THE ELDER'S
REBUKE1.
"Listen! When your hair, like mine, Takes a tint2 of silver gray; When your eyes, with dimmer shine, Watch life's bubbles float away:
When you, young man, have borne like me The weary weight of sixty-three, Then shall penance3 sore be paid For those hours so wildly squandered4; And the words that now fall dead On your ear, be deeply pondered—— Pondered and approved at last: But their virtue5 will be past!
"Glorious is the prize of Duty, Though she be 'a serious power'; Treacherous6 all the lures7 of Beauty, Thorny8 bud and poisonous flower!
"Mirth is but a mad beguiling9 Of the golden-gifted time; Love——a demon-meteor, wiling10 Heedless feet to gulfs of crime.
"Those who follow earthly pleasure, Heavenly knowledge will not lead; Wisdom hides from them her treasure, Virtue bids them evil-speed!
"Vainly may their hearts repenting11. Seek for aid in future years; Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; Virtue is not won by fears."
Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; The young man scoffed12 as he turned away, Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, Woe13 had been wrought14 by that pitiless preacher.