From under the eaves' deep shadow
The jasmine-bud, pearl-white, peers;
And on the bent face of the sunflower
The dew-drops shine like tears.
All nature is lapt in silence,
Save only yon moonlit sea,—
Whose voice seems but to echo
The memories that rise in me.
* * * * *
"Just thirty years," I murmur,
"Just thirty years to-night
They were sitting here in my garden,
Werder, and Green, and Wright.
In my ears now ring their voices:
We had each our cheroots alit;
And the swift hours flitted o'er us,
Winged by laughter and wit.
As now, then glittered the fireflies,
And gleam'd the moonlit leaf;
And as now, we heard midst our converse
The roller boom from yon reef.
The same stars in their places
Shine from the same old sky,—
But I, of those four blithe comrades
I only remain, even I."
* * * * *
The German, Rheinhold Werder,
The Englishman, John Wright,
With Thomas Green, the Welshman,
Were at my house that night:
And these, my jovial comrades,
Their jokes began to bandy,
Because that I, a Scotchman,
Had whiskers somewhat sandy.