The Quest 357 ALADDIN WHEN I was a beggarly boy, Since then I have toiled day and night, James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] THE QUEST It was a heavenly time of life My little ship through unknown seas Sometimes the rain came down and hid The beauty of the silver mists But through the rains and through the winds, Upon the untried sea, My fairy ship sailed on and on, With all my dreams and me. And now, no more a child, I long Rose up the shores of Spain. O lovely land of silver mists, I look for you with smiles, with tears, Ellen Mackey Hutchinson Cortissoz [18 MY BIRTH-DAY "My birth-day”—what a different sound How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain, Who said "were he ordained to run His long career of life again, He would do all that he had done." Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells Lavished unwisely, carelessly; Of counsel mocked; of talents, made Sonnet Of nursing many a wrong desire; Of wandering after Love too far, That crossed my pathway, for a star. The imperfect picture o'er again, The lights and shades, the joy and pain, Which hath been more than wealth to me; Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark, 359 Thomas Moore [1779-1852] SONNET ON HIS HAVING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew 'th. It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven: All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-master's eye. John Milton [1608-1674] ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR 'TIS time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The fire that on my bosom preys The hope, the fear, the jealous care, But 'tis not thus-and 'tis not here Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Awake! (not Greece-she is awake!) Awake, my spirit! Think through whom Tread those reviving passions down, Growing Gray If thou regret 'st thy youth, why live? Is here:-up to the field, and give Seek out-less often sought than found- And take thy rest. 361 George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] GROWING GRAY "On a l'age de son cœur." A. D' HOUDETOT A LITTLE more toward the light;— Me miserable! Here's one that's white; Adieu to song and "salad days;" My Muse, let's go at once to Jay's, We must reform our rhymes, my Dear,- We have, no more, the right to find Young Love's for us a farce that's played; No more may tempt us; Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams; Indeed! you really fancy so? You think for one white streak we grow A fiddlestick! Each hair's a string To which our ancient Muse shall sing |