Reflections Irregular by John Rollin RidgeI cast a backward look—how changedThe scenes of other days!I walk, a wearied man, estrangedFrom youth’s delightful ways.There in the distance rolleth yetThat stream whose waves myBoyish bosom oft has met,When pleasure lit mine eye.It rolleth yet, as clear, as bold,As pure as it did then;But I have grown in youth-time old,And, mixing now with men,My sobered eye must not attendTo that sweet stream, my early friend!The music of its waters clearMust now but seldom reach my ear,But murmur still now carelesslyTo every heedless passer-by.How often o’er its rugged cliffs I’ve strayed,And gaily listened, as its billows playedSuch deep, low music at their base—And then such brightening thoughts would traceUpon the tablet of my mind!Alas, those days have run their race,Their joys I nowhere now can find.I have no time to thinkOf climbing Glory’s sunny mountI have no time to drinkAt Learning’s bubbling fount!Now corn and potatoes call meFrom scenes were wont to enthrall me—A weary wight,Both day and nightMy brain is full of business matters,Reality has snatched the light,From fancy’s head, that shone so bright,And tore the dreams she wove, to tatters!-----Prosodia is a daily podcast dedicated to historical notes and poems, hosted by Karim El Azhari. Welcome!All show notes are heavily recycled from old The Writer’s Almanac archives. May that podcast rest in peace (it was Karim’s favorite).All poems are public domain or submitted by the author for use on the show.Intro and outro music by Chillhop Records. They are amazing!