quote · Legacy record

Once on a time, when sunny May Was kissing up the April showers, I saw fair Childhood hard at play Upon a bank of blushing flowers; Happy—he knew not whence or how— And smiling,—who could choose but love him? For not more glad than Childhood’s brow, Was the blue heaven that beamed above him. Old Time, in most appalling wrath, That valley’s green repose invaded; The brooks grew dry upon his path, The birds were mute, the lilies faded. But Time so swiftly winged his flight, In haste a Grecian tomb to batter, That Childhood watched his paper kite, And knew just nothing of the matter.... Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Pale, cypress-crowned, Night’s awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup Full to the brim of bitter water: Poor Childhood bade her tell her name; And when the beldame muttered, “Sorrow,” He said, “Don’t interrupt my game; I’ll taste it, if I must, to-morrow.” ... Then Wisdom stole his bat and ball, And taught him with most sage endeavour, Why bubbles rise and acorns fall, And why no toy may last for ever. She talked of all the wondrous laws Which Nature’s open book discloses, And Childhood, ere she made a pause Was fast asleep among the roses. Sleep on, sleep on! Oh! Manhood’s dreams Are all of earthly pain or pleasure, Of Glory’s toils, Ambition’s schemes, Of cherished love, or hoarded treasure: But to the couch where Childhood lies A more delicious trance is given, Lit up by rays from seraph eyes, And glimpses of remembered Heaven!

Once on a time, when sunny May Was kissing up the April showers, I saw fair Childhood hard at play Upon a bank of blushing flowers; Happy—he knew not whence or how— And smiling,—who could choose but love him? For not more glad than Childhood’s brow, Was the blue heaven that beamed above him. Old Time, in most appalling wrath, That valley’s green repose invaded; The brooks grew dry upon his path, The birds were mute, the lilies faded. But Time so swiftly winged his flight, In haste a Grecian tomb to batter, That Childhood watched his paper kite, And knew just nothing of the matter.... Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Pale, cypress-crowned, Night’s awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup Full to the brim of bitter water: Poor Childhood bade her tell her name; And when the beldame muttered, “Sorrow,” He said, “Don’t interrupt my game; I’ll taste it, if I must, to-morrow.” ... Then Wisdom stole his bat and ball, And taught him with most sage endeavour, Why bubbles rise and acorns fall, And why no toy may last for ever. She talked of all the wondrous laws Which Nature’s open book discloses, And Childhood, ere she made a pause Was fast asleep among the roses. Sleep on, sleep on! Oh! Manhood’s dreams Are all of earthly pain or pleasure, Of Glory’s toils, Ambition’s schemes, Of cherished love, or hoarded treasure: But to the couch where Childhood lies A more delicious trance is given, Lit up by rays from seraph eyes, And glimpses of remembered Heaven!

Approximate author period: c. 1820 AD · industrial