A welcome heir with frolic face
Shall his jovial sire embrace,
And kiss him hard and pull him by the ears;
While o'er the cradle the good grand-sire bent
Will babble with the babe in equal merriment,
And feel no more his weight of years.
There in soft shadow of some ancient tree,
Maidens, boys, and wine-cups be,
Scattered on the pleasant grass;
From lip to lip the cups they pass;
Their own mantles garland-bound
Hang o'er-head for canopy,
And every cup with rose is crowned;
Each at banquet buildeth high
Of turf the table, and of turf the bed,--
Such was ancient revelry!
Here too some lover at his darling's head
Flings words of scorn, which by and by
He wildly prays be left unsaid,
And swears that wine-cups lie.
O under Phoebus' ever-peaceful sway,
Away, ye bows, ye arrows fierce, away!
Let Love without a shaft among earth's peoples stray!
A noble weapon! but when Cupid takes
His arrow,--ah! what mortal wound he makes!
Mine is the chief. This whole year have I lain
Wounded to death, yet cherishing the pain,
And counting my delicious anguish gain.
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