Dirge of the Old Year

                                    I.
The good Old Year! the brave Old Year!
     He loved you long, and he loved you well! 
Scatter ye snow-flakes on his bier,
     And plant his grave with the asphodel! 
The good Old Year that brought you cheer, 
In the days now gone; the brave Old Year, 
Dead in the midnight! — words of fear!

                                    II.
Winds of the midnight! wildly swell,
     And pour your dirge o'er the dead Old Year !
For the good Old Year so wan and pale, 
     The dead Old Year on his icy bier,
For the brave Old Year let the wild winds wail!
For the dead Old Year, toll, toll the bell,
And let the winds of the midnight tell
     To the sobbing streams that moan and plain, 
     To the streams that moan like souls in pain, 
     That the good Old Year comes not again !

                                    III.
Dead in the midnight — words of fear! 
Dead in the midnight — brave Old Year! 
Dead in the midnight, on his bier! 
Winds of the midnight, toll the bell! 
                    Old Year, farewell!
                         Farewell!
                         Farewell! 
And the solemn midnight hears his knell !

                                    IV.
The rivers sob like souls in pain, 
For the year that never comes again; 
And the wailing winds to the woods complain 
That the good Old Year ne'er comes again —
     That the soul of the brave Old Year has fled; 
And the woods respond to the wild wind's wail 
                         With many a moan, 
                         With many a groan, 
For the brave Old Year, so stark and pale — 
     Ah, woe! for the good Old Year that's dead!