Classic Poem

“O LD man, old man, thy locks are grey,
“And the winter winds blow cold;
“Why wander abroad on thy weary way,
“And leave thy home's warm fold?”
“The winter winds blow cold, 'tis true,
“And I am old to roam;
“But I may wander the wide world through,
“Ere I shall find my home.”

“And where do thy children loiter so long?
“Have they left thee, thus old and forlorn,
“To wander wild heather and hills among,
“While they quaff from the lusty horn?”
“My children have long since sunk to rest,
“To that rest which I would were my own;
“I have seen the green turf placed over each breast,
“And read each loved name on the stone.”

“Then haste to the friends of thy youth, old man,
“Who loved thee in days of yore;
“They will warm thy old blood with the foaming can,
“And sorrow shall chill it no more.”
“To the friends of my youth in far distant parts,
“Over moor, over mount, I have sped;
“But the kind I found in their graves, and the hearts
“Of the living were cold as the dead.”

The old man's cheek as he spake grew pale;
On the grass green sod he sank,
While the evening sun o'er the western vale
Set midst clouds and vapours dank.
On the morrow that sun in the eastern skies
Rose ruddy and warm and bright;
But never again did that old man rise
From the sod which he press'd that night.