He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,

I've half a mind to die with you,

Old year, if you

must die.

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,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.

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
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

you:

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.

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.

And me this knowledge bolder made,
Or else I had not dared to flow
In these words toward you, and invade
Even with a verse your holy woe.

'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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

I knew your brother: his mute dust
I honour and his living worth :
A man more pure and bold and just
Was never born into the earth.

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
Be done-to weep or not to weep.

I will not say
Of Death is blown in every

"God's ordinance

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

Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.

I wrote I know not what. In truth,
How should I soothe you anyway,
Who miss the brother of your youth?
Yet something I did wish to say:

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.