ON MY FORTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY.

On the slope of Life's decline,

The landmark reached of forty-nine,

Thoughtful on this heart of mine

Strikes the sound of forty-nine.

Greyish hairs with brown combine

To note Time's hand—and forty-nine.

Sunny hours that used to shine,

Shadow o'er at forty-nine.

Of youthful sports the joys decline,

Symptoms strong of forty-nine.

The dance I willingly resign,

To lighter heels than forty-nine.

Yet, why anxiously repine?

Pleasures wait on forty-nine.

Social pleasures—joys benign—

Still are found at forty-nine.

With a friend to go and dine,

What better age than forty-nine?

Ladies with me sip their wine,

Though they know I'm forty-nine.

Tea and chat, and wit combine,

To enliven musing forty-nine.

Let harmony its chords untwine,

Music charms at forty nine.

O'er wasting care let croakers whine,

Care we'll defy at forty-nine.

Fifty shall not make me pine—

Why lament o'er forty-nine.

Joys let's trace of "Auld Lang Syne,"

Memory's fresh at forty-nine.

Then fill a cup of rosy wine,

And drink a health to FORTY-NINE.

W. W.