Pierre Jean de Beranger

The Garret

With pensive eyes the little room I view, Where in my youth I weathered it so long, With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song; Making a mock of life, and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun: Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Yes; 'tis a garret--let him know't who will--- There was my bed--full hard it was and small; My table there--and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun: For you I pawned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one! And see my little Jessy, first of all; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise: Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did women look the worse in none? I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheers, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, And distant cannon opened on our ears; We rise,--we join in the triumphant strain,-- Napoleon conquers--Austerlitz is won-- Tyrants shall never tread us down again, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Let us begone--the place is sad and strange-- How far, far off, these happy times appear! All that I have to live I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here-- To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun, And drink all life's quintessence in an hour: Give me the days when I was twenty-one.