Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Misery.
Well might they chase the flying hours , With mirthful jest , Avith dance and song , Enjoy in full their youthful powers Ere sorrows deep should round them throng . God speed them in their merry sport God keep them through the coming night ; Let gentle sleej ) their glad eyes court , And peaceful be their dreams , and bright . Whilst all seemed tranquil joy ivithin ,
Without , loud hoAvled the winter s blast , And sought a poor man's garments thin , Whose tatters Avere not few , but vast . In vain he wrapped his rags about , Or held his hands upon his breast , The storm-fiend did each effort flout ,
And rushed beneath his ragged vest . Heard he the sounds of mirth and joy ? SaAv he the shadows on the blind ? Not he . He knew he Avas tbe toy Of Fate , of Winter and the Wind .
In vain he in his pockets thrust His hands , they could not find a coin , And none to him a doit would trust—No reveller with him would join ; With snoiv the urchins him did pelt And shouted loudly as they ran . He heeded not , yet still he felt , Himself a wretched , reckless man .
Soon , one by one , each shop was shut—Soon , one by one , each light ivas quenched ; The poor man , fortune ' s latest butt , By snoAv and sleet was fairly drenched . Where should he turn to lay his head . Where could he rest each weary limb 1 His eyeballs seemed like molten lead 1 Alas , there was no rest for him .
He went and sought a river ' s side—The river rolled both dark and drear—He listened to the sullen tide , Which sang a AVelcome to his ear ; He thought of early happy days—Bethought him of his gentle youth , When . he loud sang his simple lays , And dreamt of honor , love , and truth :
He tried to sing an old-time song , His lips could not the accents form ; He gazed upon the river long , And then he cursed the bitter storm . He muttered something , softly low , The river scarce could catch the words ,
As onwards it Avent , creeping slow—¦ But yet an echo answered " Birds . " *
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Misery.
Well might they chase the flying hours , With mirthful jest , Avith dance and song , Enjoy in full their youthful powers Ere sorrows deep should round them throng . God speed them in their merry sport God keep them through the coming night ; Let gentle sleej ) their glad eyes court , And peaceful be their dreams , and bright . Whilst all seemed tranquil joy ivithin ,
Without , loud hoAvled the winter s blast , And sought a poor man's garments thin , Whose tatters Avere not few , but vast . In vain he wrapped his rags about , Or held his hands upon his breast , The storm-fiend did each effort flout ,
And rushed beneath his ragged vest . Heard he the sounds of mirth and joy ? SaAv he the shadows on the blind ? Not he . He knew he Avas tbe toy Of Fate , of Winter and the Wind .
In vain he in his pockets thrust His hands , they could not find a coin , And none to him a doit would trust—No reveller with him would join ; With snoiv the urchins him did pelt And shouted loudly as they ran . He heeded not , yet still he felt , Himself a wretched , reckless man .
Soon , one by one , each shop was shut—Soon , one by one , each light ivas quenched ; The poor man , fortune ' s latest butt , By snoAv and sleet was fairly drenched . Where should he turn to lay his head . Where could he rest each weary limb 1 His eyeballs seemed like molten lead 1 Alas , there was no rest for him .
He went and sought a river ' s side—The river rolled both dark and drear—He listened to the sullen tide , Which sang a AVelcome to his ear ; He thought of early happy days—Bethought him of his gentle youth , When . he loud sang his simple lays , And dreamt of honor , love , and truth :
He tried to sing an old-time song , His lips could not the accents form ; He gazed upon the river long , And then he cursed the bitter storm . He muttered something , softly low , The river scarce could catch the words ,
As onwards it Avent , creeping slow—¦ But yet an echo answered " Birds . " *