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96 IRISH MELODIES.
Then fill the cup — what is it to us How Time his circle measures ?
The fairy hours we call up thus Obey no wand but Pleasure's.
Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,
Till Care, one summer's morning, Set up, among his smiling flowers,
A dial by way of warning. But Joy lov'd better to gaze on the sun,
As long as its light was glowing, Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on,
And how fast that light was going. So fill the cup — what is it to us
How Time his circle measures ? The fairy hours we call up thus
Obey no wand but Pleasure's. |
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SAIL ON, SAIL ON.
Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark —
"Wherever blows the welcome wind, It cannot lead to scenes more dark,
More sad than those we leave behind. Each wave that passes seems to say,
" Though death beneath our smile may be, " Less cold we are, less false than they,
" Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee." |
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