The poetical works of the late Thomas Little [i.e. Thomas Moore] The eleventh edition |
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AN INVITATION TO SUPPER.
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 | The poetical works of the late Thomas Little [i.e. Thomas Moore] |  |
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AN INVITATION TO SUPPER.
TO MRS. ------.
Myself, dear Julia! and the Sun,
Have now two years of rambling run;
And he before his wheels has driven
The grand menagerie of Heaven:
While I have met on earth, I swear,
As many brutes as he has there.
The only diff'rence I can see
Betwixt the flaming god and me,
Is, that his ways are periodic,
And mine, I fear, are simply oddic.
But, dearest girl! 'tis now a lapse
Of two short years, or less perhaps,
Since you to me, and I to you,
Vow'd to be ever fondly true!—
Have now two years of rambling run;
And he before his wheels has driven
The grand menagerie of Heaven:
While I have met on earth, I swear,
As many brutes as he has there.
The only diff'rence I can see
Betwixt the flaming god and me,
Is, that his ways are periodic,
And mine, I fear, are simply oddic.
But, dearest girl! 'tis now a lapse
Of two short years, or less perhaps,
Since you to me, and I to you,
Vow'd to be ever fondly true!—
102
Ah, Julia! those were pleasant times!
You lov'd me for my am'rous rhymes;
And I lov'd you, because I thought
'Twas so delicious to be taught
By such a charming guide as you,
With eyes of fire and lips of dew,
All I had often fancied o'er,
But never, never felt before:
The day flew by, and night was short
For half our blisses, half our sport!
You lov'd me for my am'rous rhymes;
And I lov'd you, because I thought
'Twas so delicious to be taught
By such a charming guide as you,
With eyes of fire and lips of dew,
All I had often fancied o'er,
But never, never felt before:
The day flew by, and night was short
For half our blisses, half our sport!
I know not how we chang'd, or why,
Or if the first was you or I:
Yet so 'tis now, we meet each other,
And I'm no more than Julia's brother;
While she's so like my prudent sister,
There's few would think how close I've kist her.
Or if the first was you or I:
Yet so 'tis now, we meet each other,
And I'm no more than Julia's brother;
While she's so like my prudent sister,
There's few would think how close I've kist her.
But, Julia, let those matters pass!
If you will brim a sparkling glass
To vanish'd hours of true delight,
Come to me after dusk to-night.
I'll have no other guest to meet you,
But here alone I'll tête-à-tête you,
Over a little attic feast,
As full of cordial soul at least,
As those where Delia met Tibullus,
Or Lesbia wanton'd with Catullus.
If you will brim a sparkling glass
To vanish'd hours of true delight,
Come to me after dusk to-night.
I'll have no other guest to meet you,
But here alone I'll tête-à-tête you,
103
As full of cordial soul at least,
As those where Delia met Tibullus,
Or Lesbia wanton'd with Catullus.
I'll sing you many a roguish sonnet
About it, at it, and upon it:
And songs address'd, as if I lov'd,
To all the girls with whom I've rov'd.
Come, pr'ythee come, you'll find me here,
Like Horace, waiting for his dear .
There shall not be to-night, on earth,
Two souls more elegant in mirth;
And though our hey-day passion's fled,
The spirit of the love that's dead
Shall hover wanton o'er our head;
Like souls that round the grave will fly,
In which their late possessors lie:
And who, my pretty Julia, knows,
But when our warm remembrance glows,
The ghost of Love may act anew,
What Love when living us'd to do!
About it, at it, and upon it:
And songs address'd, as if I lov'd,
To all the girls with whom I've rov'd.
Come, pr'ythee come, you'll find me here,
Like Horace, waiting for his dear .
There shall not be to-night, on earth,
Two souls more elegant in mirth;
And though our hey-day passion's fled,
The spirit of the love that's dead
Shall hover wanton o'er our head;
Like souls that round the grave will fly,
In which their late possessors lie:
104
But when our warm remembrance glows,
The ghost of Love may act anew,
What Love when living us'd to do!
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