How best to please the lovely fair,
For this indeed is worth my care.
Alas! each day, each hour I know,
My hoary locks still whiter grow:
Then bring the goblet—let me drink,
'Twill only make me sad to think
How near, how very near the day[1]
When, mix'd with earth and kindred clay,
My soul no more shall taste of joy,
Nor schemes of bliss my mind employ.
ODE XXXVII.—ON THE SPRING.
The newborn Spring awakes the flowers,
And bathes their buds in dewy showers:
The roses bloom, the Graces wear
Fresh flowery garlands in their hair.
How sleeps the sea in placid rest!
No storms disturb its peaceful breast;
But oft upon its surface green
The diving duck is sporting seen.
From distant skies now comes the crane[2]
To seek her well-known haunts again;
- ↑ What can present a stronger picture of the deplorable state of those who only in this life have hope, than this desponding reflection? The prospect of death, considered merely as a termination of the pleasures of life, was too dreadful to be entertained, and therefore he resolves to banish all thoughts of such an event in scenes of mirth and festivity. Is it not to be feared that he has too many imitators, even among those who, enlightened by Revelation, know that this life is but a probationary state, and yet not only neglect its duties, but, judging from their conduct, seldom bestow a single thought on them?
- ↑ The migratory habits of the crane are thus described by Goldsmith in his History of Animated Nature: "The crane changes place like a wanderer; he spends the autumn in Europe; he then flies off, probably to some more southern climate, to enjoy a part of the winter; returns to Europe in the spring; crosses up to the north in summer; visits those lakes that are never dry; and then comes down again to make depredations on our cultivated grounds in autumn."
