We Were Boys Together.

(Music by Russell.)




We were boys together,
And never can forget
The school-house near the heather,
In childhood where we met;
The humble home to memory dear,
Its sorrows and its joys;
Where woke the transient smile or tear,
When you and I were boys.

We were youths together,
And castles built in air,
Your heart was like a feather,
And mine weighed down with care;
To you came wealth with manhood's prime,
To me it brought alloys--
Foreshadowed in the primrose time.
When you and I were boys.

We're old men together--
The friends we loved of yore,
With leaves of autumn weather,
Are gone for evermore.
How blest to age the impulse given,
The hope time ne'er destroys--
Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven,
When you and I were boys!

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

Nature's Nobleman. A Fragment.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Will Nobody Marry Me?

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Flag of our Union.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Margaretta.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

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Ad Amicos

"Dumque virent genua
Et decet, obducta solvatur fonte senectus."

The muse of boyhood's fervid hour
Grows tame as skies get chill and hazy;
Where once she sought a passion-flower,
She only hopes to find a daisy.
Well, who the changing world bewails?
Who asks to have it stay unaltered?
Shall grown-up kittens chase their tails?
Shall colts be never shod or haltered?

Are we "The Boys" that used to make
The tables ring with noisy follies?
Whose deep-lunged laughter oft would shake
The ceiling with its thunder-volleys?
Are we the youths with lips unshorn,
At beauty's feet unwrinkled suitors,
Whose memories reach tradition's morn, -
The days of prehistoric tutors?

"The Boys" we knew, - but who are these
Whose heads might serve for Plu...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Retrospection

When you and I were young, the days
Were filled with scent of pink and rose,
And full of joy from dawn till close,
From morning's mist till evening's haze.
And when the robin sung his song
The verdant woodland ways along,
We whistled louder than he sung.
And school was joy, and work was sport
For which the hours were all too short,
When you and I were young, my boy,
When you and I were young.

When you and I were young, the woods
Brimmed bravely o'er with every joy
To charm the happy-hearted boy.
The quail turned out her timid broods;
The prickly copse, a hostess fine,
Held high black cups of harmless wine;
And low the laden grape-vine swung
With beads of night-kissed amethyst
Where buzzing lovers held their tryst,
When you and I were ...

Paul Laurence Dunbar

All Here

It is not what we say or sing,
That keeps our charm so long unbroken,
Though every lightest leaf we bring
May touch the heart as friendship's token;
Not what we sing or what we say
Can make us dearer to each other;
We love the singer and his lay,
But love as well the silent brother.

Yet bring whate'er your garden grows,
Thrice welcome to our smiles and praises;
Thanks for the myrtle and the rose,
Thanks for the marigolds and daisies;
One flower erelong we all shall claim,
Alas! unloved of Amaryllis -
Nature's last blossom-need I name
The wreath of threescore's silver lilies?

How many, brothers, meet to-night
Around our boyhood's covered embers?
Go read the treasured names aright
The old triennial list remembers;
Though twenty we...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Years Ago.

Near the banks of that lone river,
    Where the water-lilies grow,
Breathed the fairest flower that ever
    Bloomed and faded years ago.

Now we met and loved and parted,
    None on earth can ever know--
Nor how pure and gentle-hearted
    Beamed the mourned one years ago!

Like the stream with lilies laden,
    Will life's future current flow,
Till in heaven I meet the maiden
    Fondly cherished years ago.

Hearts that love like mine forget not;
    They're the same in weal or wo;
And that star of memory set not
    In the grave of years ago.

George Pope Morris

Memories Of Schooldays.

There are mem'ries glad of the old school-house,
Which throng around me still;
And voices spoke in my youthful days,
My ears with music fill.

Those youthful voices I seem to hear,
With their gladsome, joyous tone,
And joy and hope they bring to me,
When I am all alone.

I think of the joys of that time long past,
Of its boyish hopes and fears,
And 'tis partly joy, and partly pain,
That wets my eyes with tears.

For 'tis joy I feel, when I seem to stand,
Where I stood long years ago,
And when I think that cannot be,
My heart is fill'd with woe.

My old school mates are scatter'd far,
And some are with the dead,
And my old class mates have wander'd, too,
To seek for fame, or bread.

And those who still are near my ho...

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To C. C. C.

Oh for the nights when we used to sit
    In the firelight's glow or flicker,
With the gas turned low and our pipes all lit,
    And the air fast growing thicker;

When you, enthroned in the big arm-chair,
    Would spin for us yarns unending,
Your voice and accent and pensive air
    With the narrative subtly blending!

Oh for the bleak and wintry days
    When we set our blood in motion,
Leaping the rocks below the braes
    And wetting our feet in the ocean,

Or shying at marks for moderate sums
    (A penny a hit, you remember),
With aching fingers and purple thumbs,
    In the merry month of December!

There is little doubt we were very daft,
    And our sports, like the stakes, were trifling;
While the air of the room where ...

Robert Fuller Murray