heritage

That keeps the old man young!

Lature's Lobleman.

Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill,
Where pleasure itself cannot please;
Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still
Affects to be quite at its ease;

For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank,
The freest is first of the band,

And nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,
Is a man with his heart in his hand!

Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just,

He warmly can love,-and can hate,

Nor will he bow down with his face in the dust
To Fashion's intolerant state:

For best in good breeding, and highest in rank,
Though lowly or poor in the land,

Is nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,
The man with his heart in his hand!

His fashion is passion, sincere and intense,
His impulses, simple and true,

Yet temper'd by judgment, and taught by good sense,
And cordial with me, and with you :

For the finest in manners, as highest in rank,
It is you, man! or you, man! who stand
Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank,-
A man with his heart in his hand!

Lever give up!

Reber give up! it is wiser and better
Always to hope, than once to despair;
Fling off the load of Doubt's heavy fetter,
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care :
Never give up! or the burthen may sink you,—
Providence kindly has mingled the cup,

And in all trials or troubles, bethink you,

The watchword of life must be, Never give up!

Never give up! there are chances and changes
Helping the hopeful a hundred to one,
And through the chaos High Wisdom arranges
Ever success,--if you'll only hope on:
Never give up! for the wisest is boldest,
Knowing that Providence mingles the cup,
And of all maxims the best, as the oldest,
Is the true watchword of Never give up!

Never give up!-though the grape-shot may rattle, Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst,

Stand like a rock,—and the storm or the battle Little shall harm you, though doing their worst: Never give up!-if adversity presses,

Providence wisely has mingled the cup, And the best counsel, in all your distresses, Is the stout watchword of Never give up!