Poems (Cook)/Oh! Dear to Memory are those Hours
OH! DEAR TO MEMORY ARE THOSE HOURS
Oh! dear to memory are those hoursWhen every pathway led to flowers;When sticks of peppermint possess'dA sceptre's power o'er the breast,And heaven was round us while we fedOn rich ambrosial gingerbread.I bless the days of Infancy,When stealing from my mother's eye,Elysian happiness was foundOn that celestial field the ground;When we were busied, hands and hearts,In those important things, dirt tarts.Don't smile; for sapient, full-grown manOft cogitates some mighty plan;And, spell-bound by the bubble dream,He labours till he proves the schemeAbout as useful and as wiseAs manufacturing dirt pies.There's many a change on Folly's bellsQuite equals mud and oyster-shells.
Then shone the meteor rays of Youth;Eclipsing quite the lamp of Truth;And precious those bright sunbeams were,That dried all tears, dispersed all care;That shed a stream of golden joy,Without one atom of alloy:Oh! ne'er in mercy strive to chaseSuch dazzling phantoms from their place;However trifling, mean, or wild,This deeds may seem of youth or child; While they still leave untarnish'd soul,The iron rod of stern controlShould be but gentle in its sway;Nor rend the magic veil away.
I doubt if it be kind or wiseTo quench the light in opening eyes,By preaching fallacy and woeAs all that we can meet below.I ne'er respect the ready tongue.That augurs sorrow to the young;That aptly plays a sibyl's part,To promise nightshade to the heart.Let them exult! their laugh and songAre rarely known to last too long.Why should we strive with cynic frownTo knock their fairy castles down?We know that much of pain and strifeMust be the common lot of life:We know the world is dark and rough,But Time betrays that soon enough.