DAN PAINE.

Old friend of mine, whose chiming name

Has been the burthen of a rhyme

Within my heart since first I came

To know thee in thy mellow prime;

With warm emotions in my breast

That can but coldly be expressed,

And hopes and wishes wild and vain,

I reach my hand to thee, Dan Paine.

In fancy, as I sit alone

In gloomy fellowship with care,

I hear again thy cheery tone,

And wheel for thee an easy chair;

And from my hand the pencil falls —

My book upon the carpet sprawls,

As eager soul and heart and brain,

Leap up to welcome thee, Dan Paine.

A something gentle in thy mein,

A something tender in thy voice,

Has made my trouble so serene,

I can but weep, from very choice.

And even then my tears, I guess,

Hold more of sweet than bitterness,

And more of gleaming shine than rain,

Because of thy bright smile, Dan Paine.

The wrinkles that the years have spun

And tangled round thy tawny face,

Are kinked with laughter, every one,

And fashioned in a mirthful grace.

And though the twinkle of thine eyes

Is keen as frost when Summer dies,

It can not long as frost remain

While thy warm soul shines out, Dan Paine.

And so I drain a health to thee;—

May merry Joy and jolly Mirth

Like children clamber on thy knee,

And ride thee round the happy earth!

And when, at last, the hand of Fate

Shall lift the latch of Canaan's gate,

And usher me in thy domain,

Smile on me just as now, Dan Paine.