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The next had lived to his manhood's prime;
And he admired all her thoughts so wise ;
Counsels sage to her lips would rise.
The last is an older, life-worn man ;
And he delights in her tender heart,
And cheers him with woman's heaven-taught art.
In youth I saw but a maiden fair ;
And finding beauty I sought no more,
And little knew of the prize I bore.
But as life advanced and cares came thick
On every side came pressing round,
Ever her at my side I found,
Her hair is grey, and her sweet blue eyes,
Though loving still, are no longer bright;
But far stronger ties our hearts unite.
20. THE SONG OF THE DISCONSOLATE ONE. (To several old tunes, because composed in a heated ball-room, where he
could not get any fresh air.)
'Mid the moon's fairy glow shone a soul-charming scene; The clouds were all silver, the skies were all blue,
And the shores were all waving with woodlands of green.
And the faintest of halos encircled the moon;
There were signs of a change coming sudden and soon.
What a scene ! the tall forests lay prostrate and bare,
And the youth and the maiden, alas ! they were—where ?
Philip Famer Baily.
With her pure white dress and pure white face,
Waiting for us in the hall.
A diamond star on her bosom lay,
And starry gems were her eyes;
Winsomely, sweetly unwise.
Roses glowed ardent red on her dress,
Glowed ardent red on her lips;
And died on her finger-tips.
It wound round her throat so fair;
And rippling gold was ber hair.
I uttered my rising fears :
Your words are men's words,' the lady said ;
“You know not that Pain and Pride
Or Reason, or aught beside.
As peacefully sweet as now;
Oh! women alone know how.
Pain shines like joy in the weary eyes,
More brilliant than joy perchance;
The tired feet in the dance.'
Then I cried, ' My darling, must she bear
The wearisome weight of care?
Will sorrow still enter there?'
She must bear her heartbreak all alone :
But, oh! for thy darling's sake,
Yet may a breaking heart break.
God's tired children are everywhere,
We dance with them at the ball:
On some wayworn soul shall fall.'
23. APRÈS LE BAL.
A 'DETRIMENTAL'S' REMINISCENCE OF THE GUARDS' BALL.'
And tell me the truth, now you hear the confession,
If not with a smile at least not with a frown.
Enhanced by a toilette the créme de la crême,
To use your own phrase, dear, it would be a shame!