The lamp obeys my every whim
As did Aladdin’s long ago,
And it its dim
And gentle glim
It conjures up the passing show
Of other days,
For in it rays
I see again the pageantry of worlds I used to know.
There rise before my inner sight,
As clearly as when first I gazed,
Bathed in a light
Serene and bright,
That allt he years have not erased,
The faces dear
And voices sweet I hear that once in simple songs were raised.
Around the piano, candle-lit,
The songsters warble ballads old;
And merry wit,
With smoke and spit
The list’ners in the chiollagh hold.
Beneath the chin
Exhorts the tireless dancers till the winking stars grow cold.
Another lamp, a hurricane,
Makes shadow spokes upon the tent;
First boys, and then
Lie feet to pole; and merriment
Rings through the dar,
Where not a spark
Betrays where lie the enemy until the night is spent.
Nostalgia it may be, and yet
These are not creatures of a dram.
Though hearts may fret
In vain regret
For those born onward by time’s stream,
They still remain,
And will again
With happy laughter greet us where the rays of heaven beam.