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ORDSWORTH. 282. THE FOUNTAIN. _A Conversation._ We talk'd with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke And gurgled at our feet. "Now, Matthew!" said I "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border song, or catch That suits a summer's noon. "Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade That half-mad thing of witty rhymes Which you last April made!" In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old man replied, The gray-hair'd man of glee: "No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirr'd, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. "Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away, Than what it leaves behind. "The blackbird amid leafy trees-- The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. "With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: "But we are press'd by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. "If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own,-- It is the man of mirth. "My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains: "And Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!" At this he grasp'd my hand and said, "Alas! that cannot be." We rose up from the fountain-side;
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