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Bravely cling together,
Both in fortune's sunshine bright,

And in stormy weather.
Just as we are gather'd thus,

Others are collected;
On them, therefore, as on us,

Be Fate's smile directed!
From the springhead to the sea,

Many a mill's revolving,
And the world's prosperity

Is the task I'm solving.
1802.

-----
WONT AND DONE.

I HAVE loved; for the first time with passion I rave!
I then was the servant, but now am the slave;

I then was the servant of all:
By this creature so charming I now am fast bound,

To love and love's guerdon she turns all around,
And her my sole mistress I call.

l've had faith; for the first time my faith is now strong!
And though matters go strangely, though matters go wrong,

To the ranks of the faithful I'm true:
Though ofttimes 'twas dark and though ofttimes 'twas drear,

In the pressure of need, and when danger was near,
Yet the dawning of light I now view.

I have eaten; but ne'er have thus relish'd my food!
For when glad are the senses, and joyous the blood,

At table all else is effaced
As for youth, it but swallows, then whistles an air;

As for me, to a jovial resort I'd repair,
Where to eat, and enjoy what I taste.

I have drunk; but have never thus relish'd the bowl!
For wine makes us lords, and enlivens the soul,

And loosens the trembling slave's tongue.
Let's not seek to spare then the heart-stirring drink,

For though in the barrel the old wine may sink,
In its place will fast mellow the young.

I have danced, and to dancing am pledged by a vow!
Though no caper or waltz may be raved about now,

In a dance that's becoming, whirl round.
And he who a nosegay of flowers has dress'd,

And cares not for one any more than the rest,
With a garland of mirth is aye crown'd.

Then once more be merry, and banish all woes!
For he who but gathers the blossoming rose.

By its thorns will be tickled alone.
To-day still, as yesterday, glimmers the star;

Take care from all heads that hang down to keep far,
And make but the future thine own.

1813.
-----

GENERAL CONFESSION.
In this noble ring to-day

Let my warning shame ye!
Listen to my solemn voice,--

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,

Hurrah!
But there in truth was sorely vex'd,

Lack-a-day!
The False another portion sought,

The True with tediousness were fraught,
The Best could not be bought.

My trust in travels then I placed,
Hurrah!

And left my native land in haste.
Lack-a-day!

But not a single thing seem'd good,
The beds were bad, and strange the food,

And I not understood.
I placed my trust in rank and fame,

Hurrah!
Another put me straight to shame,

Lack-a-day!
And as I had been prominent,

All scowl'd upon me as I went,
I found not one content.

I placed my trust in war and fight,
Hurrah!

We gain'd full many a triumph bright,
Hurrah!

Into the foeman's land we cross'd,
We put our friends to equal cost,

And there a leg I lost.
My trust is placed in nothing now,

Hurrah!
At my command the world must bow,

Hurrah!
And as we've ended feast and strain,

The cup we'll to the bottom drain;
No dregs must there remain!

1806.
-----

FORTUNE OF WAR.
NOUGHT more accursed in war I know

Than getting off scot-free;
Inured to danger, on we go

In constant victory;
We first unpack, then pack again,

With only this reward,
That when we're marching, we complain,

And when in camp, are bor'd.
The time for billeting comes next,--

The peasant curses it;
Each nobleman is sorely vex'd,

'Tis hated by the cit.
Be civil, bad though be thy food,

The clowns politely treat;
If to our hosts we're ever rude,

Jail-bread we're forced to eat.


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