Iii

But something whispers to my heart That, as we downward tend, Lycoris! life requires an art To which our souls must bend; A skill--to balance and supply; And, ere the flowing fount be dry, As soon it must, a sense to sip, Or drink, with no fastidious lip. Then welcome, above all, the Guest Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and sea, Seem to recal the Deity Of youth into the breast: May pensive Autumn ne'er present A claim to her disparagement! While blossoms and the budding spray Inspire us in our own decay; Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, Be hopeful Spring the favourite of the Soul!

VARIANTS: