Poems on various subjects By R. Anderson |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. | SONG XXVI. TO-MORROW. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
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 | Poems on various subjects |  |
SONG XXVI. TO-MORROW.
To-morrow's a cheat, let's be merry to-day,
And to Time fill a goblet—'twill force him to stay.
Who but cowards would e'er at his summons repine;
Who but cowards would steal from a liquor divine;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
And to Time fill a goblet—'twill force him to stay.
Who but cowards would e'er at his summons repine;
Who but cowards would steal from a liquor divine;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
185
Since rosy Contentment dwells not with the great,
Leave wealth and dull thinking to slaves of the state;
But let Mirth and Good-humour our banquet still share,
And wine be our armour against sullen Care;
For 'tis wine, gen'rous wine, blunts the thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
Leave wealth and dull thinking to slaves of the state;
But let Mirth and Good-humour our banquet still share,
And wine be our armour against sullen Care;
For 'tis wine, gen'rous wine, blunts the thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
To-morrow's a cheat—the blest moments let's prize,
The sting of Reflection Age bids us despise.
Come, Friendship, then sweeten the care-drowning bowl,
That's sacred to Love, the delight of the soul;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
The sting of Reflection Age bids us despise.
Come, Friendship, then sweeten the care-drowning bowl,
That's sacred to Love, the delight of the soul;
For 'tis wine that can blunt the keen thorn of pale Sorrow,
As it moistens the flow'r that may fade ere to-morrow.
| Poems on various subjects | |