He just had reached the time of life,
When cares are felt by men,
But when they're strong to bear them well, -
A score of years and ten.
"Heigh ho!" says he, "and this is life,
The dream of earlier years,
In which we see so much of joy,
And naught of bitter tears.
"I've lived a half a score of years,
In search of fame and glory,
For all earth's boasted joys I've sought,
But ah! what is the story?"
The story! 'tis the same old tale,
Told long, long years ago,
But strange, each for himself must learn
This earth's a 'fleeting show.'
"The dreams of sanguine, hopeful youth,
Are chiefly dreams alone,
Whose falseness often breaks the heart,
Or turns it into stone.
Fame's or ambition's giddy height
Is only seldom gain'd,
And often half the pleasure leaves,
Just when the height's attain'd."
But still I strive, and still I hope,
And still I fight the battle,
Besieg'd by earth's artillery,
With all its horrid rattle.
Then come, ye mocking earthly foes,
E'en come like fiends of hell,
I'll fight the battle till I die,
And I will fight it well.
"I'll change my tactics quickly, tho',
Fight on a diff'rent line,
And on my waving battle flag,
I'll mark a diff'rent sign.
Until this present moment, I
Have fought in single strife,
But I will fight no more alone,
I'll get myself a wife.
We'll then fight all who dare oppose,
E'en should it be her brother,
And when we've vanquish'd all our foes,
We'll turn and fight each other."