"Let her go! her thirst she slakes Where the bloody conduit runs : Then her sweetest meal she makes On the first-born of her sons. "Drink to lofty hopes that cool- "Chant me now some wicked stave, Till thy drooping courage rise, And the glow-worm of the grave Glimmer in thy rheumy eyes. "Fear not thou to loose thy tongue; Set thy hoary fancies free; What is loathsome to the young 66 Savours well to thee and me. Change, reverting to the years, When thy nerves could understand What there is in loving tears, And the warmth of hand in hand. “Tell me tales of thy first love— "Fill the can, and fill the cup: All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again. "Trooping from their mouldy dens The chap-fallen circle spreads: Welcome, fellow-citizens, Hollow hearts and empty heads! “You are bones, and what of that ? "Death is king, and Vivat Rex! Tread a measure on the stones, Madam-if I know your sex, From the fashion of your bones. "No, I cannot praise the fire In your eye-nor yet your lip: All the more do I admire Joints of cunning workmanship. "Lo! God's likeness-the ground-plan— Neither modell'd, glazed, or framed : Buss me, thou rough sketch of man, Far too naked to be shamed! "Drink to Fortune, drink to Chance, While we keep a little breath! Hob-and-nob with brother Death! "Thou art mazed, the night is long, "Youthful hopes, by scores, to all, Unto me my maudlin gall And my mockeries of the world. "Fill the cup, and fill the can! Mingle madness, mingle scorn! Dregs of life, and lees of man: Yet we will not die forlorn." 5. The voice grew faint: there came a further change: Another said: "The crime of sense became And one: "He had not wholly quench'd his power; Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?" COME not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: THE EAGLE. FRAGMENT. HE clasps the crag with hooked hands; The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; |