270 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



the world, to philosophic eyes, has been 

 a new world, and Hehnholtz is dead. 

 Dead ! What is that ? 



One generation passeth away, and another 

 cometh : 



It is time to be old, 

 To take in sail : 



Ah ! but is it just that ? Let us see that 

 our garments have a fitting modesty of 

 colour and form ; let us withdraw to a quiet 

 corner and release the younger spirits which 

 cannot brook long confinement. 



On with the dance ! let joy be nm-onnned ; 

 No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure 



meet 

 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. 



But when the passing years have been 

 accepted, and the sceptre has been surren 

 dered into other hands, though we be old, 

 the world is yet young, and it has no re 

 tired list. 



As the bird trims her to the gale, 

 I trim myself to the storm of time, 

 I man the rudder, reef the sail, 

 Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime. 



It is not well to be always analyzing one s 

 sensations and one s character ; seeds will 



