 | Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late Mr. Cliffton |  |
SONG.
Boy, shut too the door, and bid trouble begone,
If sorrow approach, turn the key,
Our comfort this night from the glass shall be drawn,
And mirth our companion shall be.
If sorrow approach, turn the key,
Our comfort this night from the glass shall be drawn,
And mirth our companion shall be.
Who would not with pleasure the moments prolong,
When tempted with Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
When tempted with Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
What art thou, kind power, that soft'nest me so,
That kindlest this love boding sigh,
That bid'st with affection, my bosom o'erflow,
And send'st the fond tear to my eye.
That kindlest this love boding sigh,
That bid'st with affection, my bosom o'erflow,
And send'st the fond tear to my eye.
I know thee! Forever the visit prolong,
Sweet spirit of Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
Sweet spirit of Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
See the joy-waking influence rapidly fly,
And spirit with spirit entwine,
The effulgence of rapture enamels each eye,
Each soul rides triumphant like mine.
And spirit with spirit entwine,
The effulgence of rapture enamels each eye,
Each soul rides triumphant like mine.
96
On a sea of good humour floats gayly along,
Surrounded with Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
Surrounded with Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
And now to the regions of Fancy we soar,
Thro' scenes of enchantment we stray,
We revel in transports untasted before,
Or loiter with love on the way.
Thro' scenes of enchantment we stray,
We revel in transports untasted before,
Or loiter with love on the way.
Resolv'd like good fellows the time to prolong,
That cheers us with Friendship, Love, Wine, and a Song.
That cheers us with Friendship, Love, Wine, and a Song.
For Friendship, the solace of mortals below,
In the thicket of life, loves a rose,
Good wine can content on misfortune bestow,
And a song's not amiss, I suppose.
In the thicket of life, loves a rose,
Good wine can content on misfortune bestow,
And a song's not amiss, I suppose.
Then fill, my good fellows, the moment prolong,
With a bumper to Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
With a bumper to Friendship, Love, Wine and a Song.
| Poems, chiefly occasional, by the late Mr. Cliffton | |