My Lost Youth And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, 427 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thundered o'er the tide! In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods; And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods. And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. And the words of that fatal song Come over me like a chill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts " Strange to me are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] "VOICE OF THE WESTERN WIND" VOICE of the western wind! Thou singest from afar, Rich with the music of a land Where all my memories are; But in thy song I only hear The echo of a tone Star of the western sky! Thou beamest from afar, With lustre caught from eyes I knew Whose orbs were each a star; The Shoogy-Shoo But, oh, those orbs-too wildly bright No more eclipse thine own, And never shall I find the light Of days forever flown! 429 Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] "LANGSYNE, WHEN LIFE WAS BONNIE" LANGSYNE, when life was bonnie, An' a' the skies were blue, Though snaws cam' happin' doon, Langsyne, when life was bonnie, The auld love-laden tune; Langsyne, when life was bonnie, The leaves were green wi' simmer, For autumn wasna there. But listen hoo they rustle, Wi' an eerie, weary soun', For noo, alas, 'tis winter That gangs a twalmonth roun'. Alexander Anderson [1845-1909] THE SHOOGY-SHOO I Do be thinking, lassie, of the old days now; For oh! your hair is tangled gold above your Irish brow; And oh! your eyes are fairy flax! no other eyes so blue; Come nestle in my arms, and swing upon the shoogy-shoo. Sweet and slow, swinging low, eyes of Irish blue, When meadow-larks would singing be in old Glentair, shoo. Ah well, the world goes up and down, and some sweet day Its shoogy-shoo will swing us two where sighs will pass away; So nestle close your bonnie head, and close your eyes so true, And swing with me, and memory, upon the shoogy-shoo. Sweet and slow, swinging low, eyes of Irish blue, BABYLON "We shall meet again in Babylon." I'm going softly all my years in wisdom if in pain- The dancing feet in Babylon, of those who took my floor. I'm going silent all my years, but garnered in my brain Is that swift wit which used to flash and cut them like a sword And now I hear in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The foolish tongues in Babylon, of those who took my word. I'm going lonely all my days, who was the first to crave The second, fierce, unsteady voice, that struggled to speak free And now I watch in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The pallid loves in Babylon of men who once loved me. The Triumph of Forgotten Things 431 I'm sleeping early by a flame as one content and gray, moon, I breathe the breath of Babylon, of Babylon, of Babylon, The scent of silks in Babylon that floated to a tune. A band of years has flogged me out-an exile's fate is mine, To sit with mumbling crones and still a heart that cries with youth. But, oh, to walk in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The happy streets in Babylon, when once the dream was truth. THE ROAD OF REMEMBRANCE THE old wind stirs the hawthorn tree; Northward the road runs to the sea, And past the House of Spring. The folk go down it unafraid; Now, other children crowd the stair, Out in the quiet road we stand, Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856 THE TRIUMPH OF FORGOTTEN THINGS Banished the heart they can no longer fill, |