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IRISH MELODIES. |
57 |
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As onward we journey, how pleasant
To pause and inhabit awhile Those few sunny spots, like the present,
That 'mid the dull wilderness smile! But Time, like a pitiless master,
Cries " Onward! " and spurs the gay hours Ah, never doth Time travel faster,
Than when his way lies among flowers But come — may our life's happy measure
Be all of such moments made up ; They're born on the bosom of Pleasure,
They die 'midst the tears of the cup.
"We saw how the sun look'd in sinking,
The waters beneath him how bright; And now let our farewell of drinking
Eesemble that farewell of light. You saw how he finish'd, by darting
His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — So, fill up, let's shine at our parting,
In full liquid glory, like him. And oh! may our life's happy measure
Of moments like this be made up ; 'Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure,
It dies 'mid the tears of the cup. |
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