ift as wind flies over us
Time, devouring, slaying.
Where are, oh! those goblets full
Of wine honey-laden,
Strifes and loves and bountiful
Lips of ruddy maiden?

Grows the young grape tenderly,
And the maid is growing;
But the thirsty poet, see,
Years on him are snowing!
What's the use on hoary curls
Of the bays undying.
If we may not kiss the girls,
Drink while time's a-flying?

The second consists of a truly brilliant development of the theme
which our Herrick condensed into one splendid phrase--"There's no lust
like to poetry!"

THERE'S NO LUST LIKE TO POETRY.

No. 49.

Sweet in goodly fellowship
Tastes red wine and rare O!
But to kiss a girl's ripe lip
Is a gift more fair O!
Yet a gift more sweet, more fine,
Is the lyre of Maro!
While these three good gifts were mine,
I'd not change with Pharaoh.

Bacchus wakes within my breast
Love and love's desire,
Venus comes and stirs the blessed
Rage of Phoebus' fire;
Deathless honour is our due
From the laurelled sire:
Woe should I turn traitor to
Wine and love and lyre!

Should a tyrant rise and say,
"Give up wine!" I'd do it;
"Love no girls!" I would obey,
Though my heart should rue it.
"Dash thy lyre!" suppose he saith,
Naught should bring me to it;
"Yield thy lyre or die!" my breath,
Dying, should thrill through it!

A lyric of the elder period in praise of wine and love, which forcibly
illustrates the contempt felt by the student class for the unlettered
laity and boors, shall be inserted here. It seems to demand a tune.

WINE AND VENUS.

No. 50.

Ho, comrades mine!
What is your pleasure?
What business fine
Or mirthful measure?
Lo, Venus toward our crew advancing,
A choir of Dryads round her dancing!

Good fellows you!
The time is jolly!
Earth springs anew,
Bans melancholy;
Bid long farewell to winter weather!
Let lads and maids be blithe together.

Dame Venus spurns
Her brother Ocean;
To Bacchus turns;
No colder potion
Deserves her godhead's approbation;
On sober souls she pours damnation.

Let then this band,
Imbued with learning,
By Venus st