The Olden Time.

O! well I mind the olden time,
    The sweet, sweet olden time;
When I did long for eve all day,
    And watch'd upon the new-mown grass
    The shadows slowly eastward pass,
And o'er the meadows glide away,
    Till I could steal, with heart elate,
    Unto the little cottage-gate,
In the sweet, sweet olden time.

O! well I mind the olden time,
    The sweet, sweet olden time;
How all the night I long'd for morn,
    And bless'd the thrush whose early note
    The silver chords of silence smote
With greetings to the day new-born;
    For then again, with heart elate,
    I hoped to meet her at the gate,
In the sweet, sweet olden time.

But now hath pass'd the olden time,
    That sweet, sweet olden time;
And there is neither morn nor night
    That bears a freight of hopes and fears,
    To bless my soul in coming years
With any harvest of delight;
    For never more, with heart elate,
    Can I behold her at the gate,
As in the sweet, sweet olden time.

For the sake of that dear olden time,
    That sweet, sweet olden time,
I look forth ever sadly still,
    And hope the time may come again,
    When Life hath borne its meed of pain,
And stoutly struggled up the hill,
When I once more, with heart elate,
    May meet her at _another_ gate,
    Beyond the blighting breath of fate,
That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time.

Walter R. Cassels

Walter R. Cassels was a British poet and author primarily known for his collection of religious poetry, "Supernatural Religion" published in the late 19th century. Though the work was initially published anonymously, it sparked considerable controversy and debate over its skeptical views on Christianity and the supernatural. Cassels' style is marked by thought-provoking themes and meticulous craftsmanship, placing him among notable literary figures of his time.

Walter R. Cassels

A Withered Rose-Bud

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Vulcan.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Sonnet. Datur Hora Quieti.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Song.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

English

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    This day it was--Ah! years ago,
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Song.

The days are past, the days are past,
    When we did meet, my love and I;
And youthful joys are fading fast,
    Like radiant angels up the sky;
But still with every dawning day
    Come back the blessed thoughts of old,
Like sunshine in a morn of May,
    To keep the heart from growing cold.

The flowers are gone, the leaves are shed,
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Wytham Woods.

'Mid the waving Woods of Wytham,
    Now so far, so far from me,
    Where the grand old beeches be,
And the deer-herds feeding by them:
'Mid the mossy Woods of Wytham,
    Oft I roam in memory;

Down the grand wide-arching alleys,
    Marged by plumy ferns and flowers,
    Whence all through the noontide hours
Many a fearless leveret sallies;
For amid those grassy alleys
    Never hound nor huntsman scours.

Still I see, through leafy casements,
    Wytham Hall so quaint and old,
    Remnant of the age of gold,
Gabled o'er from roof to basement
In most fanciful enlacement,
    Looking far o'er wood and wold;

With the mere outspread before it;
    Whitest swans upon its tide,
    That in mystic beauty glide;
And the wil...

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The Old Shepherd

    'T is pleasant to bear recollections in mind
    Of joys that time hurries away--
    To look back on smiles that have passed like the wind,
    And compare them with frowns of to-day.
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    On the past with clear vision to dwell--
    To recount the fond loves and the raptures of youth,
    And tales of lost pleasures to tell.

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    "Since I joined in the sports of the green--
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The Song Of The Olden Time.

There's a song of the olden time,
    Falling sad o'er the ear,
Like the dream of some village chime,
    Which in youth we loved to hear.
And even amidst the grand and gay,
    When Music tries her gentlest art
I never hear so sweet a lay,
    Or one that hangs so round my heart,
As that song of the olden time,
    Falling sad o'er the ear,
Like the dream of some village chime,
    Which in youth we loved to hear,

And when all of this life is gone,--
    Even the hope, lingering now,
Like the last of the leaves left on
    Autumn's sere and faded bough,--
'Twill seem as still those friends were near,
    Who loved me in youth's early day,
If in that parting hour I hear
    The same sweet notes and die away,--
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Years Ago.

Annie I dreamed a strange dream last night,
At my bedside, I dreamed, you stood clad in white;
Your dark curly hair 'round your snow-white brow, -
(Are those locks as raven and curly now?)
And those rosebud lips, which in days lang syne,
I have kissed and blest, because they were mine.
And thine eyes soft light,
Shone as mellow and bright,
As it did years ago, -
Years ago.

And I fancy I heard the soft soothing sound
Of thy voice, that sweet melody breathed all around,
Whilst enraptured I gazed, and once more the sweet smile,
Made sunshine, my sorrowing heart to beguile,
And thy milkwhite hands stroked my heated brow; -
(Oh! what would I give could I feel them now!)
But alas! Woe is me!
No more can it be,
As it was years ago, -
Years ago.

John Hartley