THE SONG OF SEVENTY. I AM not old,-I cannot be old, Though threescore years and ten I am not old; though friends and foes And left me alone to my joys or my woes, I am not old, I cannot be old, Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray; 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, I look behind, and am once more young, Before they called me old. I do not see her-the old wife there- sung, 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, And, as my own grandson rides on my knee, I can well recollect I was merry as he- '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! 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! NATURE'S NOBLEMAN. AWAY with false fashion, so calm and so chill, Where pleasure itself cannot please; Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank, And nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 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 tempered by judgment, and taught by good sense, For the finest in manners, as highest in rank, NEVER GIVE UP! NEVER give up! it is wiser and better And in all trials or troubles, bethink you, The watchword of life must be, Never give up! |