THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, Old year, you must not die: He lieth still: he doth not move: He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, So long as you have been with us, He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; Old year, you shall not die ; He was full of joke and jest, To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, How hard he breathes! over the snow The cricket chirps: the light burns low: Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you: His face is growing sharp and thin. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, TO J. S. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows And me this knowledge bolder made, "T is strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost: Those we love first are taken first. God gives us love. Something to love He lends us; but, when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone. In grief I am not all unlearn'd ; Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass; Your loss is rarer; for this star Rose with you thro' a little are Of heaven, nor having wander'd far Shot on the sudden into dark. I knew your brother: his mute dust I have not look'd upon you nigh, Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I: I will not tell you not to weep. And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, "Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain." Let Grief be her own mistress still. She loveth her own anguish deep More than much pleasure. Let her will I will not say "God's ordinance Of death is blown in every wind;" For that is not a common chance That takes away a noble mind. His memory long will live alone In all our hearts, as mournful light That broods above the fallen sun, And dwells in heaven half the night. Vain solace! Memory standing near Cast down her eyes, and in her throat I wrote I know not what. In truth, For he too was a friend to me: Both are my friends, and my true breast Bleedeth for both; yet it may be That only silence suiteth best. Words weaker than your grief would make Although myself could almost take The place of him that sleeps in peace. Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace: Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, It is the land that freemen till, That sober-suited Freedom chose, The land, where girt with friends or foes A man may speak the thing he will; A land of settled government, A land of just and old renown, Where Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent: Where faction seldom gathers head, But by degrees to fulness wrought, The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread. Should banded unions persecute When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute; Tho' Power should make from land to land Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth, Of old sat Freedom on the heights, There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind. Then stept she down thro' town and field And part by part to men reveal'd The fulness of her face |