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"Name and fame! to fly sublime

Through the courts, the camps, the schools,

Is to be the ball of Time,

Bandied by the hands of fools.

"Friendship !—to be two in one—

Let the canting liar pack! Well I know, when I am gone,

How she mouths behind my back.

"Virtue !—to be good and just—

Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust,

Mixed with cunning sparks of hell,

"O! we two as well can look
Whited thought and cleanly life

As the priest, above his book
Leering at his neighbor's wife.

"Fill the cup, and fill the can:
Have a rouse before the morn:

Every moment dies a man,
Every moment one is born.

"Drink, and let the parties rave:
They are filled with idle spleen,

Rising, falling, like a wave.

For they know not what they mean.

"He that roars for liberty

Faster binds a tyrant's power;

And the tyrant's cruel glee
Forces on the freer hour.

"Fill the can, and fill the cup:

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up,

And is lightly laid again.

"Greet her with applausive breath,

Freedom, gayly doth she tread; In her right a civic wreath,

In her left a human head.

"No, I love not what is new;

She is of an ancient house: And I think we know the hue

Of that cap upon her brows.

"Let her go! her thirst she slakes
Where the bloody conduit runs:

Then her sweetest meal she makes
On the first-born of her sons.

"Drink to lofty hopes that cool—

Visions of a perfect State: Drink we, last, the public fool,

Frantic love and frantic hate.

"Chant me now some wicked stave,

Till thy drooping courage rise, And the glow-worm of the grave

Glimmer in thy rheumy eyes.

"Fear not thou to loose thy tongue;

Set thy hoary fancies free; What is loathsome to the young

Savors well to thee and me.

"Change, reverting to the years, When thy nerves could understand

What there is in loving tears,

And the warmth of hand in hand.

"Tell me tales of thy first love— April hopes, the fools of chance;

Till the graves begin to move,
And the dead begin to dance.

"Fill the can, and fill the cup:
All the windy ways of men

Are but dust that rises up,
And is lightly laid again.

"Trooping from their mouldy dens

The chap-fallen circle spreads-: •Welcome, fellow-citizens,

Hollow hearts and empty heads!

"You are bones, and what of that V

Every face, however full, Padded round with flesh and fat,

Is but modelled on a skull.

"Death is king, and Vivat Rex!

Tread a measure on the stones, Madam—if I know your sex,

From the fashion of your bones.

41 No, I cannot praise the fire
In your eye—nor yet your lip:

All the more do I admire

Joints of cunning workmanship.

"Lo! God's likeness—the ground-planNeither modelled, 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,
And the longer night is near:

What! I am not all as wrong
As a bitter jest is dear.

"Youthful hopes, by scores, to all,
When the locks are crisp and curled;

Unto me my maudlin gall,

And my mockeries of the world.

"Fill the cup, and fill the can!

Mingle madness, mingle scorn!
Dregs of life, and lees of man:

Yet we will not die forlorn."

The voice grew faint: there came a further change;

Once more uprose the mystic mountain-range:

Below were men and horses pierced with worms,

And slowly quickening into lower forms;

By shards and scurf of salt, and scum of dross,

Old plash of rains, and refuse patched with moss.

Then some one spake: "Behold! it was a crime

Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time."

Another said: "The crime of sense became

The crime of malice, and is equal blame."

And one: "He had not wholly quenched 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 pealed from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand: And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made himself an awful rose of dawn.

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.

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
Thy silver sister-world, and rise
To glass herself in dewy eyes

That watch me from the glen below.

Ah, bear me with thee, smoothly borne,
Dip forward under starry light,

And move me to my marriage-morn,
And round again to happy night.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK,

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, oh Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for, the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O well for the sailor lad,
That he sin^s in Ms boat on the bay!

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