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Tho' some folk that fain would be wise,
Will threep that its little save lies,
I've been telling 'bout auld Granny Broun. BLIND JOHN, OR THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN.
The morn is fair, and old blind John
Has tottered to the door,
Beneath the hawthorn hoar;
His elbow on his knee,
Of three score years and three.
But hill and dale are laughing with
The joyous voice of Spring,
Of birds upon the wing;
And Cartha's vales are gay, And gowaus gather in the lap,
Of lovely laughing May.
The blackbird's singing on the bough,
The lark is in the blue,
The voice of the cuckoo.
Has still some tone of yore,
With tears are running o'er.
"I once was joyous as yourselves,
It seems but yesterday,
A happy boy at play,
Be happy while ye can, Nor listen while blind John runs o'er,
The life and age of Man.
"In youth our hearts are lighted up, With hope's delusive beam,
And earth is an enchanted place,
There's beauty underneath our feet,
There's glory in the heavens above,
"But Time steals on with noiseless tread,
And tho' the happy boy
A change from joy to joy;
Of great things to be done, Of undiscovered treasures vast,
Of battles to be won.
"The heroes of the present time,
Are paltry, poor and small,
A hero worth them all;
What visions rich and rare,
What castles in the air.
"Then love alights upon his heart,
With all its joys and pains,
Is leaping in his veins;
He sees but those love beaming eyes,
And all beside is dim,
Worth all the world to him.
"He drinks the strange mysterious draught,
The sweeter for its pain,
He'll never taste again;
His visions melt away,
While yet 'tis noon of day.
"And see he sadly sits at last,
With children on his knee,
Amid their mirth and glee;
On which the helpless lean, And he will make their lot in life,
More blest than his has been.