THE OLD MAN.

Auckland Examiner, Volume IV, Issue 275, 23 June 1860, Page 3

THE OLD MAN.

The old man sat by the ingle cheek, From eve, till the dawn of day, But no kind voices to him did speak ; For they all had passed, away. His home looked sad in the sickly glare>. Which the dying embers shed, And he thought the shadows that flitted, there, Were-spirits from the dead. The ivy crept on the mouldering wall, Where the spreading elm tree grew, And the flowers had faded one and all, Which his early manhood knew. Deserted then, the favorite tree, Where his happy children played, And their watchful mother bent the knee, As her pious spirit prayed’. The old man sat by the ingle cheek; With sad and musing soul, While down his pale and furrowed cheek, The big round tears did roll. He heard the tread of passing feet, And the watchdog’s distant bay, And he thought they seemed like the voices sweet, Of those that had passed away; His musing thoughts sped on apaee, To his children loved and dear, And a-smile lit up the old man’s face, And chased the starting tear. He had led them-oft by hill and glen; Or lounged in the elmtree's shade, And-he thought he-could hear the musie then, Which their wild laughter made. As he strayed in old accustomed ways, By hill side and by stream;. Tho memory of bygone days, Came o’er him like a dream. The cherished scenes of joy and mirth, Which made his heart rejoice, Whi n-fi iends were gathered round his hearth With happy song and voice. Ah ! then was the old man’s happiest time, Ere his heart with care was bowed, Affil his spirit leaped to the glorious chime, Of music breathing loud.. But those scenes of mirth and glee, And the tread of welcome feet.,. The old man never more shall see,. And never more shall greet.. Whilst sighing, through the broken pane The shrill night winds did roam, He thought his children had co ne again, And he rose to greet them home. But his happy household band, Was one with the churchyard clay, And the old man. lifted his bony hand, And wiped the tears away. But this was the old man’s saddest night. The loneliest and the last, For when the morn displayed its light, His spirit away, had passed. It had passed from the noisy haunts of men. Where he trod in the days of yore, But the smile which lighted his features then, Shall never light them more. Then strangers entered the old man’s home, And his body they bore away, They laid him low in the silent tomb, To mix with his kindred clay. On the stilldark grave they laid him-low, But no tears for him were shed, Kind winds ray ye ever gently blow, O’er the old man’s loWely bed. George McCaul.