And he has fallen like Lucifer, never to rise again. And his dream--where now is his dream? Gone down in blood and tears with the dream of the auctioneer. And the young dream of Aldrich--where is that? I remember yet how he sat there that night fondling it, petting it; seeing it recede and ever recede; trying to be reconciled and give it up, but not able yet to bear the thought; for it had been his hope to be a horse-doctor. He also climbed high, but, like the others, fell; then fell again, and yet again, and again and again. And now at last he can fall no further. He is old now, he has ceased to struggle, and is only a poet. No one would risk a horse with him now. His dream is over. Has any boyhood dream ever been fulfilled? I must doubt it. Look at Brander Matthews. He wanted to be a cowboy. What is he to-day? Nothing but a professor in a university. Will he ever be a cowboy? It is hardly conceivable. Look at Stockton. What was Stockton's young dream? He hoped to be a barkeeper. See where he has landed. Is it better with Cable? What was Cable's young dream? To be ring-master in the circus, and swell around and crack the whip. What is he to-day? Nothing but a theologian and novelist. And Uncle Remus--what was his young dream? To be a buccaneer. Look at him now. Ah, the dreams of our youth, how beautiful they are, and how perishable! The ruins of these might-have-beens, how pathetic! The heart-secrets that were revealed that night now so long vanished, how they touch me as I give them voice! Those sweet privacies, how they endeared us to each other! We were under oath never to tell any of these things, and I have always kept that oath inviolate when speaking with persons whom I thought not worthy to hear them. Oh, our lost Youth--God keep its memory green in our hearts! for Age is upon us, with the indignity of its infirmities, and Death beckons!
TO THE ABOVE OLD PEOPLE
Sleep! for the Sun that scores another Day Against the Tale allotted You to stay, Reminding You, is Risen, and now Serves Notice--ah, ignore it while You stay!
The chill Wind blew, and those who stood before The Tavern murmured, 'Having drunk his Score, Why tarries He with empty Cup? Behold, The Wine of Youth once poured, is poured no more
'Come, leave the Cup, and on the Winter's Snow Your Summer Garment of Enjoyment throw: Your Tide of Life is ebbing fast, and it, Exhausted once, for You no more shall flow.'
While yet the Phantom of false Youth was mine, I heard a Voice from out the Darkness whine, 'O Youth, O whither gone? Return, And bathe my Age in thy reviving Wine.'
In this subduing Draught of tender green And kindly Absinth, with its wimpling Sheen Of dusky half-lights, let me drown The haunting Pathos of the Might-Have-Been.
For every nickeled Joy, marred and brief, We pay some day its Weight in golden Grief Mined from our Hearts. Ah, murmur not-- From this one-sided Bargain dream of no Relief!
The Joy of Life, that streaming through their Veins Tumultuous swept, falls slack--and wanes The Glory in the Eye--and one by one Life's Pleasures perish and make place for Pains.
Whether one hide in some secluded Nook-- Whether at Liverpool or Sandy Hook-- 'Tis one. Old Age will search him out--and He-- He--He--when ready will know where to look.
From Cradle unto Grave I keep a House OF Entertainment where may drowse Bacilli and kindred Germs--or feed--or breed Their festering Species in a deep Carouse.
Think--in this battered Caravanserai, Whose Portals open stand all Night and Day, How Microbe after Microbe with his Pomp Arrives unasked, and comes to stay.
Our ivory Teeth, confessing to the Lust Of masticating, once, now own Disgust Of Clay-Plug'd Cavities--full soon our Snags Are emptied, and our Mouths are filled with Dust.
Our Gums forsake the Teeth and tender grow, And fat, like over-riped Figs--we know The Sign--the Riggs' Disease is ours, and we Must list this Sorrow, add another Woe;
Our Lungs begin to fail and soon we Cough, And chilly Streaks play up our Backs, and off Our fever'd Foreheads drips an icy Sweat-- We scoffered before, but now we may not scoff.