Hurrah! my lads, we'll merry make! Levate sursum pocula! God's blessing on all wine we take, In sempiterna saecula! Two lyrics of distinguished excellence, which still hold their place in the _Commersbuch_, cannot claim certain antiquity in their present form. They are not included in the _Carmina Burana_; yet their style is so characteristic of the Archipoeta, that I believe we may credit him with at least a share in their composition. The first starts with an allusion to the Horatian _tempus edax rerum_. TIME'S A-FLYING. No. 48. Laurel-crowned Horatius, True, how true thy saying! Swift as wind flies over us Time, devouring, slaying. Where are, oh! those goblets full Of wine honey-laden, Strifes and loves and bountiful Lips of ruddy maiden? Grows the young grape tenderly, And the maid is growing; But the thirsty poet, see, Years on him are snowing! What's the use on hoary curls Of the bays undying. If we may not kiss the girls, Drink while time's a-flying? The second consists of a truly brilliant development of the theme which our Herrick condensed into one splendid phrase--"There's no lust like to poetry!" THERE'S NO LUST LIKE TO POETRY. No. 49. Sweet in goodly fellowship Tastes red wine and rare O! But to kiss a girl's ripe lip Is a gift more fair O! Yet a gift more sweet, more fine, Is the lyre of Maro! While these three good gifts were mine, I'd not change with Pharaoh. Bacchus wakes within my breast Love and love's desire, Venus comes and stirs the blessed Rage of Phoebus' fire; Deathless honour is our due From the laurelled sire: Woe should I turn traitor to Wine and love and lyre! Should a tyrant rise and say, "Give up wine!" I'd do it; "Love no girls!" I would obey, Though my heart should rue it. "Dash thy lyre!" suppose he saith, Naught should bring me to it; "Yield thy lyre or die!" my breath, Dying, should thrill through it! A lyric of the elder period in praise of wine and love, which forcibly illustrates the contempt felt by the student class for the unlettered laity and boors, shall be inserted here. It seems to demand a tune. WINE AND VENUS. No. 50. Ho, comrades mine! What is your pleasure? What business fine Or mirthful measure? Lo, Venus toward our crew advancing, A choir of Dryads round her dancing! Good fellows you! The time is jolly! Earth springs anew, Bans melancholy; Bid long farewell to winter weather! Let lads and maids be blithe together. Dame Venus spurns Her brother Ocean; To Bacchus turns; No colder potion Deserves her godhead's approbation; On sober souls she pours damnation.