"Lo! God's likeness the ground-plan Neither modell'd, glazed, or framed: Buss me, thou rough sketch of man, Far too naked to be shamed! "Drink to Fortune, drink to Chance, While we keep a little breath! Drink to heavy Ignorance! Hob-and-nob with brother Death! "Thou art mazed, the night is long, What! I am not all as wrong "Youthful hopes, by scores, to all, When the locks are crisp and curl'd; Unto me my maudlin gall And my mockeries of the world. "Fill the cup, and fill the can! Mingle madness, mingle scorn! Yet we will not die forlorn." The voice grew faint: there came a further change: Again arose the mystic mountain-range: Below were men and horses pierced with worms, By shards and scurf of salt, and scum of dross, The crime of malice, and is equal blame." And one: "He had not wholly quench'd his power; A little grain of conscience made him sour." At last I heard a voice upon the slope, Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?" To which an answer peal'd from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand; THE SKIPPING-ROPE. SURE never yet was Antelope Could skip so lightly by. Stand off, or else my skipping-rope Will hit you in the eye. How lightly whirls the skipping-rope! How fairy-like you fly! Go, get you gone, you muse and mope I hate that silly sigh. Nay, dearest, teach me how to hope, Or tell me how to die. There, take it, take my skipping-rope, And hang yourself thereby. MOVE eastward, happy earth, and leave Yon orange sunset waning slow. From fringes of the faded eve, O, happy planet, eastward go; Till over thy dark shoulder glow To glass herself in dewy eyes That watch me from the glen below. Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne, Dip forward under starry light, And move me to my marriage-morn, And round again to happy night. |