Classic Poem

Who can without a sigh behold
The bended form and furrowed face
Of one we knew in manhood's grace,
Before he thought of growing old!

The memories of the joyous prime
Come up with such a deep impress.
We make our dearest happiness
In calling back the parted time.

Dear friend! our winter closes round,
The summer gone! the winter fled,—
All objects bright and joyful dead,
And we just lingering on the ground.

How can we bear to live, if all
Is but the phantom of the past?
We will believe, far o'er the waste,
There is a life beyond recall.

Aged and honored, when the cry
Of death shall summon you away,
Leave us to hope, in that bright day,
To meet our friend, and meet for aye.

A thousand hearts in sorrow sore,
A thousand swords in mourning dressed,
A thousand voices round thy rest,—
All honor to the gallant Moore.