(_For the Mirror_.)
On the slope of Life's decline,
The landmark reached of _forty-nine_,
Thoughtful on this heart of mine
Strikes the sound of forty-nine.
Greyish hairs with brown combine
To note Time's hand--and forty-nine.
Sunny hours that used to shine,
Shadow o'er at forty-nine.
Of youthful sports the joys decline,
Symptoms strong of forty-nine.
The dance I willingly resign,
To lighter heels than forty-nine.
* * * * *
Yet, why anxiously repine?
Pleasures wait on forty-nine.
Social pleasures--joys benign--
Still are found at forty-nine.
With a friend to go and dine,
What better age than forty-nine?
Ladies with me sip their wine,
Though they know I'm forty-nine.
Tea and chat, and wit combine,
To enliven musing forty-nine.
Let harmony its chords untwine,
Music charms at forty nine.
O'er wasting care let croakers whine,
Care we'll defy at forty-nine.
Fifty shall not make me pine--
Why lament o'er forty-nine.
Joys let's trace of "Auld Lang Syne,"
Memory's fresh at forty-nine.
Then fill a cup of rosy wine,
And drink a health to FORTY-NINE.