The Silver Age and Other Dramatic Memories
Book format: An electronic version of a printed book that can be read on a computer or handheld device designed specifically for this purpose.
Publisher: Date:8/4/2009 - General Books LLC
By: Temple Scott
Excerpt from book: "ANY VINDERS TO MEND?" A grassy bank, a shading tree, A rippling brook that murmurs low, With just a sigh as of the sea The wind breathes where the rushes grow. A golden mist by sunlight spread Of which I build my castles fair, Green whisp'ring leaves above my head Which messages from heaven bear. Here I lie my heart enchanted: Yet question why the needs of man Bar the aims of those God granted Souls to aspire His ways to plan. All our strivings through the ages Since first Lord Jesus loved and taught, Still finds us delving for mere wages, In economic prisons caught. Grass and trees and murmuring streams And airs washed golden by the sun, Are now but stuff for poets' dreams, To labor lost, and rarely won. Yet gold of sun and song of brook Have magic gifts our days to dower, Which never gods from anvils struck, And ever wait our spirits' hour. "ANY VINDERS TO MEND?" THE street-criers of cities are rarely heard now, even in London, where the airs of the various seasons were once musical with their calls. "Trade's unfeeling train" has usurped the land and dispossessed these picturesque swains of their ancient rights and privileges, and the warblers have long since migrated to where blow kinder airs. I suppose the modern newspaper, with its tradesmen's advertisements, is a better guide and helper than was the itinerant cobbler or the traveling tinker: yet I cannot help feeling a regret that these peripatetic peddlers no longer play their part in the dramas of life. I recall these acquaintances of my boyhood as I sit listening to the bells that are chiming in the new year, because it was on the eve of a new year that I first met one of these criers of the streets whose beneficent influence on my life is still an abiding forc...