The Fairfield Herald

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.

The following singular poem from Mr. Tilton, written at the time of his troubles has a singular interest now.

BILL ARUNDEL'S MUSING—BY THEO. TILTON.

I won a noble fortune
But, with a sullen frown,
The people snatched my crown,
And in the mire trod down
My lofty name.

I bore a bounteous purse.
And beggars by the way,
Then blessed me day by day:
But I grown poor as they,
Have now their curse.

I gained what one can call friends,
But now their love is hate.
And I have learned too late,
How mated minds unmate
And friendship ends.

I clasped a woman's breast,
As if her heart I knew,
Or fancied would be true,
Who proved—alas! she too!
False like the rest.

I now am all bereft—
As when some tower doth fall
With battlements and wall
And gate and bridge and all,
And nothing left.

But I reckon it worth
All pangs of fair hopes crossed—
All loves and honors lost—
To gain the heavens at cost
Of losing earth.

So, lest I be inclined
To render ill for ill—
Henceforth—in me instill,
O God, a sweet good will
To all mankind.