THOU BIDST ME SING.
Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee
In other days ere joy had left this brow;
But think, tho' still unchanged the notes may be,
How different feels the heart that breathes them now!
The rose thou wearst to-night is still the same
We saw this morning on its stem so gay;
But, ah! that dew of dawn, that breath which came
Like life o'er all its leaves, hath past away.
Since first that music touched thy heart and mine,
How many a joy and pain o'er both have past,—
The joy, a light too precious long to shine,—
The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last.
And tho' that lay would like the voice of home
Breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken now a sigh—
Ah! not, as then, for fancied woes to come,
But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by.
CUPID ARMED.
Place the helm on thy brow,
In thy hand take the spear;—
Thou art armed, Cupid, now,
And thy battle-hour is near.
March on! march on! thy shaft and bow
Were weak against such charms;
March on! march on! so proud a foe
Scorns all but martial arms.
See the darts in her eyes,
Tipt with scorn, how they shine!
Every shaft, as it flies,
Mocking proudly at thine.
March on! march on! thy feathered darts
Soft bosoms soon might move;
But ruder arms to ruder hearts
Must teach what 'tis to love.
Place the helm on thy brow;
In thy hand take the spear,—
Thou art armed, Cupid, now,
And thy battle-hour is near.
ROUND THE WORLD GOES.
Round the world goes, by day and night,
While with it also round go we;
And in the flight of one day's light
An image of all life's course we see.
Round, round, while thus we go round,
The best thing a man can do,
Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round,
By—sending the wine round too.
Our first gay stage of life is when
Youth in its dawn salutes the eye—
Season of bliss! Oh, who wouldn't then
Wish to cry, "Stop!" to earth and sky?
But, round, round, both boy and girl
Are whisked thro' that sky of blue;
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl,
If—their heads didn't whirl round too.
Next, we enjoy our glorious noon,
Thinking all life a life of light;
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon,
And ere we can say, "How short!"—'tis night.
Round, round, still all goes round,
Even while I'm thus singing to you;
And the best way to make it a merry-go-round,
Is to—chorus my song round too.