The Lapse of Time

The Lapse of Time

Lament who will, in fruitless tears,

The speed with which our moments fly:

I sigh not over vanished years,

But watch the year that hastens by.

Look how they come! - a mingled crowd

Of bright and dark, but rabid days;

Beneath them, like a summer cloud,

The wide world changes as I gaze.

What! grieve that time has brought so soon

The sober age of manhood on?

As idly might I weep at noon,

To see the blush of morning gone.

Could I give up the hopes that glow

In prospect like Elysian isles?

And let the charming future go,

With all her promises and smiles?

The Future! - cruel were the power

Whose doom would tear thee from my heart;

Thou sweet'ner of the present hour,

We cannot - no, we will not part.

O, leave me still the rapid flight,

That makes the charming seasons gay;

The grateful speed that brings the night,

The swift and glad return of day.

The months that touch, with added grace,

This little prattler on my knee;

In whose arch eyes and speaking face,

New meaning every hour I see.

The years that o'er each sister land

Shall shift the country of my birth;

And nurse her strength, till she shall stand,

The pride and pattern of the earth.

Till younger commonwealths, for aid,

Shall cling about her ample robe;

And from her frown shall shrink, afraid,

The crown'd oppressors of the globe.

True, time will seam and blanch my brow;

Well, I shall set with aged men,

And my good glass will tell me how

A grizzly beard becomes me then.

And should no foul dishonor lie

Upon my head, when I am gray,

Love yet shall watch my fading eye,

And smooth the path of my decay.

Then haste thee, Time, 'tis kindness all

That speeds thy winged feet so fast;

Thy pleasures stay not till they pall,

And all thy pains are quickly past.

Thou fliest, and bearest away our woes;

And as thy shadowy train depart,

The memory of sorrow grows

A lighter burden on the heart.

W.C. Byrant (William Cullen Bryant )

New Series 2:17, p. 68

1841.06.26