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84 |
ODES AND SONGS. |
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For naught can soothe the woful wound,
And heal the viper's sting— Nay naught these fires of death can drown, But pure and healthful water, found . Fresh in the bubbling spring.
D. C. York. |
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11 |
SONG. I'VE THROWN THE BOWL ASIDE.
I
'VE thrown the bowl aside, For me no more shall flow Its ruddy stream or sparkling tide,
How bright soe'er it glow ; I've seen extending wide Its devastating sway, Seen reason yield its power to guide,— I've cast the bowl away !
My days of revelry
O gladly I give up; They're but the masks of misery,
Which still lurk in the cup; While indolence and want
And poverty display Themselves in every drunkard's haunt,—
I've cast the bowl away!
A drunkard's gloomy grave Shall ne'er be made for me ;
O rather let the rushing wave Engulf me in the sea!
And may it be my lot
To die 'neath reason's ray !
Remember'd by my friends or not,—
. I've cast the bowl away! |
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