. Carols of Cockayne. re my clouded careerMay be thought for a time pretty sunny; I 11 join in the valse or the banquet, my dear,But I cannot begin to be funny. Go, tell your Mamma that the sun may arise On a day when my cares shall have left me;When Time shall once more have brought back, as heflies, All the hopes of which Time has bereft , the day may arrive that shall see me content With my share of health, talent, and money:Then, fitly to hail that auspicious event, I will try to begin to be funny ! 147 IN A HUNDRED YEARS. A N extra smile or a burst of tears— A fine to-day or a dull
. Carols of Cockayne. re my clouded careerMay be thought for a time pretty sunny; I 11 join in the valse or the banquet, my dear,But I cannot begin to be funny. Go, tell your Mamma that the sun may arise On a day when my cares shall have left me;When Time shall once more have brought back, as heflies, All the hopes of which Time has bereft , the day may arrive that shall see me content With my share of health, talent, and money:Then, fitly to hail that auspicious event, I will try to begin to be funny ! 147 IN A HUNDRED YEARS. A N extra smile or a burst of tears— A fine to-day or a dull to-morrow—A taste more joy or a drop more sorrow-All the same in a hundred years. A thousand hopes or a thousand fears—A lifetime sad or a lifetime wasted—A cup draind empty or left untasted— All the same in a hundred years. If things were thus, as one often hears, I d seize the pleasure, I d leave the sorrow-Enjoy to-day and defy to-morrow— All the same in a hundred years. 148 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. E birds, beneath your little wings Go hide your little heads ;For oh ! the pleasantest of things On earth are feather-beds-Go, seek your pens, my little sheep, (And slumber while ye may ;)My own will rob me of my sleep Until the purple day. Shine on above the chimney-pots,O placid Evening Star : While gazing at you a la Watts,K I wonder what you are. 149 You rose on Eden, happy place! And still your smiles relieveThe woes and wants of Adams race, Delightful Star of Eve. The nightingales are all about— Their song is everywhere—Their notes are lovely (though they re out So often in the air),The zephyr, dancing through the tops Of ash and poplar, weavesLow melodies, and scarcely stops To murmur, By your leaves ! Night steeps the passions of the day In quiet, peace, and Dian, in her tranquil way, Kicks up a shine , I could bless the hour that brings All deep and dear delight,Unless I had a lot of things To polish off to-night. 150 CAROLS OF COCK
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Keywords: ., bookauthorleighhen, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1874
