Eld was once fair
Is reached. ’Tis Time that maketh grow
All new-born things, and Time doth show
How all things change, and wear and waste;
’Tis he that hath our fathers chased
From off the earth. Of mighty kings
And emperors the dirge he sings,390
And all, through Time, must pass away,
For he ’tis marks our dooming day.
And Time, who ne’er forgetteth aught,
Hath Eld forgotten not, but brought
His hand to bear upon her so
That feebler doth she surely grow
From day to day, until no more
She hath of strength, or notes of lore,
Than child that on its mother’s knee
Or laughs or smiles unconsciously.400
Yet natheless had Eld been in youth
A damsel fair, and sweet forsooth
To my sure knowledge, but I trow
Is sadly metamorphosed now—
Changed to a world-worn doting thing.
A great fur cloak for wrappering
She wore (methinks around her form
I see it yet) to keep her warm,
For aged folk still dread the cold.
By nature’s law, through many a fold.
Hypocrisy.
The image standing next was fit
To show right well a hypocrite.
