The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-05-29

BY SIOOkION bhAhos
An old man sat by freless hearth,
with head bent low on his sunken breast;
me- tair was tossed as in careless mirth,
~, tbo sharp gusts hurled from the chill
northwest,
shaking the frame Of the crazy door,
And drifting spow on the orumbling floor.
The stems. that led to an attic room,
Had. one by one, fed the meagre fire
Tho framework stood, in the deep'ning gloom,
Like spectre grim Ger a ruin dire.
The snow-fakes, blown through each wid'ning
ohink,
Made strange, quaint ghosts on the stairway
brink.
The shutters crealxed on their hinges old,
AS If they felt the assault unkind,
And shIeered, in the Implying cold,
,.- At each whirling blast of the piercing Wlnd'
The aged roof, of bygone day.
Shook with the palsy of decay. ,
The candle gave but fickering light
Fit emblem of the expiring flame
That struggled with the approaching night
OS the life that clung to the Worn-out frame
Of him who once was as hale and STRONG
As any in the unthinking throng'
The old man shrunk when ruder gust
Pierced through his heart, like cutting
u;s form-but the framework--stif with rust
rain.
He Rugged his old, tattered garments fast,
And mused, aloud, on the long gone past
sJust eighty years, in the past, to-day,
midst plenty--wealth-- that heart could
crave
A newborn babe, with its mother, lay,
Nestled warm and close on the breast that
gave
II life and love, and secured from harm
fapdo, limbs of itc fnablp form
ioThe wind howled then, so my mother said,
The snow-drift piled to the window-sill,
But clean and warm was the room and bed
All the dear old home, how love it still! !
Yes eighty years have flown since then;
I've outlived my threescore years and ten.
'Threescore and ten2 Twas then boy,
My young limbs strong, and my free heart
light;
roamed the felds.and the woods with Joy,
And / swan the stream with a youths de-
light,
But why all this to one who begsl
''Threescore the fire of young soul burned
With steady flame, till felt the glow
A proud ambition-'twas to be learned
That impelled newly, l can never know
And college student became
All, me how weak is my wasting frame!
So full of pride, and with buoyant hope,
lOnged to WELD the untiring pen
That would startle worlds with its strength
and scope:
Yet here sit, an unknown old man,
My life is measured by span.
'sAnd then married-but where is she
Who soothed my sorrows, and cheered my
way,
Who taught my babes, that were dear to me,
ha u1Nir 41,ax de 10
And sported with them ON the lawn?
Alas alas ! all, all are gone.
Sand where are all my well-tilled fields,
My barns, oerloaded with yellow grain,
The rich reward that Ceres yieldsH
And where the mill whose wheels complain,
With droning hum, all the long, long dayf
Alas they have passed with my friends
'FYes all are gone-not single one
Remains to cheer an unnerved old man.
MY eyes are dim, and my work is done,
And sit and shake as the rough winds fan
My shrivelled form or toss my hair,
So thin and white with old age and care.
sFYes all are gone-and these mouldering
walls
Alone remain to protect my form.
Through gaping roof the soft snow falls,
And the door scarce checks the assaulting
storm.
The candle gives but feeble Light
Yes am alone on this clustering night.
srYes am alone, and my fingers press
My aching head, as it throbs and burns
With agony at my desolateness.
All alone, alone as the wide world turns,
But brings no joy to my weary breast
Cold Death can only secure me rest"
His head sunk slowly, his voice was low
His eyes were closed, as in peaceful sleep;
His hands were folded, and soft and slow
The snow-fakes fell in pure white heap
The candle lickered-its life soon fled
The cold wind moaned-the old man was dead.