THE NEW YEAR'S NIGHT OF A MISERABLE MAN.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 105, 1 May 1875, Page 6

THE NEW YEAR'S NIGHT OF A MISERABLE MAN.

Translated from the German of Johann Paul Richter, BY JAS. CLARENCE MANOAX. In the lone stillness of the New Tear's night, An old man at Ms window stood, and turned His dim eyes to the firmament, where, bright And pure, a million rolling planets burned, And then down on the earth all cold and white. And felt that moment that of all who mourned And groaned upon its bosom, none there were With his deep wretchedness and great despair : For, near him lay his graye — hidden from view, Not by the flowers of Youth, but by the snows Of age alone. In torturing thought he flew Over the past, and on his memory rose That picture of his life which Conscience drew, With all its fruits — diseases, sins and woes j - A ruined frame, a blighted soul, dark years Of agony, remorse, and withering fears. Like spectres now his bright Youth days came back, And that cross-road of life where, when a boy His father placed him first ; the right-hand truck Leads to a land of glory, peace and joy, It's left to wilderness, waste and black, Where snakes and plagues and poison winds destroy, Coiled round his heart their venom on his tongue. Sunk in unutterable grief he cried, " Restore my youth to me, oh, God ! restore My mom of life ! Oh, father, be my guide, And let me, let me choose my path one more !" But on the wide waste air his ravings died Away, and all was silent as before. His youth had glided by, swift as the wave, His father came not — he was in his grave. Strange lights went flickering by; a star was falling, Down to the miry marsh he saw it rush — Like me ! he thought, and oh ! that thought was galling, And hot and heart-wrung tears began to gush. Sleep-walkers crossed his eyes in shapes appaling : Gaunt windmills lifted tip their arms to crush ; And skeleton monsters rose up from the dim Pits of the charnel house, and glared on him. Amid these overboiling bursts of feeling, .Rich music, heralding the young year's birth, Rolled from a distant steeple, like the pealing Of some celestial organ o'er the earth. Milder emotions o'er him came stealing, He felt the soul's unpurchasable worth. " Return," again he cried, imploringly, "Oh ! my lost youth ! return, return to me." And youth returned, and age withdrew its terrors. Still was he young, for he had dreamed the whole, But faithful is the image Conscience mirrors When whirlwind passions darken not the soul. Alas ! too real were his sins and errors, Too truly had he made the earth his goal. He wept, and thanked his God, that with the will, He had the power to choose the right path still. Here, youthful reader, ponder ; and if thou, Like him, art reeling over the abyss, And shakest off sin's iron bondage now, This ghastly dream may prove thy guide to "bliss : But, should age lonce be written on thy brow Its wrinkles will not be a dream, like this. Mayest vainly pour thy tears above the ran Of thy departed youth — it never will return !