If nature has decreed it so
With all above, and all below,
Let us like them forget our woe,

And not be killed with sorrow.
If I should quit your arms to-night
And chance to die before 't was light,
I would advise you and you might -
Love again to-morrow.

THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE

FAIR flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:

No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,

She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died nor were those flowers more

gay,

The flowers that did in Eden bloom;

Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came;

If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.

But still, on this uncertain stage
Where hopes and fears the soul engage,
And while, amid the joyous band,
Unheeded flows the measured sand,
Forget not as the moments pass

That time shall bring the parting glass!

In spite of all the mirth I've heard,
This is the glass I always feared,
The glass that would the rest destroy,
The farewell cup, the close of joy.

With you, whom reason taught to think,
I could for ages sit and drink;
But with the fool, the sot, the ass,
I haste to take the parting glass.

The luckless wight, that still delays
His draught of joys to future days,
Delays too long for then, alas!
Old age steps up, and - breaks the glass!

The nymph who boasts no borrowed charms,

Whose sprightly wit my fancy warms,
What though she tends this country inn,
And mixes wine, and deals out gin?
With such a kind, obliging lass,
I sigh to take the parting glass.

With him who always talks of gain
(Dull Momus, of the plodding train),
The wretch who thrives by others' woes,
And carries grief where'er he goes,
With people of this knavish class
The first is still my parting glass.

With those that drink before they dine,
With him that apes the grunting swine,
Who fills his page with low abuse,
And strives to act the gabbling goose
Turned out by fate to feed on grass
Boy, give me quick, the parting glass.

Tell me, what did Caty do ? Did she mean to trouble you? Why was Caty not forbid To trouble little Caty-did? Wrong, indeed, at you to fling, Hurting no one while you sing, Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did!

Why continue to complain? Caty tells me she again Will not give you plague or pain; Caty says you may be hid, Caty will not go to bed While you sing us Caty-did, Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did !

But, while singing, you forgot To tell us what did Caty not: Caty did not think of cold, Flocks retiring to the fold, Winter with his wrinkles old; Winter, that yourself foretold When you gave us Caty-did.

pine spars;