I do not see her—the old wife there—
Shriveled, and haggard, and gray;
But I look on her blooming, soft, and fair,
As she was on her wedding-day.
I do not see you, daughters and sons,
In the likeness of women and men;
But I kiss you now as I kissed you once
My fond little children then.
And as my own grandson rides on my knee,
Or plays with his hoop or kite,
I can well recollect I was merry as he,
The bright-eyed little wight!
'Tis not long since—it can not be long,
My years so soon were spent,
Since I was a boy, both straight and strong.
But now I am feeble and bent.
A dream, a dream—it is all a dream!
A strange, sad dream, good sooth;
For old as I am, and old as I seem,
My heart is full of youth.
Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told,
And ear hath not heard it sung,
How buoyant and bold, tho' it seem to grow old,
Is the heart forever young!
Forever young—though life's old age,
Hath every nerve unstrung;
The heart, the heart is a heritage,
That keeps the old man young!
That is a good story told of an empty coxcomb, who, after having engrossed the attention of the company for some time with himself and his petty ailments, observed to the celebrated caustic Dr. Parr, that he could never go out without catching cold in his head.
"No wonder," said the doctor, rather pettishly; "you always go out without any thing in it!"