Peter John Allan - A Lament

To what shall we compare the happiness of youth?
When all things are fair unto our eyes, and the blos-
soms of the tree of life, as yet untouched, are
bright in rosy bloom.
When eyes of angels seem to smile upon us from the
flowers, and the breathing of the winds are
grateful to our lips as the kisses of the one we love.
When we wander in the cool shadow of the far-spread
night, and quaff the streaming lustre of the moon
and stars, as from a fountain of sparkling wine.
When we view all things by the light of a joyous
heart, and hope all things will be as now.

To what shall we compare the happiness of youth?
While the first pain, the earliest throb of disappoint-
ment is felt but as a thorn in a bed of roses.
Alas! the serpent pleasure attracts but to sting.
The roses of joy fade and fall away, and the thorns of
care are yet upon the branches of life.
Lo! the winter is with us-it will be always winter
now. Spring comes not again to the aged.

To what shall we compare the happiness of youth?
To a star that dies on the bosom of morning, that
sinks in the flood of day.
It is like a violet when the east wind bloweth.
Like a bark that is chased and struck down by Euro-
clydon, the mighty hunter of ocean.
Like a lofty tower, like a beautiful tower of fine
marble in the arms of the earthquake, dashed
down for ever.
Such is the happiness of youth.

Peter John Allan

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