 | English melodies |  |
234
I HATE THOSE WILD SPIRITS.
I hate those wild spirits that either are crowing,
As if of the sun they had more than their share,
More boisterous far than a nor-wester blowing,
Or sunk in the uttermost depths of despair.
Give me the firm nature that, tranquil and fearless,
Some hope 'midst the tide of misfortune can find;
Not too sanguine to-day, nor to-morrow too cheerless,
But reason the rudder that governs the mind.
As if of the sun they had more than their share,
More boisterous far than a nor-wester blowing,
Or sunk in the uttermost depths of despair.
Give me the firm nature that, tranquil and fearless,
Some hope 'midst the tide of misfortune can find;
Not too sanguine to-day, nor to-morrow too cheerless,
But reason the rudder that governs the mind.
Those weathercock-feelings that ever seem fated
To change their direction whatever winds draw;
One moment depress'd, in another elated—
Now led by a feather, now lost by a straw;
Give me the true heart upon which there's reliance,
Ere known what the hour's passing humour may plan;
One that laughs at slight cares, or can bid them defiance,
And bear his misfortunes, erect, like a man.
To change their direction whatever winds draw;
One moment depress'd, in another elated—
Now led by a feather, now lost by a straw;
235
Ere known what the hour's passing humour may plan;
One that laughs at slight cares, or can bid them defiance,
And bear his misfortunes, erect, like a man.
| English melodies | |