AN OLD SONG.
95
Sailors far off on lonely seas have given it to the gale;Mothers have hushed its measure on the quiet edge of even, While soft as falling rose-leaves dear eyelids dropped their veil.
Long since the sailor made his grave between two rolling waves, The lovers and their love are naught, mother and child are dust;But to-night some maiden lilts it, to-night its sounding staves Are blowing from the stroller's lips on this balmy blossom-gust.
A part of life, its music flows as the blood flows in the vein; Laughter ripples through it, tears make its charm complete;For the heart of all the ages beats still through this old strain,— An old song, an old song, but the new are not so sweet!
