The Fountain. A Conversation. WE talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true; A pair of friends, though I was young, We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. "Now, Matthew," said I, " let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch, Or of the church-clock and the chimes In silence Matthew lay, and eyed "Down to the vale this streamlet steers, How merrily it goes! "Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. My eyes are dim with childish tears, Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay; Than what it leaves behind. The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free. But we are pressed by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore. If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. My days, my friend, are almost gone; My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs And, Matthew, for thy children dead, At this he grasped my hand, and said, We rose up from the fountain-side, Of the green sheep-track did we glide, And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewildered chimes. |