Classic Poem

Some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine,
As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see;
But, as I'm not particular--wit, love, and wine,
Are for one night's amusement sufficient for me.
Nay--humble and strange as my tastes may appear--
If driven to the worst, I could manage, thank Heaven,
To put up with eyes such as beam round me here,
And such wine as we're sipping, six days out of seven.
So pledge me a bumper--your sages profound
May be blest, if they will, on their own patent plan:
But as we are not sages, why--send the cup round--
We must only be happy the best way we can.

A reward by some king was once offered, we're told,
To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for mankind;
But talk of new pleasures!--give me but the old,
And I'll leave your inventors all new ones they find.
Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss,
Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day,
Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this,
And such eyes as we've here be the stars of my way!
In the mean time, a bumper--your Angels, on high,
May have pleasures unknown to life's limited span;
But, as we are not Angels, why--let the flask fly--
We must be happy all ways that we can.

* * * * *

Now nearly fled was sunset's light,
Leaving but so much of its beam
As gave to objects, late so blight,
The coloring of a shadowy dream;
And there was still where Day had set
A flush that spoke him loath to die--
A last link of his glory yet,
Binding together earth and sky.
Say, why is it that twilight best
Becomes even brows the loveliest?
That dimness with its softening Touch
Can bring out grace unfelt before,
And charms we ne'er can see too much,
When seen but half enchant the more?
Alas, it is that every joy
In fulness finds its worst alloy,
And half a bliss, but hoped or guessed,
Is sweeter than the whole possest;--
That Beauty, when least shone upon,
A creature most ideal grows;
And there's no light from moon or sun
Like that Imagination throws;--
It is, alas, that Fancy shrinks
Even from a bright reality,
And turning inly, feels and thinks
For heavenlier things than e'er will be.

Such was the effect of twilight's hour
On the fair groups that, round and round,
From glade to grot, from bank to bower,
Now wandered thro' this fairy ground;
And thus did Fancy--and champagne--
Work on the sight their dazzling spells,
Till nymphs that looked at noonday plain,
Now brightened in the gloom to belles;
And the brief interval of time,
'Twixt after dinner and before,
To dowagers brought back their prime,
And shed a halo round two-score.

Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye,
The ear, the fancy, quick succeed;
And now along the waters fly
Light gondoles, of Venetian breed,
With knights and dames who, calm reclined,
Lisp out love-sonnets as they glide--
Astonishing old Thames to find
Such doings on his moral tide.

So bright was still that tranquil river,
With the last shaft from Daylight's quiver,
That many a group in turn were seen
Embarking on its wave serene;
And 'mong the rest, in chorus gay,
A band of mariners, from the isles
Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles,
As smooth they floated, to the play
Of their oar's cadence, sung this lay:--