Classic Poem

Fair weather for your journey! whither away
At such long seven-league strides; friend Harry?

Harry

Friend?
The name is old and often used. Forgive me!
I am in haste & I must be rude: —

Jack

— What, Hal?
Nay, nay, you shall not go & I will speak.
What! we who thrash'd the usher at our school,
And robb'd the orchard in the owlish moon:
We who bore stripes, gave blows, & were at games
Great rival chiefs. We who in [riper hours del .]
Made love to one dear girl just twenty-five
When we were ardent fifteen — and I hear
She gave her husband a small crowing thing
Last month of May! sweet Julia Pineney [?]! — we
Old comrades & tried friends part thus? Come, look,
Look the old look! What have I done? O Harry?
How I detest this coldness.