IX

" Hark! outside the door they greet
Your heir riding up the street!
There the Morris Dancers meet,
In their ribboned shirts and shoes,
And sleeves slashed with crimson hues,
Brass bells on their knees and feet.
There the Friar's aspect bland,
With his hood and shaven crown,
Corded belt and russet gown;
His bead chaplet in his hand,
With his wallet stuffed, and eye
Twinkling through its corner sly.
There the Minstrel, with his tabor,
And his tabor-stick and pipe,
Calls up each rejoicing neighbour
For the song and revel ripe.
Capped and plumed with jerkin blue,
Cloak and hose of crimson hue;
By his side his gilt sword swinging,
And his silvered shield is ringing.
Motley follows; o'er his head
Coxcomb hood and feathers spread,
With the ass-ears flourished high,
As he struts in triumph by!
Light bells tinkling as he goes,
From his head, and arms, and toes.
There they pass, crowds shouting after,
Jester, joke, and hollowest laughter!
And the bells, their triumph telling,
For your doom, alas! are knelling.

X

" Yet, Old Man! I will not leave you;
Look not with distrustful brow!
At such hour could I deceive you?
Or forsake, or grieve you now,
While your lamp's last gleam is quivering,
And the snows without fall fast,
And your aged limbs are shivering
As howls by the wintry blast;
And your eyes are fixed and dim:
Cold and motionless each limb;
Your low breath no more I catch
As I bend above you — hark!
The New Year stands beside the door:
His hand presses on the latch! —
He advances through the dark;
Your closed eyes shall see him never,
Though his step is on your floor;
Then adieu, Old Man! for ever,
And adieu for evermore!"