The Old Man and the Three Young Ones

A man was planting at fourscore. / Three striplings, who their satchels wore, / 'In building,' cried, 'the sense were more; / But then to plant young trees at that age! / The man is surely in his dotage. / Pray, in the name of common sense, / What fruit can he expect to gather / Of all this labour and expense? / Why, he must live like Lamech's father! / What use for thee, grey-headed man, / To load the remnant of thy span / With care for days that never can be thine? / Thyself to thought of errors past resign. / Long-growing hope, and lofty plan, / Leave thou to us, to whom such things belong. ' / 'To you! ' replied the old man, hale and strong; / 'I dare pronounce you altogether wrong. / The settled part of man's estate / Is very brief, and comes full late. / To those pale, gaming sisters trine, / Your lives are stakes as well as mine. / While so uncertain is the sequel, / Our terms of future life are equal; / For none can tell who last shall close his eyes / Upon the glories of these azure skies; / Nor any moment give us, ere it flies, / Assurance that another such shall rise, / But my descendants, whosoe'er they be, / Shall owe these cooling fruits and shades to me. / Do you acquit yourselves, in wisdom's sight, / From ministering to other hearts delight? / Why, boys, this is the fruit I gather now; / And sweeter never blush'd on bended bough. / Of this, to-morrow, I may take my fill; / Indeed, I may enjoy its sweetness till / I see full many mornings chase the glooms / From off the marble of your youthful tombs. ' / The grey-beard man was right. One of the three, / Embarking, foreign lands to see, / Was drown'd within the very port. / In quest of dignity at court, / Another met his country's foe, / And perish'd by a random blow. / The third was kill'd by falling from a tree / Which he himself would graft. The three / Were mourn'd by him of hoary head, / Who chisel'd on each monument -- / On doing good intent -- / The things which we have said.[1]

[1]: Abstemius.