XL
What though the waters of that antique rill
That flows along the heath, no more are cold;
Those who remember what it was of old
Go forth to draw them in their buckets still.
Anon.
XLI[158]
Old Age is not a friend I wish to meet;
And if some day to see me he should come,
I'd lock the door as he walk'd up the street,
And cry, "Most honored sir! I'm not at home!"
Anon.
XLII[159]
Yes, I am old; but yet with doleful stour
I will not choose to rail 'gainst Fate's decree.
An' I had not grown old, then ne'er for me
Had dawned the day that brings this golden hour.
XLIII[160]