by Frances Brown.
Originally published in Hood's Magazine and Comic Miscellany (Andrew Spottiswoode) vol.1 #1 (Jan 1845).
'Twas a joyous day; for the Nations hailed
The dawn of another year;
Though the winds through the leafless woodlands wailed,
And the flowers lay cold and sere:
Yet the flowers of a future Summer sprung
In the trusting hearts whose hopes were young,
And the wreaths of memory's verdure hung
Around the past, to cheer
The darkened desart of lonely ago
With the treasures of life's last heritage.
There met, that eve, in a stately hall,
A fair and a joyous throng
Where oft the voice of the festival
And the sound of bridal song
Had gathered their country's brave and fair;
And oft had the princely parent pair
Rejoiced o'er their blooming branches there
That grew so fair and strong
But never before such joy was known
As now on that New Year's banquet shone.
For one who had wandered long, and been
By the household miss'd and mourned,
In the joyous light of that festive scene,
To his early home returned.
For he went in early youth, but came
With a warrior's strength, and a brighter fame
Than ever shone on his father's name;
And a weary heart, that yearned
To reach the home which had been to him
A beacon whose light could ne'er grow dim.
He came; and the smiles and tears were o'er,
For the joy was blent with tears
That welcomed his wandering steps once more
To the home of his childhood's years.
And the feast was spread, and the hall was gay,
As well befitted that festal day;
And the minstrels poured a pleasant lay
To the joyous dancers' ears;
But the only spirit that seemed to grieve
Was his who had reached his home that eve.
"And why is it thus with thee, my son?"
Said his gentle mother then;
"For thy toils are past, and thy laurels won.
Thou hast found thy home again;
And our hearth still burns with as bright a glow
As it shed on the years of long ago,
For it hath no shadow of death or woe.
And our halls have known no stain;
Then why art thou sad and silent here.
When we welcome thee with the new born-Year?"
The wanderer gazed on his father's hall,
But bis gaze was sad and strange,
As he said, "I have found nor stain nor pall.
But my heart hath found a change;
For the dark pine woods that murmur round
My early haunts, have the same deep sound.
And the hills with a misty glory crowned.
Where my childhood loved to range,
They are still the same,—no change hath past
On them or theirs since I trod them last.
"But oh! there's snow on my father's hair,
And age on my mother's brow.
For I left its marble smooth and fair.
But I find it furrowed now:
And my brothers, where are the bright-haired boys
That shared in my early sports and joys.
And why do these stately warriors rise
To greet my steps, and how
Hath the joy that flashed in my sister's gaze
Been dimmed by the shadows of darker days?
"And yet while on these mine eyes can trace
The path of the passing years.
There is one on whose early faded face
They can only look through tears:
I have seen the glory of earth decay,
And mine own bright visions pass away,
Like a lingering planet's setting ray,
When the morning sun appears;
And beauty perish, and love grow strange,
But I knew not that that bright face could change.
"Ah! is it thus that I come at last
With my dearly purchased fame,
When the light of youth from my home hath past,
And the brightness from my dream!
Oh, Time, thou hast made my roses old,
And the Altar-Place of my memory cold
But reclaim the glory and the gold,
And leave my home the same
As last it was, when in gladness here
We met to welcome the New-Born Year."
And hast thou not grown a stranger, too,
For thy thoughts and words are strange,
Ah, Time to his changeless course is true,
But our human footsteps range."
So spake the Mother, but her eye
Seemed seeking the light of a brighter sky;
For she said, "In the land of eternity
There are years that bring no change;
And a mingled lesson of hope and fear
Was taught at the welcome of that New Year."
Stanolar,
Dec. 16th, 1843.