The Evansville daily journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ia. [i.e. Ind.]) 1848-1862, 1850-01-03
OF THE
EVAN SVILLE JOURNAL,

The dark-browed train of years long past and
gone
Rises before me pale with vanished woes,
That brood upon their foreheads like black
Clouds
The joys they knew are persisted long ago,
For memory of bliss fades with passing breath
Like flowers reflected in brooklet's wave,
While sorrow lingers-growing darker still
With every day that glides into the past.
Before me come the phantoms of dead years
Years that knew and loved-pale, Pickering dim
As spectre shadows from some midnight lamp
Growing upon the wall. The first are there
With but memory ofvanished Joys,
Dear lingering recollections that still come,
Though all forgotten till the chord is touched
That thrills with childhood's pleasures--but no
grief.
Then comes a graver train-upon whose brow
Are sterner thoughts-yet mingled with sweet
Of love-and hope-and trustful Charity
And sweet, soft sadness, fsuch as lovers feel.
And feeling, deem pleasure. Then comes one
With brow contracted, las if suddenlpain.
And anguish uncontrolled, had fallen there
Then one upon whose forehead, settled gloom
With dark suspicion broods-and brocdin o sheds
A gloom Ger all
Lessening in distance, there
They stand, like sentinels, upon times tomb,
Guarding the past-and looking into life,
Like watchers waiting for each coming year
o take his stand among them. And one comes
With slow regretful tread-as 10th to leave
The sportive HOUSEKEEPING with Fancy's wreatb
That glide around his footsleps-with glad songs
And shouts of mirth to hail the rosy child
That follows close behind.
The Old Year creeps
On to his death-but yet no requiem
OF lonely grief and mourning strains of woe
Wall on the haZy air. The calm cold Moon
Looks with unfeeling eye upon the hour
mat rings his knell. The midnight Winds how
Like some fierce demon as the stroke down falls
And shrek In trlumph-Time rolls on unmoveds
Another Year strides on upon his way
And one more phantom looks from those pale.
ranks
Whose dark eyes watching are eternal there.
The Year is dead-here let us pause and thin.
Let us recall the memories of those things
Whose memories only are around us now.
one little year-and nations have fallen-died,
And mankind weeps in sympathy. The cry
" Freedom yanqushed is just dying now
On the worlds ear-while Liberty
Has raised her voice as if in mockery
OF her own name on Gallias kinglv throne.
Rome-wlth her pontiffs and their hoary rule
has tottered 10 her base-and crumbling fast
TO mouldy ruins is that mighty power
That once babe Monarchs trembe.
On and on
Slowly and surely-with steady march
Creeps the firm foot of Progress-'tis the kew
10 the past steps OF time-and those to come
Mans mind is boundless to his God alone
And will not be wlthstood-and as i, goes
Stronger and steadier in its onward march
The hoary superstitions of old times
Crumbe beneath its touch, And with them fan
Full many cherished legend Of our youth,
Whose fancitul creations we have loved
As though they were most real Oh where are nov
The Joyous fairies of whose games and pranks
On moonlight nights in some wild forest dell
B ben the mowers oerhanging, and the ferns
w hose seed they loved and charmed-we loved TO
hear?
Where are the wonders of our boyhood's time
Where the wild romance ofthose dreaming wears
The brilliant visions, with their griefless bliss
That then were constant with us? All are gonet
Now boys are men-could men be boys again
Perhaps, the world were happy-if not wise
But yet, it were thoughtless happiness, and not
such
As should be felt by minds like thinking mans.
Life and the world are problems all must solve.
Or none can hve-and not summers chase
Gaily in blooming fields for pleasures dreams
That fit like butterflies, before the grasp.
Alas, each year imprints sterner stamp
On every brow IN passlng-as the thoughts
WANDERERS aimless as ours wander now.
Over the faded, and the fading dreams
OF bliss to come, that by-gone hours have known
Death is on ai-on all things saving one
Mind IN Its mighty power is deathleSs-and the
woes
That sting almost to madness-are but spears
10 gOdd on 10 the emu. LARK peStllence
Blackens the earth with gloom, a few short month
While men are diving as if stricken down,
By mans wild thundeFs. Many a face thar
smiled
Brightly and gladly but an hour ago
Lies cold and hvid in the ghastiness
OfDeaths embrace-and yet-a month gone by
And they are all forgotten, Nations fall and rise,
And die-the world rolls on INCREASINGLY:
And yet one little year shall see them all!
Oh we'll mayst thou
Thou grim old Year. be numbered with the dead,
Like dark stain upon the page of Time
Thou saw'st the pestilence that has bowed our
hearts,
And stricken many hopes-thou saw'st the throne
From whence where Numbered the dread churehs
curse
At which the Kings of mighty Empires quailed,
Totter and fall-never 10 rise again!
Thou saw'st a Nation-small, but strong and
brave,
Stand like rock the brunt of mighty powers
Yet fall to rise no more Oh we'll may'st thou
Then grim old year, be numbered with the dead!
And we must hail the New Year as he comes,
Trusting in Him above-that DER our heads
This year may glide more smoothly!
And now farewell
Ye who have fingered DER these simple lines
And learn from them-as well as from the page
Of Nature and her God-that We should live
AS though each hour might bring dark Azraei
To summon to the tomb-and to die
That his dread call may summon ye to God!