II. He lieth still: he doth not move : He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; But though his eyes are waxing dim, He was a friend to me. We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die. IV. He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. V. How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro : The cricket chirps: the light burns low : 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we 'll dearly rue for you : What is it we can do for you? Speak out before you die. VI. His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. To J. S. I. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentle mould. II. And me this knowledge bolder made, Or else I had not dared to flow In these words toward you, and invade III. 'Tis 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. IV. 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. V. This is the curse of time. Alas! In grief I am not all unlearn'd; Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass; One went, who never hath return'd. VI. He will not smile-not speak to me Once more. Two years his chair is seen Empty before us. That was he Without whose life I had not been. VII. Your loss is rarer; for this star Rose with you thro' a little arc Of heaven, nor having wander'd far Shot on the sudden into dark. |