As the solemn sound reaches them, the very light seems to pass away. For it is late, and the lights are dying out.
“What voices are these?”
“’Tis a jest.”
“Bah—another verse.”
“Oh—’tis ready.”
“Let us smile on the youth that smiles on us,
For youth of all joys is the crown;
While if death for a moment draw nigh us,
And he should ungraciously frown.
“Oh!—oh—sing, drink, and laugh at that madman
Who gives to the future a thought;
Let to-morrow look after to-morrow,
For double is trouble when sought.”
“The joy of the profane is but a passing smoke.”
“Again those sounds!”
“See—see, how the lights are going out.”