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GATHER the rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying ; And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heav'n, the sun,
The higher he's a getting, The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, whilst ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been fill'd with flowers; And ye the walks have been,
Where maids have spent their hours.
Ye have beheld where they
With wicker arks did come, To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.
You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round, Each virgin like a Spring
With honeysuckles crown'd.
But now we see none here,
Whose silv'ry feet did tread, And, with dishevell'd hair,
Adorn'd this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown, Ye're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.
Fair daffodils, we weep to see
We have short time to stay as you,
hours do, and dry
THE NIGHT-PIECE, TO JULIA.
Her eyes the glow-wo
worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will o' th’ Wisp mislight thee ;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee.
Let not the dark thee cumber;
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.
Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past;
And go at last.
What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to shew your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shewn their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
THE COUNTRY LIFE.
SWEET country life, to such unknown,