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Life fleets like a dream, like a vision appears,
Some laugh in their slumbers, and others shed
tears;
[be said,
But of us, when we wake from our dream, 'twill
That the tears of the tankard were all that we
shed.
ANONYMOUS.

SONG.

dum serta, unguenta, puella
Poscimus, obrepit non intellecta Senectus. Juv.

SHORT is the breath of life, and short
The fleeting joys that life can give;
Those fleeting joys let wisdom court

While feeling yet and passion live.
Soon freezing age, with sick distaste,

The grave of bliss, the nurse of woe,
Shall steal the wreath which Nature placed
On joyous youth's exulting brow.
While yet the swelling goblet flows,

And sorrow yields to revel's power,
While blossoms yet the breathing rose,

And laughter speeds the jovial hour; While yet in ardent youth we fly,

Pregnant of life and hope, to sip
Nectareous dew, entrancing joy!

From blushing Beauty's rosy lip;
Their sudden shafts the fates dispense,
And wither all the beauteous dream,
Or tasteless age steeps every sense
In apathy's oblivious stream.

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Then still while love and young desire

Play through the veins and warm the soul, Burn, burn with love's exalting fire, And drink to beauty's health the bowl.

L. T.

ANACREONTIC SONG.

COME, thou soul-reviving cup,
And try thy healing art;
Light the Fancy's visions up,

And warm my wasted heart!
Touch with glowing tints of bliss
Memory's fading dream;
Give me, while thy lip I kiss,
The heaven that's in thy stream.

In thy fount the Lyric Muse
Ever dipped her wing,
Anacreon fed upon thy dews,

And Horace drain'd thy spring!
I too, humblest of the train,
There my spirit find,
Freshen there my languid brain,—
And store my vacant mind!

When, bless'd cup, thy fires divine

Pierce through Time's dark reign,
All the joys that once were mine
I snatch from Death again;
And, though oft fond anguish rise
O'er my melting mind,
Hope still starts to Sorrow's eyes→→→
And drinks the tear behind!
VOL. III,

PP

Ne'er, sweet cup, was votary bless'd
More through life than me;
And that life, with grateful breast,
Thou seest I give to thee!
'Midst thy rose-wreath'd nymphs I pass
Mirth's sweet hours away;
Pleased while Time runs through the glass
To Fancy's brighter day!*

Then, magic cup, again for me
Thy power creative try;
Again let hope-fed Fancy see

A heaven in Beauty's eye!
O, lift my lighten'd heart away

On Pleasure's downy wing,
And let me taste that bliss to-day
To-morrow may not bring!

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

SONG.

FILL the goblet again! for I never before

its core;

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to [varied round Let us drink! who would not? since through life's In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;
I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;
I have loved! who has not? but what heart can

declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,

And dreams that affection can never take wing,
I had friends! who has not? but what tongue will

avow

That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change; [what appears Thou grow'st old, who does not? but on earth Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

Yet if bless'd to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous! who's not?-thou hast no such
alloy,

For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

Then the season of youth and its vanities pass'd,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;
There we find, do we not? in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl!

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth; Hope was left, was she not? but the goblet we kiss, And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown The age of our nectar shall gladden our own; We must die, who shall not? may our sins be for

given,

And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.

LORD BYRON.

ANACREONTIC *.

HEED no more the coming morrow,
Laugh at future care,

Snatch the present hour from sorrow,
Revel light as air!
Shed around a shower of roses,
Call on Music's powers:
We, while Dulness safe reposes,
Live the passing hours.

Fly, ye moody sons of Sadness,
Fly to deserts drear!

Here each bosom swells with gladness,
Mirth is master here.

Life to us its sweets discloses,

Strews our path with flowers; We, while Dulness safe reposes, Live the passing hours!

R. A. DAVENPORT.

SONG,

WRITTEN IN 1788.

O'ER the vine-cover'd hills and fair valleys of
See the daystar of Liberty rise, [France
Through clouds of detraction unwearied advance,
And hold its new course in the skies.

An effulgence so mild, with a lustre so bright,
All Europe with wonder surveys,

And from deserts of darkness and dungeons of
Contends for a share in the blaze. [night

This song was written for a German Air, the words of which begin with Bin ein brauner Schweitzer Madchen,' &c.

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