University of Virginia Library


183

ON THE SAME.

Happy for thy spirit,
Bard of love and wine,
Could it but inherit
Such a life divine.
That glad insect creature,
Singing on the tree,
True to its own nature
Carols joyously.
As we die to-morrow
Let us eat and drink,
Cast away all sorrow
Even to the brink!
Yes, hadst thou not given,
In thine heart to dwell,
Something form'd for Heaven,
Something fit for Hell.
Thou hast not, blithe singer,
Aught that is within,
Which uplifts the finger,
And reproves of sin.

184

As like thee we perish
So might sing and shine,
Did we only cherish
Innocence like thine.