 | English melodies |  |
150
FIVE IN THE MORNING.
The Moon, pale and weary, seems glad to be setting,
As if all the music and dancing forgetting;
The flow'rs too are faded the banquet adorning—
I vow, dearest Pleasure, 'tis five in the morning!
Why canst thou not fetter swift Time with thy roses?
Is there never an hour when the tyrant reposes?
Go catch him, and bind him,
Tie old age behind him,
There'll never be freedom until his reign closes.
As if all the music and dancing forgetting;
The flow'rs too are faded the banquet adorning—
I vow, dearest Pleasure, 'tis five in the morning!
Why canst thou not fetter swift Time with thy roses?
Is there never an hour when the tyrant reposes?
Go catch him, and bind him,
Tie old age behind him,
There'll never be freedom until his reign closes.
'Mid odours and chaplets, 'mid garlands and beauty,
Sure Time might forget for a moment his duty;
Nor steal on our pleasures so silent and creepy,—
'Tis really provoking when Beauty grows sleepy,
When the eyes that with spirit and sweetness were glancing,
Are drooping like flow'rs on which Autumn's advancing:
Go catch him, and bind him,
Tie old age behind him;
And Pleasure reign ever, 'mid music and dancing.
Sure Time might forget for a moment his duty;
Nor steal on our pleasures so silent and creepy,—
'Tis really provoking when Beauty grows sleepy,
151
Are drooping like flow'rs on which Autumn's advancing:
Go catch him, and bind him,
Tie old age behind him;
And Pleasure reign ever, 'mid music and dancing.
| English melodies | |