"And what is life?" I asked a maid,
Who trod, as if on air,
So lightly she did trip along,
So bright she look'd, and fair.
The maiden stopp'd her graceful steps,
And to my words replied,
"Oh, life's a lovely dream," she said,
With some slight boons denied.
"But love, and health, and beauty crowns
My lot so filled with cheer,
That joy beams forth from ev'rything,
To favor'd mortals here.
"The birds and flow'rs are fill'd with joy,
With joy the birds do sing;
The very rain that comes from heav'n,
Seems loads of joy to bring.
"And when I look to future years,
The view seems brighter still,
And brighter grow the perfum'd flow'rs,
As I go up the hill."
"And what is life?" I asked a man,
A man of middle years.
"This world is truly call'd," he said,
"A vale of bitter tears.
"I thought this earth a bright, fair spot,
But that was long ago;
I view it now, with truer sight,
And see a world of woe.
"With disappointment and regret,
And hopes thrown to the ground,
I live, but with an aching heart
I tread life's weary round."
"And what is life?" This time a man
With hoary hair replied:
"This life consists of gracious boons,
With evils by their side.
"To leave the bad, and choose the good,
Is done but by the few,
And that is why mankind are such
A discontented crew.