Those years our lives can ne'er replace!

Sweet lips are those that never turn
A cruel word; dear eyes that lead
The heart on in a blithe concern;
White hand of her we did not wed;

Fair hair or dark, that falls along
A form that never shrinks with time;
Bright image of a realm of song,
Standing beside our years of prime;--

When you shall go, then may we know
The heart is dead, the man is old.
Life can no other charm bestow
When girls we might have loved turn cold!




"NEITHER!"


So ancient to myself I seem,
I might have crossed grave Styx's stream
A year ago;--
My word, 'tis so;--
And now be wandering with my sires
In that rare world we wonder o'er,
Half disbelieve, and prize the more!