WHERE art thou, my leal "auld brither"? Where, say where, thy lowly home? I may never wend me thither; Thou to mine mayhap may'st come. Who art thou? A busy worker In the world's great labour mart, Tired with toil, of grave demeanour, And a loving, loyal heart. What art thou? A child of nature, Truthful, tuneful son of song, Trilling out thy wood-notes sweetly, Passing life's low vale along. Low the vale, yet oft the Muses Wander there, and we have heard, Sung in soft Parnassian measure, Strains that fired the listening bard. I am now an aged worker; I have toiled, and read, and sung; Oft my lyre was tuned to gladness— Ah! more oft by woe unstrung. Now my task is nearly ended, And ere long my song shall cease; Day is waning, shadows falling; Soon my eyes shall close in peace. Hast thou kindred thoughts, my brother? Dost thou muse upon the day, When the soul, released and ransomed, Cleaves the shades, and soars away? From a world of crime and sorrow, Bloody, bootless, wasteful war, Cruel drink—its woes and horrors— Oh! my soul would fly afar. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS by JOHN DONNE A THUNDERSTORM IN TOWN by THOMAS HARDY THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE SEASONS: A HYMN by JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S DREAM by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS SKY WRITING by MARY FINETTE BARBER ON A FERRY BOAT by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON ODE TO ILLUSIONS by JESSICA JEUNE CARTER ON HEARING JAMES W. RILEY READ; FROM A KENTUCKY STANDPOINT by JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER SR. |