How strange! to find the labour done
Just as the sand begins to run;
In general human projects drop,
Just when our sand begins to stop!
ANACREONTIC.
"THE WISEST MEN ARE FOOLS IN WINE."
The wisest men are fools in wine,
Experience makes us think:
Its magic spells are so divine,
We reason—yet we drink!
How short's the longest life of man,
How soon its brightest laurels fade—
Then, as our life is but a span,
Let all its hours be joyous made.
Wine o'er the ardent restless mind
Entwines its poppy chain;
A solace, then, the wretched find.
In fictions of the brain.
Oh! as the charmed glass we sip,
We conquer care and pain:
It woos like woman's dewy lip,
To kiss—and come again!
This Song has been admirably set to Music, and Sung with great success, by MR. HENRY PHILLIPS.—It is published by MORI and LAVENU, 28, New Bond-street.