Wearing out life’s evening grey;
Strike thy bosom sage, and tell
What is bliss, and which the way.
Thus I spoke, and speaking sighed,
Scarce repress’d the starting tear,
When the hoary sage replied,
“Come, my lad, and drink some beer.”
Imitation of the Above.
“Crested warrior, on whose helm
Nodding plumes encircling bind,