But these that lightly vote away the glories of the past—
The joys that dream-like haunt me with the merry matin chimes
I loved so in my boyhood, and shall doat on to the last.
“There still is much of laughter, and a measure of old cheer:
The ivy wreaths, if scanty, are as verdant as of yore:
And still the same kind greeting for the universal ear:
But, to me, for all their wishing, 'tis a ‘merry’ feast no more!”
I said: and came an answer from the stars to which I sighed—
Those stars that lit the vigil of the favor'd shepherd band.
And 'twas as if again the heavens open'd deep and wide,