THE LAY OF THE "ANCIENT."
As I sit in my chambers, old and bare,
That look on the busy street,
And hear the roar of the town below,
And the tramp of hurrying feet,
I think, as I smoke my well-worn pipe,
Ensconced in my old arm-chair,
Of the days that have passed, like the sigh of the blast,
When the world was fresh and fair.