WILL CARLETON.
By the wayside, on a mossy stone,
Sat a hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; Oft I marked him sitting there alone.
All the landscape, like a page perusing; Poor, unknown, By the wayside, on a mossy stone.
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-brimmed hat;
Coat as ancient as the form 'twas folding; Silver buttons, queue, and crimped cravat;
Oaken staff his feeble hand upholding; There he sat! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-brimmed hat.
Seemed it pitiful he should sit there,
No one sympathizing, no one heeding, None to love him for his thin gray hair,
And the furrows all so mutely pleading Age and care: Seemed it pitiful he should sit there.
It was summer, and we went to school,
Dapper country lads and little maidens; Taught the motto of the "Dunce's Stool,"—
Its grave import still my fancy ladens,— "Here's a fool!" It was summer, and we went to school.
When the stranger seemed to mark our play,
Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted, I remember well, too well, that day!
Oftentimes the tears unbidden started, Would not stay When the stranger seemed to mark our play.
One sweet spirit broke the silent spell,
O, to me her name was always Heaven! She besought him all his grief to tell,
(I was then thirteen, and she eleven,) Isabel! One sweet spirit broke the silent spell.
"Angel," said he sadly, "I am old;
Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow; Yet, why I sit here thou shalt be told."
Then his eyes betrayed a pearl of sorrow, Down it rolled! "Angel," said he sadly, "I am old.
"I have tottered here to look once more
On the pleasant scene where I delighted In the careless, happy days of yore,
Ere the garden of ray heart was blighted To the core: I have tottered here to look once more.