So crooned, one day, close by Limoux, We left, next morning, his abode, But (Heaven forgive him!) half-way on The old man died upon the road. He never gazed on Carcassonne. Translated by John R. Thompson from the French of Gustave Nadaud [1820- ? ] CHILDHOOD OLD Sorrow I shall meet again, And Joy, perchance—but never, never, And yet I would not call thee back, Dear Childhood, lest the sight of me, Thine old companion, on the rack THE WASTREL ONCE, when I was little, as the summer night was falling, Among the purple upland fields I lost my barefoot way; The road to home was hidden fast, and frightful shadows, crawling Along the sky-line, swallowed up the last kind light of day; And then I seemed to hear you In the twilight, and be near you; Seemed to hear your dear voice calling— Flung my tired arms around you, And rested on the mother-breast, returned, tired out from play. Troia Fuit 423 Down the days from that day, though I trod strange paths unheeding, Though I chased the jack-o'-lanterns of so many mad dened years, Though I never looked behind me, where the home-lights were receding, Though I never looked enough ahead to ken the Inn of Fears; Still I knew your heart was near me, That your ear was strained to hear me, I should run to you the faster And be sure that I was dearer for your sacrifice of tears. Now on life's last Summertime the long last dusk is falling, And I, who trod one way so long, can tread no other way Until at death's dim crossroads I watch, hesitant, the crawling Night-passages that maze me with the ultimate dismay. Then when Death and Doubt shall blind me Even then-I know you'll find me: I shall hear you, Mother, calling— Hear you calling-calling-calling: I shall fight and follow-find you Though the grave-clothes swathe and bind you, And I know your love will answer: "Here's my laddie home from play!" Reginald Wright Kauffman [1877 TROIA FUIT THE world was wide when I was young, Life's face was fair when careless I No matter; though at last we see The world was wide and life was fair. TEMPLE GARLANDS THERE is a temple in my heart Where moth or rust can never come, A temple swept and set apart, And round about the doors of it The roses of the Past! A. Mary F. Robinson [1857 TIME LONG PAST LIKE the ghost of a dear friend dead A tone which is now forever fled, A love so sweet it could not last, There were sweet dreams in the night And, was it sadness or delight, Each day a shadow onward cast Which made us wish it yet might last,— That Time long past. “I Remember, I Remember' There is regret, almost remorse, For Time long past. 'Tis like a child's beloved corse 425 Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] “I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER” I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, He never came a wink too soon I remember, I remember I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, The summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. Thomas Hood (1799-1845] MY LOST YOUTH OFTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth, are long, long thoughts." I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, Of all my boyish dreams. And the burden of that old song, "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.", I remember the black wharves and the slips, And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the bulwarks by the shore, And the fort upon the hill; The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, |