The old man, a slight smile on his lips, rides a grey deer
A white monkey leads it by the reins, just like a human servant.
A black monkey plucks a branch of red plum blossoms,
and shoulders two baskets woven with threads of blue silk:
in the baskets are rare mushrooms of five colors.
Another monkey, coarse and unbearably ugly,
straddles the deer behind the man, putting on a wild show.
We feel as if the wind blows from the pines,
filling our ears with the roar of waves.
In the shadows of the tall trees hangs the spring moon.

Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe,
And he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three.

Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh, there's none so rare
As can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.

Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
In the harbor of Mahon;
A dead calm rested on the bay--
The waves to sleep had gone;
When little Jack, the captain's son,
With gallant hardihood,
Climbed shroud and spar--and then upon
The main-truck rose and stood!

A shudder ran through every vein--
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky!
No hold had he above--below,
Alone he stood in air!
At that far height none dared to go--
No aid could reach him there.

Old I am, yet can (I think)
Those that younger are out-drink;
When I dance no staff I take,
But a well-fill'd bottle shake:
He that doth in war delight,
Come, and with these arms let's fight;
Fill the cup, let loose a flood
Of the rich grape's luscious blood;
Old I am, and therefore may,
Like Silenus, drink and play.

1898

I

OLD Glory! say, who,
By the ships and the crew,
And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue, —
Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear
With such pride everywhere
As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air
And leap out full-length, as we're wanting you to? —
Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same,
And the honor and fame so becoming to you? —
Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red,
With your stars at their glittering best overhead —

The old gilt vane and spire receive
The last beam eastward striking;
The first shy bat to peep at eve
Has found her to his liking.
The western heaven is dull and grey,
The last red glow has followed day.

The late, last rook is housed and will
With cronies lie till morrow;
If there's a rook loquacious still
In dream he hunts a furrow,
And flaps behind a spectre team,
Or ghostly scarecrows walk his dream.

Old friend, I greet you! you are still the same:
You poisoned Socrates, you crucified
Christ, you have persecuted, mocked, denied,
Rejected God and cursed Him — in God's name.
You gave monotonously to the flame
All those (whom now you honor) when the new
Truth stung their lips — for fear it might be true;
Then reaped where they had sown and felt no shame.
Familiar voice, old adversary — hail!
Yesterday's fools are now your gods. Behold!
The generations pass and we can wait.
You slandered Shelley, Florence Nightingale;

Old Fitz, who from your suburb grange,
Where once I tarried for a while,
Glance at the wheeling Orb of change,
And greet it with a kindly smile;
Whom yet I see as there you sit
Beneath your sheltering garden-tree,
And while your doves about you flit,
And plant on shoulder, hand and knee,
Or on your head their rosy feet,
As if they knew your diet spares
Whatever moved in that full sheet
Let down to Peter at his prayers;
Who live on milk and meal and grass;
And once for ten long weeks I tried
Your table of Pythagoras,

Old England's long-expected heavy news from our fleet —
It was commanded by Lord Nelson the French for to meet —
The news it came over, through the country was spread,
That the French were defeated but Lord Nelson was dead.

Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves,
Britons never never never shall be slaves.

Not only Lord Nelson but thousands were slain,
A-fighting the French on the watery main,
To protect our own country, both honour and wealth,
But the French they would not yield until they yield unto death.

Old elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
& into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
& when dark tempests mimic thunder made
While darkness came as it would strangle light
With the black tempest of a winter night
That rocked thee like a cradle to thy root
How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
Thy strength without--while all within was mute
It seasoned comfort to our hearts desire
We felt thy kind protection like a friend