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BY THE GAILY CIRCLING ⟨GLASS⟩
By the gaily circling glass,
We can see how minutes pass,
By the hollow flask we’re told,
How the waning night grows old.
Soon, too soon, the busy day
Drives us from our sport away;
What have we with day to do?
Sons of care, ’twas made for you.
By the silence of the owl,
By the chirping of the thorn,
By the butts that empty roll,
We foretell th’approach of morn.
Fill, then fill the vacant glass,
Let no precious moment slip;
Flout the moralizing ass;
Joys find entrance at the lip.
THE BED OF ROSES.
My father’s flocks adorn’d the plain,
Retirement’s joys possessing;
He flourish’d in the sun’s mild reign,
His home and children blessing.
When round us rag’d destructive war,
And fire and slaughter spread afar,
