Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,
Happier than the happiest king!

All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants, belong to thee;
All that summer-hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice:
Man for thee does sow and plough;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently joy,

Nor does thy luxury destroy.

The shepherd gladly heareth thee,

More harmonious than he.

Thee country hinds with gladness hear,

Prophet of the ripened year!

Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;

Phoebus is himself thy sire.

To thee of all things upon earth,

Life is no longer than thy mirth.

Happy insect! happy thou,

Dost neither age nor winter know:

But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,

(Voluptuous, and wise withal,
Epicurean animal!)

Sated with thy summer feast,
Thou retirest to endless rest.

COWLEY.

Death's Final Conquest.

THE glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill,
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still.
Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds: Upon Death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds:

All heads must come

To the cold tomb;

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

SHIRLEY.

Youth and Age.

VERSE, a breeze mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a beeBoth were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young!

When I was young? Ah, woful When! Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,

How lightly then it flashed along:

Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,

On winding lakes and rivers wide,

That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Nought cared this body for wind or weather, When Youth and I lived in 't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,

Ere I was old!

Ere I was Old? Ah woeful Ere,

Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
"T is known that Thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled:
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that Thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought; so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,
When we are old:

That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist;
Yet hath outstayed his welcome while,
And tells the jest without a smile.

COLERIDGE.

Sonnet xxix.

WHEN in disgrace, with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possest,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark, at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

SHAKSPEARE.