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Shakes its old sapless arms at me,
And would my madness mock!
The slaves are saucy—well they know
Good service did they long ago.
I've lived two lives: The first is past
Some hundred years or more;
But still the present is o'ercast
With visionings of yore.
This tree, this rock that's cushioned sweet
With tufts of savoury thyme,
That unseen river which doth greet
Our ears with its rude rhyme,
Were then as now—they form the chain
That links the present with past pain.
Sweet Flesh and Blood! how deadly chill
These milk-white fingers be!
The feathery ribs of ice-bound rill
Seem not so cold to me;—
But press them on this burning brow
Which glows like molten brass,
'Twill thaw them soon; then thou shalt know
How ancient visions pass
