The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1867-02-05

And vet tonight the years he heavy
GA my soul and they seem like the bur
den of ago a. ! come up - thescenes II
Ipy youth.
Nothing looks changed here. The
harvest moon gathers the old house Ia
= q its folds just as il did then the tan
cherry trees rustic oyer my head tho
curant bushes make their dark green
line where the fence has gone to decay.
and The ounce shrubs lnttor IN the
soft wind
And another wind blowB mp from the
coasts Of my youth Oh, FOR the old
boy-hc that stood here, and dream
cd It's dreams, and made is plans, twen-
ty-fye years ago
II was 70 be n rich man !" | said
standing here, ii the strong confidence
Of youth The world says | am that
now ! would toll you, too, that have
an honorable name hanks to the
prayers Of the old mo,hor who sleeps
under httle pillow on green grasses
bg the willows yonder
/ wonder il she can lock down and
$50 hcr boy standing here, leaning on
tie 90 gate tonight?
she has gone to another house fair-
er ono than / vas to make her. and
which still comes back 10 me in visions
OF the night sometimes, with Amy's
sweet face shining by the window, and
my mother sitting there with her black
dress and snowy cap
am not a man much given to sentl-
ment, or romance Of any sort.
Years of hard graphing with fortune
have oyeTgrown all that, and they call
me stern, and keen, and practical, in the
world whore have to deal with facts,
and men, and the dew Of my youth has
vanished long ago still the old memo
ries seem to melt my heart into the heart
Of a little child as stand here, and look
down The highway oftho years up which
/ Lave travelled again to this night.
Little Amy, with the chubby figure
and the merry face, far away from here
tonight, stalwart boys and fair-haired
girls call the faded inatton mother, as
others call me Father =
And little Lucy Ames? Searching
among the grave out yoldcr, came up
on small granite monument, and in
the gray stol was craven
Lucy e5ed teeay'
Is that all? Lucy, with the golden
hair, and the eyes like fresh yiolets
Standing here Tonight, amidst the
lost visions ard hopes Of my youth, !
could almost smile derisiyely on what
men say Of me- that | had been a "suc-
cess in iife.' 1t is true | have grappled
brayely with circumstances; / have hewn
ont with my own right hand path to
fortune. But il looks small to night,
coming back here and stQ1ding by the
old~gate With the rusty hinges, aud
LOOKING at the old house, beneath whose
kw roof little children sleep tonight,
and on whose doorstep other children
play oh, the fortune looks small to me
now, and it seems as though would al
most give it all to feel as used to when
| went through the cool meadow grass,
and up into the hill pastures, to drive
the cows home
You have not changed, old house that
] left thirty years ago standing in the
moonlight, but you cannot give back to
me the strong heart, the bounding pulses
Of my youth.
The birds sing, tho grasses shiver, the
trees move in JOY about you, but in place
of the strong, restless; eager youth that
went out from you, a man worn, bur
dened, wearied, with the struggle, comes
back as pilgrims go to worship at old
shrines, and there comes now an echo
up from the deep places Of his soul Of
the words that, VANITY of vanities,
saith the preacher, all is yanity"