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"His youth was innocent; his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm, and sage,
Faded his last declining years away. Cheerful he gave his being up, and went
To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.
"That life was happy; every day he gave Thanks for the fair existence that was his;
For a sick fancy made him not her slave,
To mock him with her phantom miseries. No chronic tortures racked his aged limb,
For luxury and sloth had nourished none for
And I am glad that he has lived thus long, And glad that he has gone to his reward; VOL. I.-5
Nor can I deem that nature did him
Softly to disengage the vital cord. For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to
THIS little rill, that from the springs
My little feet, when life was new.
My truant steps from home would stray,
List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn,
And when the days of boyhood came, And I had grown in love with fame, Duly I sought thy banks, and tried My first rude numbers by thy side. Words cannot tell how bright and gay The scenes of life before me lay. Then glorious hopes, that now to speak Would bring the blood into my cheek, Passed o'er me; and I wrote, on high, A name I deemed should never die.
Years change thee not. Upon yon hill The tall old maples, verdant still,
Yet tell, in grandeur of decay,
How swift the years have passed away,
I wandered in the forest shade.