It shocks to see the brightest past return. Some good things linger when their date is fled, These honour as you do the hoary head, And treat them tenderly for what they were, But dream not to detain them always there. The living good the present moments bring To this devote thyself and chiefly cling; And for the novel schemes that round thee rise, Watch them with hopeful and indulgent eyes, Treat them as children, love them, mark their ways, And blame their faults and dole out cautious praise, And give them space, yet limit them with rule, And hold them down and keep them long at school: Yet know in these is life most fresh and strong, And that to these at last shall all belong. Be proved and present good thy safe-guard still, And thy one quarrel be with present ill. Learn by degrees a steady onward stride With sleepless circumspection for thy guide. And since so thick the stumbling-blocks are placed, You are not safe but in renouncing haste; Permit not so your zeal to be repressed, But make the loss up by renouncing rest. WITCHCRAFT. I SPOSE ’tis I—and yet, so strange I feel, I doubt if I’m all right. Only since Tuesday last this change, And this is Friday night. On Monday, life was very drear, My missus was _so_ cross, ’Cos how I’d spilt a jug of beer— She, who calls money dross. She thinks herself a very saint, ‘Cos she reads prayers to us; But Sal the cook, and I, we ain’t Imposed on by her fuss. ’Tis not the prayers I think is bad, But those who are so good Should act as if they feelings had Towards we—who are flesh and blood. But _now_ if missus ’gins to scold I do not care a straw, For Tom, on Tuesday morning, told Me not to mind her jaw. I now can dance, and laugh, and sing, Altho’ I work all day. _Surely_ it is a funny thing, I’m all at once so gay. All ’cos Tom’s in love with me, And I’m sure he says what’s true. _He_ says love’s a mystery Which in Eden’s garden grew. _I_ call love witchcraft, that I do; It’s made me quite another; Instead of being Mary Roe, I may be any other. Missus thinks I’m going mad, I work with such good glee; ’Tis only that my heart is glad ’Cos Tom’s in love with me. I wish some man would missus love; She might be kinder then. She says her ’fections are above, ’Cos sinful are all men. If she but had the chance, I b’lieve, She’d ’cept the first with glee, And would not any longer grieve O’er man’s depravity. She’d be as different as I— Oh, laws! what fun ’twould be; For missus is a very guy, ’Twixt you and Tom and me. P’rhaps love would make her young once more, And change her temper too, For certain, love has witchcraft’s power, All things he likes, to do.