_Ode Xxxix._

When I behold the festive train Of dancing youth, I'm young again! Memory wakes her magic trance, And wings me lightly through the dance. Come, Cybeba, smiling maid! Cull the flower and twine the braid; Bid the blush of summer's rose Burn upon my brow of snows; And let me, while the wild and young Trip the mazy dance along, Fling my heap of years away, And be as wild, as young as they.

Hither haste, some cordial soul! Give my lips the brimming bowl; Oh! you will see this hoary sage Forget his locks, forget his age. He still can chant the festive hymn, He still can kiss the goblet's brim; He still can act the mellow raver, And play the fool as sweet as ever!