Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

"Listen!  When your hair, like mine,
     Takes a tint of silver gray;
     When your eyes, with dimmer shine,
     Watch life's bubbles float away:

     When you, young man, have borne like me
     The weary weight of sixty-three,
     Then shall penance sore be paid
     For those hours so wildly squandered;
     And the words that now fall dead
     On your ear, be deeply pondered—
     Pondered and approved at last:
     But their virtue will be past!

     "Glorious is the prize of Duty,
     Though she be 'a serious power';
     Treacherous all the lures of Beauty,
     Thorny bud and poisonous flower!

     "Mirth is but a mad beguiling
     Of the golden-gifted time;
     Love—a demon-meteor, wiling
     Heedless feet to gulfs of crime.

     "Those who follow earthly pleasure,
     Heavenly knowledge will not lead;
     Wisdom hides from them her treasure,
     Virtue bids them evil-speed!

     "Vainly may their hearts repenting.
     Seek for aid in future years;
     Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting;
     Virtue is not won by fears."

     Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray;
     The young man scoffed as he turned away,
     Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure,
     Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure:
     Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher,
     Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher.