Page:Poems Cook.djvu/386

It bore no film of delicate pride,
No dew of Emotion gather'd inside;
Oh! that Old Man's heart was of hardy kind,
That seemeth to heed not the sun nor the wind.

He had lived in the world, as millions live,
Ever more ready to take than give;
He had work'd and wedded, and murmur'd and blam'd,
And paid to the fraction what Honesty claim'd;
He had driven his bargains and counted his gold,
Till upwards of threescore years were told;
And his keen blue eye held nothing to show
That Feeling had ever been busy below.

The Old Man sigh'd again, and hid
His keen blue eye beneath its lid;
And his wrinkled forehead, bending down,
Was knitting itself in a painful frown.
"I've been looking back," the Old Man said,
"On every spot where my path has laid;
Over every year my brain can trace;
To find the happiest time and place."

"And where and when," cried one by his side,
"Have you found the brightest wave in your tide?
Come tell me freely, and let me learn,
How the spark was struck that yet can burn.
Was it when you stood in stalwart strength
With the blood of youth, and felt that at length
Your stout, right arm could win its bread?"
—The Old Man quietly shook his head.

"Then it must have been when Love had come,
With a faithful bride to glad your home;
Or when the first-born coo'd and smiled,
And your bosom cradled its own, sweet child;

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