OLD AGE AND YOUTH.
BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.
Old Age sits bent on his iron-grey steed; Youth rides erect on his courser black; And little he thinks in his reckless speed Old Age comes on, in the very same track.
And on Youth goes, with his cheek like the rose, And his radiant eyes, and his raven hair; And his laugh betrays how little he knows, Of Age, and his sure companion Care.
The courser black is put to his speed, And Age plods on, in a quieter way, And little Youth thinks that the iron-grey steed Approaches him nearer, every day!
Though one seems strong as the forest tree, The other infirm, and wanting breath; If ever Youth baffles Old Age, 'twill be By rushing into the arms of Death!
On his courser black, away Youth goes, The prosing sage may rest at home; He'll laugh and quaff, for well he knows That years must pass ere Age can come.
And since too brief are the daylight hours For those who would laugh their lives away; With beaming lamps, and mimic flowers, He'll teach the night to mock the day!
Again he'll laugh, again he'll feast, His lagging foe he'll still deride, Until—when he expects him least— Old Age and he stand side by side!