THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. I. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not die ; You came to us so readily, Old year, you shall not die. II. He lieth still he doth not move : He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, Old year, you shall not go. III. He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; But though his eyes are waxing dim, He was a friend to me. Old year, you shall not die ; We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die. IV. He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he'll be dead before. Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro : The cricket chirps: the light burns low : 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you : What is it we can do for you ? Speak out before you die. VI. His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, To J. S. I. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentle mould. 11. And me this knowledge bolder made, Or else I had not dared to flow In these words toward you, and invade III. 'Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost : Those we love first are taken first. |