Poems (McDonald)/The Old Album

by Mary Noel McDonald

THE OLD ALBUM.

I've drawn thee from thy hiding-place,
  Relic of by-gone days,
Again thy gilded leaves to trace,
  Thy well-known garb to praise;
To bring thee to the glaring light,
  From out thy silent nook;—
Come, tell old tales of moments bright,
  Thou long-neglected book!

How well I know thy crimson coat,
  So garnished o'er with gold !
And half with sorrow, half with smiles,
  The tarnished robe behold.
And fondly I recall the hour,
  When first I saw thee lie
Affection's gift, all glossy bright,
  Beneath my 'raptured eye.

And first, the faded lines I trace,
  Penned by a gentle hand;
They bring to me the fairest face
  That graced a youthful band.
Sweet play-mate of my earlier years—
  Companion of the past!
Thou hast forgot thy life of tears,
  In happier realms at last!

Again I turn the rustling leaf:
  Who comes before me now,
With the light heart that mocked at grief—
  The fair, unclouded brow;

The eye that flashed with Passion's ray,
  Unalterably bright?—
How changed!—long years have stolen away
  That wild, fantastic light.

Ha! my gay cousin!—thou whose mirth
  Was never on the wane!
I read thy sonnet, till I deem
  Thou'rt by my side again,
With thy wild laughter ringing free,
  Thy sly and merry air!
That time is gone; thy manly brow
  A graver look doth wear.

What fairy fingers held the pen
  That traced this dainty page?
It bears the date of other years,
  And seems quite pale with age.
Ah ! I remember me of one
  Just then become a bride;
She smiles a careful matron now,
  With prattlers at her side.

And here is writ a blithesome song,
  And here a tender lay;
This page is sad enough, I ween,
  And this one passing gay.
And here a youthful poet's hand
  Placed the sweet rhymes he wove
The truant!—in a foreign land
  He sought another love.

Thou mak'st me sad, thou gilded toy!
  And as I gaze on thee,
I think how time and change have thrown
  Their shadows over me:
The flush of youth has vanished now,
  Friends severed far and wide;
In curls that wave on many a brow,
  Time's silvery foot-marks hide.

Go back then to thy silent nook,
  Memento of the past!
Thou tell'st a tale, my much-loved book,
  Of years that flew too fast;
And read'st a lesson to my heart,
  Perused full oft before:
That hopes must fade, and friends must part,
  Till Life's dark day is o'er.