Page:Landon in The New Monthly 1826.pdf/4



between the meeting Years,
 * The coming and the past,

And I ask'd of the future one,
 * Wilt thou be like the last?

The same in many a sleepless night,
 * In many an anxious day?

Thank Heaven! I have no prophet's eye
 * To look upon thy way!

For Sorrow like a phantom sits
 * Upon the last Year's close.

How much of grief, how much of ill,
 * In its dark breast repose!

Shadows of faded Hopes flit by,
 * And ghosts of Pleasures fled:

How have they chang'd from what they were!
 * Cold, colourless, and dead.

I think on many a wasted hour,
 * And sicken o'er the void;

And many darker are behind,
 * On worse than nought employ'd.

Oh Vanity! alas, my heart!
 * How widely hast thou stray'd,

And misused every golden gift
 * For better purpose made!

I think on many a once-loved friend
 * As nothing to me now;

And what can mark the lapse of time
 * As does an alter'd brow?

Perhaps 'twas but a careless word
 * That sever'd Friendship's chain;

And angry Pride stands by each gap,
 * Lest they unite again.

Less sad, albeit more terrible,
 * To think upon the dead,

Who quiet in the lonely grave
 * Lay down the weary head.

For faith, and hope, and peace, and trust,
 * Are with their happier lot:

Though broken is their bond of love,
 * At least we broke it not.—

Thus thinking of the meeting years,
 * The coming and the past,

I needs must ask the future one:
 * Wilt thou be like the last?

There came a sound, but not of speech,
 * That to my thought replied,

"Misery is the marriage-gift
 * That waits a mortal bride:

But lift thine hopes from this base earth,
 * This waste of worldly care,

And wed thy faith to yon bright sky,
 * For Happiness dwells there!"