And in the sultry garden-squares, Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse, I hear thee not at all, or hoarse As when a hawker hawks his wares. Take warning! he that will not sing THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, Old year, you must not die; Old year, you shall not die. He lieth still: he doth not move: He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, He was full of joke and jest, To see him die, across the waste Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The cricket chirps: the light burns low: Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you: What is it we can do for you? Speak out before you die. His face is growing sharp and thin. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, To J. S. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows And me this knowledge bolder made, 'Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost: Those we love first are taken first. God gives us love. Something to love To ripeness, that on which it throve |