THE OLD BACHELOR.
AFTER THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
1 In Phoebus' region while some bards there be
That sing of battles, and the trumpet's roar;
Yet these, I ween, more powerful bards than me,
Above my ken, on eagle pinions soar!
Haply a scene of meaner view to scan,
Beneath their laurelled praise my verse may give,
To trace the features of unnoticed man;
Deeds, else forgotten, in the verse may live!
Her lore, mayhap, instructive sense may teach,
From weeds of humbler growth within my lowly reach.
2 A wight there was, who single and alone
Had crept from vigorous youth to waning age,
Nor e'er was worth, nor e'er was beauty known
His heart to captive, or his thought engage:
Some feeble joyaunce, though his conscious mind
Might female worth or beauty give to wear,
Yet to the nobler sex he held confined
The genuine graces of the soul sincere,
And well could show with saw or proverb quaint
All semblance woman's soul, and all her beauty paint.
3 In plain attire this wight apparelled was,
(For much he conned of frugal lore and knew,)
Nor, till some day of larger note might cause,
From iron-bound chest his better garb he drew:
But when the Sabbath-day might challenge more,
Or feast, or birthday, should it chance to be,
A glossy suit devoid of stain he wore,
And gold his buttons glanced so fair to see,
Gold clasped his shoon, by maiden brushed so sheen,
And his rough beard he shaved, and donned his linen clean.
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