Riches I had! they faded from my view—
And troops of friends! but they deceived me too—
And fame! it came and went—a very breath;
...
With different colour glows each ray
That joins to feed the solar day.
Yet, each commingling as they pass,
They lose distinction in the mass,
...
We sprang on no ignoble soil;
'Twas on the field of Waterloo.
Our culture was the battle-toil,
And many a hero's blood—our dew.
...
With all its best of sense and wit
Each Album's earlier leaves are writ;
No page—but Love and Friendship on it
...
Soft lays, that dwell on lips and eyes.
Long since with me have had their day;
At fifty, hearts grow cold or wise;
...
Crotchets—odd mixings up of soul and sense—
(Sense, if the truth were told, oft mastering Soul)
Full sure he had; but we did suffer them,
...
Tis not because fierce swords are flashing there,
With license and a reckless scorn of life,
When for some petty gaud upstarts a strife,
...
ODE I.
Sing the old Atridæ!
Sing, my Lyre, of Cadmus.
But the Lyre, refusing,
...
Gossip right and left you're strowing,
Never heeding what you do;
Tho' each idle word you're sowing
Friend and neighbour long may rue.
...