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Give me of the flowing bowl
LET others sing in lofty strains Of battles fought on German plains ; Let others in elegiac verse The fate of gallant Wolfe rehearse; When climbing up the craggy steep Of Sill’ry, frowning o'er the deep, The hero for his country died, With Vict'ry bleeding by his side: My own encounters wake my string; My own disastrous fate I sing.,
Not the horse's armed heel, Not the Indian's savage steel, Not the sword in terrour bare, Not the thunder of the war, Not the bayonet's deadly thrust Laid me breathless in the dust; Slain by other arms I die. My death was sent from Lucy's eye,
Or Marlb'rough's deeds on Flandria's plain, Where many a shade of hero slain, Wand’ring by the pale-ey'd moon In mournful mood their fate bemoan, I meant to sing with epic fire ; To epic strains I tun'd my lyre : In vain! the chords rebellious prove, And nought they sound but gentle love.
Again the Muse my soul possessid, And Eugene's glory fires my breast; Or when by Danube's rapid wave, Or by Tibiscus, or the Save, Th’imperial eagle soar'd around, And dash'd the crescent to the ground; Or when his brave unconquer'd arm The Gallic tyrant did disarin :Of these I proudly thought to sing, And chang'd my lyre, and chang'd each string; But nought avails! The wanton Boy Attunes each note to love and joy, In such a softly soothing strain As maidens sigh their absent swain, When melting.whispers breathe around, And echo hangs upon the sound,
I yield II yield! Henceforth adieu! Ye sons of war, henceforth adieu ! Love does all my muse control, Love possesses all my soul.
GENTLY, gently rest my head
Little laughing God of love,
Will the horse, in full career,
Alas! they heed not what we say ;
Go! and the tomb profusely feast
UNHAPPY he ! who never lov'd, Whom no soft passion ever mov'd;
Unhappy he ! whose gentler heart
Fool that I was, who hop'd to find
young, and wise, and good, Of gentlest manners, purest blood; Youth, wisdom, manners nothing prove, The rich alone win woman's love. Fool that I was, who hop'd to find A gen'rous heart in womankind !
Perish the wretch, whose sordid breast The lust of avarice first possess'd! Hence up to Heav'n fair Truth is fled, And ev'ry kind affection's dead : Nor brothers now, nor parents know The love which Nature bids to glow. Hence flows the widow's, orphan's tear, Hence all the dreadful waste of war. More fatal mischief yet succeeas Hence ev'ry faithful lover bleeds
A GOBLET !--No! give me a flood,