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The Three Ages of Life.
And of the few so hardly landed there,
How very few thy pressure learn to bear,
And fewer still thy reverend honours wear.
He who has stemmed the force of youthful fire,
And rode the storm of manhood's fierce desire,
He only can deserve, and rightly knows
Thy sheltering strength, thy rapturous repose.
As some old courser, of a generous breed,
Who never yielded to a rival's speed,
Far from the tumults of Olympic strife,
In peaceful pastures loiters out his life,
So the wise veteran ends his race, his toils,
And sweetly his late lingering eve beguiles.
What though the frost of years invest his head?
What though the furrow mark Time's heavy tread?
There still remains a sound and vigorous frame,
A decent competence, an honest fame;
How very few thy pressure learn to bear,
And fewer still thy reverend honours wear.
He who has stemmed the force of youthful fire,
And rode the storm of manhood's fierce desire,
He only can deserve, and rightly knows
Thy sheltering strength, thy rapturous repose.
As some old courser, of a generous breed,
Who never yielded to a rival's speed,
Far from the tumults of Olympic strife,
In peaceful pastures loiters out his life,
So the wise veteran ends his race, his toils,
And sweetly his late lingering eve beguiles.
What though the frost of years invest his head?
What though the furrow mark Time's heavy tread?
There still remains a sound and vigorous frame,
A decent competence, an honest fame;
In every neighbour he beholds a friend;
E'en heedless youth to him in reverence bend,
Whilst duteous sons retard his mild decay,
Or children's children smooth his sloping way,
And lead him to the grave with death-beguiling play.
Thus, as the dear loved race he leaves behind,
Still court his blessing, and that blessing find.
Their tenderness in turn he repays,
And yields to them the remnant of his days.
For them he frames the laughter-moving joke;
For them the tale with prestine glee is spoke;
For them a thousand nameless efforts rise;
To warn, to teach, to please, he hourly tries.
Nor ever feels himself so truly blest,
As when dispensing comforts to the rest;
His hands in active duties never tire,
He grafts the scion, points the tendrils spire,
Or prunes the summer bower, or trims the winter fire.
Nor is this all. As sensual joys subside,
Sublimer pleasures are to age allied;
Then, pensive memory fondly muses o'er
The bliss or woe impressed so long before;
The sinking sun thus sheds his mellowed ray,
Athwart those scenes it brightened through the day.
Then, too, the soul, as heavenly prospects ope,
Expands and kindles with new beams of hope.
So the same parting orb, low in the west,
Dilates and glows, before it sinks to rest.
E'en heedless youth to him in reverence bend,
Whilst duteous sons retard his mild decay,
Or children's children smooth his sloping way,
And lead him to the grave with death-beguiling play.
Thus, as the dear loved race he leaves behind,
Still court his blessing, and that blessing find.
Their tenderness in turn he repays,
And yields to them the remnant of his days.
For them he frames the laughter-moving joke;
For them the tale with prestine glee is spoke;
For them a thousand nameless efforts rise;
To warn, to teach, to please, he hourly tries.
Nor ever feels himself so truly blest,
As when dispensing comforts to the rest;
His hands in active duties never tire,
He grafts the scion, points the tendrils spire,
Or prunes the summer bower, or trims the winter fire.
Nor is this all. As sensual joys subside,
Sublimer pleasures are to age allied;
Then, pensive memory fondly muses o'er
The bliss or woe impressed so long before;
The sinking sun thus sheds his mellowed ray,
Athwart those scenes it brightened through the day.
Then, too, the soul, as heavenly prospects ope,
Expands and kindles with new beams of hope.
So the same parting orb, low in the west,
Dilates and glows, before it sinks to rest.
