Classic Poem

La bonne vieille.

Thou, my fair mistress, wilt be growing old;
Thou wilt grow old, and I shall be no more:
Time seems for me, so swiftly hath he rolled,
The days I've lost to reckon doubly o'er.
Survive me, thou! but let thine age of pain
Still, still my lessons faithfully retain:
And, good old dame, in chimney-corner seated,
Still be thy lover's songs by thee repeated!

Beneath thy wrinkles when the eye would trace
Charms, that to me could inspiration lend —
Fond of soft tales, when some of youthful race
Bid thee describe thy much-regretted friend;
Paint thou my love, if thou canst paint it true,
Ardent — nay maddened — nay even jealous too;
And, good old dame, in chimney-corner seated,
Still be thy lover's songs by thee repeated!

" Was he worth loving? " one perchance would know —
" I loved him well, " thou wilt not blush to cry:
" Signs of a mean, base spirit did he show? "
" Never! " methinks I hear thy proud reply
Ah! say that he, to love and feeling prone,
Of joyous lute could softer make the tone;
And, good old dame, in chimney-corner seated,
Still be thy lover's songs by thee repeated!

Thou, whose warm tears for France I taught to stream,
Let new-made heroes' sons fail not to hear
That Hope and Glory were my chosen theme;
That my sad country I with these would cheer
To them recall, how the dread north wind's might
Could twenty harvests of our laurels blight;
And, good old dame, in chimney-corner seated,
Still be thy lover's songs by thee repeated!

Ah, dearly loved one, when my poor renown
Shall haply soothe the sorrows age must bring;
When thy weak hand my portrait still shall crown
With the fresh flowers of each revolving Spring;
Then lift thine eyes to the world we may not see,
Where we for aye shall re-united be;
And, good old dame, in chimney-corner seated,
Still be thy lover's songs by thee repeated!