| |
| COME, dear old comrade, you and I | |
| Will steal an hour from days gone by, | |
| The shining days when life was new, | |
| And all was bright with morning dew, | |
| The lusty days of long ago, | 5 |
| When you were Bill and I was Joe. | |
| |
| Your name may flaunt a titled trail | |
| Proud as a cockerel’s rainbow tail, | |
| And mine as brief appendix wear | |
| As Tam O’Shanter’s luckless mare; | 10 |
| To-day, old friend, remember still | |
| That I am Joe and you are Bill. | |
| |
| You ’ve won the great world’s envied prize, | |
| And grand you look in people’s eyes, | |
| With H O N. and LL. D. | 15 |
| In big brave letters, fair to see,— | |
| Your fist, old fellow! off they go!— | |
| How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe? | |
| |
| You ’ve worn the judge’s ermined robe; | |
| You ’ve taught your name to half the globe; | 20 |
| You ’ve sung mankind a deathless strain; | |
| You ’ve made the dead past live again: | |
| The world may call you what it will, | |
| But you and I are Joe and Bill. | |
| |
| The chaffing young folks stare and say | 25 |
| “See those old buffers, bent and gray,— | |
| They talk like fellows in their teens! | |
| Mad, poor old boys! That ’s what it means,”— | |
| And shake their heads; they little know | |
| The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe!— | 30 |
| |
| How Bill forgets his hour of pride, | |
| While Joe sits smiling at his side; | |
| How Joe, in spite of time’s disguise, | |
| Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes,— | |
| Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill | 35 |
| As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. | |
| |
| Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame? | |
| A fitful tongue of leaping flame; | |
| A giddy whirlwind’s fickle gust, | |
| That lifts a pinch of mortal dust; | 40 |
| A few swift years, and who can show | |
| Which dust was Bill and which was Joe? | |
| |
| The weary idol takes his stand, | |
| Holds out his bruised and aching hand, | |
| While gaping thousands come and go,— | 45 |
| How vain it seems, this empty show! | |
| Till all at once his pulses thrill;— | |
| ’T is poor old Joe’s “God bless you, Bill!” | |
| |
| And shall we breathe in happier spheres | |
| The names that pleased our mortal ears, | 50 |
| In some sweet lull of harp and song | |
| For earth-born spirits none too long, | |
| Just whispering of the world below | |
| Where this was Bill and that was Joe? | |
| |
| No matter; while our home is here | 55 |
| No sounding name is half so dear; | |
| When fades at length our lingering day, | |
| Who cares what pompous tombstones say? | |
| Read on the hearts that love us still, | |
| Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill. | 60 |
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