Seldom does it name ye. Many a thing have ye intended, Many a thing have badly ended, And now I must blame ye. At some moment in our lives We must all repent us! So confess, with pious trust, All your sins momentous! Error's crooked pathways shunning. Let us, on the straight road running, Honestly content us! Yes! we've oft, when waking, dream'd, Let's confess it rightly; Left undrain'd the brimming cup, When it sparkled brightly; Many a shepherd's-hour's soft blisses, Many a dear mouth's flying kisses We've neglected lightly. Mute and silent have we sat, Whilst the blockheads prated, And above e'en song divine Have their babblings rated; To account we've even call'd us For the moments that enthrall'd us, With enjoyment freighted. If thou'lt absolution grant To thy true ones ever, We, to execute thy will, Ceaseless will endeavour, From half-measures strive to wean us, Wholly, fairly, well demean us, Resting, flagging never. At all blockheads we'll at once Let our laugh ring clearly, And the pearly-foaming wine Never sip at merely. Ne'er with eye alone give kisses, But with boldness suck in blisses From those lips loved dearly. 1803.* ----- COPTIC SONG. LEAVE we the pedants to quarrel and strive, Rigid and cautious the teachers to be! All of the wisest men e'er seen alive Smile, nod, and join in the chorus with me: "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly! Play then the fool with the fool, willy-nilly,-- Children of wisdom,--remember the word!" Merlin the old, from his glittering grave, When I, a stripling, once spoke to him,--gave Just the same answer as that I've preferr'd; "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly! Play then the fool with the fool, willy-nilly,-- Children of wisdom,--remember the word!" And on the Indian breeze as it booms, And in the depths of Egyptian tombs, Only the same holy saying I've heard: "Vain 'tis to wait till the dolt grows less silly! Play then the fool with the fool, willy-nilly,-- Children of wisdom,--remember the word!" 1789.* ----- ANOTHER. Go! obedient to my call, Turn to profit thy young days, Wiser make betimes thy breast In Fate's balance as it sways, Seldom is the cock at rest; Thou must either mount, or fall, Thou must either rule and win, Or submissively give in, Triumph, or else yield to clamour: Be the anvil or the hammer. 1789. ----- VANITAS! VANITATUM VANITAS! MY trust in nothing now is placed, Hurrah! So in the world true joy I taste, Hurrah! Then he who would be a comrade of mine Must rattle his glass, and in chorus combine, Over these dregs of wine. I placed my trust in gold and wealth, Hurrah! But then I lost all joy and health, Lack-a-day! Both here and there the money roll'd, And when I had it here, behold, From there had fled the gold! I placed my trust in women next,