THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. I. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, Old year, you must not die; Old year, you shall not die. II. He lieth still he doth not move : 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, III. He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; But though his eyes are waxing dim, Old year, you shall not die ; We did so laugh and cry with you, 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, V. How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The cricket chirps: the light burns low : Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we 'll dearly rue 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, 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 VIII. I knew your brother: his mute dust IX. 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. |