Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE OLD MAN'S PAEAN, by HORACE SMITH Poet's Biography First Line: Vainly, ye libellers! Your page Last Line: "young septuagenary!" Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Horatio Subject(s): Life; Time; Truth; Youth | ||||||||
VAINLY, ye libellers! your page Assaults and villifies old age, 'Tis still life's golden aera; Its pleasures, wisely understood, An unalloyed unfailing good, Its evils a chimaera. -- Time's victor, I am victor still -- Holding the privilege at will To seize him by the forelock; On me would he return the grasp, He finds there's nothing left to clasp -- Not even a single hoar lock. -- We blame the idolatrous divine Who gilds and decorates his shrine, The Deity neglected; Yet our self-adoration blind Is body-worship -- to the mind No reverence directed. Greybeards there are, who thinking art Can conquer nature, play the part Of adolescent friskers; Swindlers and counterfeits of truth, They strive to cheat us by false youth, False teeth, hair, eyebrows, whiskers. While to the frame due care I give, No masquerader will I live, To no disguises pander; But rather seek to save from blight My mind in all its pristine plight Of cheerfulness and candor. A youthful cheer sustains us old, As arrows best their course uphold Winged by a lightsome feather. -- Happy the young old man who thus Bears, like a human arbutus, Life's flowers and fruit together. To dark oblivion I bequeath The ruddy cheek, brown hair, white teeth, And eyes that brightly twinkle; -- Crows' feet may plough with furrows deep My features, if I can but keep My mind without a wrinkle. Young, I was never free -- my soul Still mastered by the stern control Of some tyrannic passion; While my poor body, servile tool! The livery wore of fop and fool, An abject slave of fashion. Thanks to thy welcome touch, old age! Which strongest chains can disengage, The bondman's manumitted: -- Released from labour, thraldom, strife, I pasture in the park of life, Unsaddled and unbitted. If drawn for the Militia -- called On Juries, where the heart is galled With crime, chicane, disaster, "Begone," I cry -- "avaunt! avast! Thank heaven! I'm sixty, and at last Am of myself free master." An actor once in every strife That agitates the stage of life, A lover, fearer, hater, Now in senility's snug box I sit, aloof from all their shocks, A passive, pleased spectator. Free-traders, Chartists, Puseyites! Your warfare, with its wrongs and rights, In me no rage arouses; I read the news, and cry, if hurt At Whigs and Tories throwing dirt, "A plague on both your houses!" Tailors! avaunt your bills and spells! When fashion plays on folly's bells, No haddock can be deafer; -- Comfort and neatness all my care, I stick to broadcloth, and forswear Both Macintosh and Zephyr. -- 'Tis but our sensual pleasures' zest That time can dull; -- our purest, best Defy decay or capture. A landscape -- book -- a work of art -- My friends, my home -- still fill my heart With undiminished rapture. Fled some few years, old Time may try Again to wake my rhyme, when I, Obeying the vagary, May thus subscribe the muse's frisk: "My pensive public -- yours! -- A BRISK YOUNG SEPTUAGENARY!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BETWEEN THE WARS by ROBERT HASS THE GOLDEN SHOVEL by TERRANCE HAYES ALONG WITH YOUTH by ERNEST HEMINGWAY THE BLACK RIVIERA by MARK JARMAN ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION by HORACE SMITH |
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