FREELY IMITATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES.
I'LL in a tavern end my days mid boon companions [sherry, Place at my lips a lusty flask replete with sparkling That angels hovering round may cry, when I lie dead as door nail,
Rise, genial deacon, rise and drink of the well of Life Eternal.'
'Tis wine the fading lamp of life renews with fire
[terrestrial; And elevates the raptured sense above this globe Be mine the grape's pure juice unmix'd with any base ingredient, [no need on't. Water to heretics I leave, sound churchmen have
Various implements belong to every occupation; Give me a haunch of venison-and a fig for in[indite 'em, Verses and odes without good cheer I never could Sure he who meager days devised is d-d ad infinitum!
When I exhaust the bowl profound and generous liquor swallow, [bers follow; Bright as the beverage I imbibe the generous numYour sneaking water drinkers all, I utterly con[Agamemnon. He that would write like Homer must drink like
Mysteries and prophetic truths, I never could un
Without a flagon of good wine and a slice of cold But when I've drain'd my liquor out, and eat what's in the dish up,
Though I am but an archdeacon, I can preach like an archbishop.
IF when the sparkling goblet flows,
I braid my temples with the rose,
And while, reflected o'er the brim,
I see the deepening blushes swim,
With wilder ecstacies of soul
I bid the tide of Bacchus roll-
"Tis that the blush that paints the rose,
A type of thee, my fair, bestows;
And bathed within the cup I'd be
That glows with love, and glows of thee.
If, when retiring to repose,
Still in my chamber bloom the rose,
And, twined in many a wreathy string,
O'er all my couch a fragrance fling,
Which, scattering on my fervid breast,
Soothes me with opiate charm to rest—
'Tis that the fragrance of the rose
The breathing of thy lip bestows;
And dreams of bliss it wafts to me,
That breathe of love, and breathe of thee.
Then come, Næëra, sweeter rose !
For whom my restless fancy glows;
Come, whelm in dearer joys the soul
Than ever bathed in flowing bowl;
Come, and in waking kisses deal
Such rapture as my dreams reveal;
And while with mingling soul I sip
The balmy fragrance of thy lip,
More, more than vision'd bliss 'twill be-
To wake for love, and wake for thee.
A BALLAD OF SIMILES.
If life, like a bubble, evaporates fast,
You must take off your wine if you wish it to last;
For a bubble may soon be destroy'd with a puff,
If it is not kept floating in liquor enough.
If life's like a flower, as grave moralists say,
'Tis a very good thing, understood the right way;
For, if life is a flower, every blockhead can tell,
If you'd have it look fresh, you must water it well:
That life is a journey no mortal disputes, [boots;
Then we'll liquor our brains, boys, instead of our
And each toper shall own, on life's road as he reels,
That a spur in the head is worth two on the heels.
If life's like a lamp, then, to make it shine brighter,
We'll assign to Madeira the post of lamplighter,
We'll cherish the flame with Oporto so stout,
And drink brandy-punch till we're fairly burn'd
out.
The world to a theatre liken'd has been,
Where each one around bears his part in the scene;
If 'tis ours to be tipsy, 'tis matter of fact
That the more you all drink, boys, the better you'll
Life fleets, like a dream, like a vision appears, Some laugh in their slumbers, and others shed
[be said, But of us, when we wake from our dream, 'twill That the tears of the tankard were all that we shed. ANONYMOUS.
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.
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.
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!
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