SONG OF THE DYING OLD MAN TO HIS YOUNG WIFE.
I gazed with holy fondness on thy meek, retiring eye,
Soft in its beaming as the first fair star of evening's sky;
I mark'd the dimpled mirth around thy sweet lips when they smiled;
And while I loved thee as a bride, I blest thee as a child.
Soft in its beaming as the first fair star of evening's sky;
I mark'd the dimpled mirth around thy sweet lips when they smiled;
And while I loved thee as a bride, I blest thee as a child.
But, oh thy young and ardent soul could not respond to mine;
My whiten'd hairs seemed mock'd by those rich, sunny curls of thine;
And though thy gentle faith was kind as woman's faith can be;
'Twas as the spring flower clinging round the winter-blighted tree.
My whiten'd hairs seemed mock'd by those rich, sunny curls of thine;
And though thy gentle faith was kind as woman's faith can be;
'Twas as the spring flower clinging round the winter-blighted tree.
My speech is faltering and low—the world is fading fast—
The sands of life are few and slow—this day will be my last:
I've something for thine ear—bend close—list to my failing word;
Lay what I utter to thy soul, and start not when 'tis heard.
The sands of life are few and slow—this day will be my last:
I've something for thine ear—bend close—list to my failing word;
Lay what I utter to thy soul, and start not when 'tis heard.
There's one who loves thee—though his love has never lived in speech:
He worships as a devotee the star he cannot reach;
He strives to mask his throbbing breast, and hide its burning glow—
But I have pierced the veil and seen the struggling pulse below.
He worships as a devotee the star he cannot reach;
He strives to mask his throbbing breast, and hide its burning glow—
But I have pierced the veil and seen the struggling pulse below.
Nay, speak not: I alone have been the selfish and unwise;
Young hearts will nestle with young hearts, young eyes will meet young eyes;
And when I saw his earnest glance turn hopelessly away,
I thank'd the hand of Time that gave me warning of decay.
Young hearts will nestle with young hearts, young eyes will meet young eyes;
And when I saw his earnest glance turn hopelessly away,
I thank'd the hand of Time that gave me warning of decay.
I question not thy bosom, Kate—I cast upon thy name
No memory of jealous fear, no lightest shade of blame:
I know that he has loved thee long, with deep and secret truth,
I know he is a fitting one to bless thy trusting youth.
No memory of jealous fear, no lightest shade of blame:
I know that he has loved thee long, with deep and secret truth,
I know he is a fitting one to bless thy trusting youth.
Weep not for me with bitter grief; I would but have thee tell
That he who bribed thee to his care has cherish'd thee right well.
I give thee to another, Kate,—and may that other prove
As grateful for the blessing held, as doting in his love.
That he who bribed thee to his care has cherish'd thee right well.
I give thee to another, Kate,—and may that other prove
As grateful for the blessing held, as doting in his love.
Bury me in the churchyard where the dark yew-branches wave,
And promise thou wilt come sometimes to weed the old man's grave!
'Tis all I ask! I'm blind—I'm faint—take, take my parting breath—
I die within thy arms, my Kate, and feel no sting of death.
And promise thou wilt come sometimes to weed the old man's grave!
'Tis all I ask! I'm blind—I'm faint—take, take my parting breath—
I die within thy arms, my Kate, and feel no sting of death.
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