Oh! think not my spirits are always as light
And as free from a pang as they seem to you now;
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of tonight
Will return with tomorrow to brighten my brow.
No; life is a waste of wearisome hours
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile,
May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here,
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile,
And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear.
The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows!
If it were not with friendship and love intertwin'd;
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose,
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind.
But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest,
Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd;
And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest,
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd.
But send round the bowl: while a relic of truth
Is in man or in woman, this pray'r shall be mine, -
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth,
And the moonlight of friendship console our decline.
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