The scepter'd king, the burthen'd slave,
The humble and the haughty die;
The rich, the poor, the base, the brave,
In dust, without distinction, lie.
Go search the tombs where monarchs rest,
Who once the greatest titles bore;
The wealth and glory they possess'd
And all their honours are no more.
So glides the meteor thro' the sky,
And spreads along a gilded train,
But when its short-liv'd beauties die,
Dissolves to common air again.
So 'tis with us, my jovial souls,
Let friendship reign while here we stay; Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls, When Jove us calls we must obey.
y the gaily circling glass We can see how minutes pass;
By the hollow cask are told,
How the waning night grows old.
Soon, too soon the busy day
Drives us from our sport and play;
What have we with day to do?
Sons of care! 't was made for
THIS bottle's the sun of our table,
His beams are rosy wine;
We planets that are not able
Without his help to shine.
Let mirth and glee abound!
You'll soon grow bright
With borrow'd light,
And shine as he goes round.
SWEET maid, if thou would'st charm-my sight,
And bid these arms thy neck infold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.
Boy! let yon liquid ruby flów,
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
Whate'er the frowning zealots say:
Tell them their Eden cannot show
A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
O when these fair, perfidious maids,
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,
Their dear destructive charms display;
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest,
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey.
In vain with love our bosoms glow;
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks where living roses blow,
Where Nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art ?
Speak not of fate: ah! change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom.
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream!
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom
Beauty has such resistless power,
That e'en the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came,
A youth so lovely and so coy,
But ah! sweet maid, my counsel hear : (Youth should attend when those advise Whom long experience renders sage) While music charms the ravish'd ear, While sparkling cups delight our eyes, and scorn the frowns of age.
What cruel answer have I heard,
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip?
Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.
TELL me no more of pointed darts, Of flaming eyes, and bleeding hearts, The hyperboles of love!
Be honest to yourself and me,
Speak truly what you hear and see,
Why call me angel! why divine! Why must my eyes the stars outshine! Can such deceit prevail?
For shame! forbear this common rule, "Tis low, 'tis insult, calls me fool: With me 'twill always fail.
Would you obtain my honest heart,
Address my nobler, better part;
Pay homage to my mind:
The passing hour brings on decay,]
And beauty quickly fades away,
Nor leaves a rose behind.
Let then your open manly sense
The moral ornaments dispense,
And to my worth be true:
So may your suit itself endear,
Not for the charms you say I wear,
But those I find in you.
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