284
SIXTY.
Yet as we stumble on, we seem to think
The cup of happiness from which Ave drink
Was emptied yesterday, and never more
To be refilled on life's receding shore.
The cup of happiness from which Ave drink
Was emptied yesterday, and never more
To be refilled on life's receding shore.
Or else, unto the fountain-head we turn,
Where first that cup was filled, thinking that then
'Twill be replenished, as we vainly yearn
To taste of those sweet waters once again,
Which, leaping upward with a joyful sound,
Utter their broken murmurs all around,
Like echoes, which, wandering from some far shore,
Linger a moment, to be heard no more.
Where first that cup was filled, thinking that then
'Twill be replenished, as we vainly yearn
To taste of those sweet waters once again,
Which, leaping upward with a joyful sound,
Utter their broken murmurs all around,
Like echoes, which, wandering from some far shore,
Linger a moment, to be heard no more.
Was that old man listening to hear the sound
From childhood's haunted shore, while years went by,
With heavy tread, whispering the tale around
Of all that died, and all that were to die?
Heard he mysterious music from afar,
Some melody dropped from a fallen star,
That thus his senses, by its siren song,
Should in forgetfulness be steeped so long?
From childhood's haunted shore, while years went by,
With heavy tread, whispering the tale around
Of all that died, and all that were to die?
Heard he mysterious music from afar,
Some melody dropped from a fallen star,
That thus his senses, by its siren song,
Should in forgetfulness be steeped so long?
Man calls aloud, and echo answers him
From distant cliff's, while the surrounding air
Is voiceless and untroubled; yet the hymn
Those far hills chant to God, re-echoes there.
From distant cliff's, while the surrounding air
Is voiceless and untroubled; yet the hymn
Those far hills chant to God, re-echoes there.
