IV. Friends, they are scanty, Beggars are plenty, If he has followers, I know why; Gold's in his clutches, (Buying him crutches !)- What can an old man do but die ? HYMN TO THE SUN. I. GIVER of glowing light! Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy genial rays! II. King of the tuneful lyre, Though lips are cold Whereon of old Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song! III. Lord of the dreadful bow, None triumph now for Python's death; But thou dost save From hungry grave The life that hangs upon a summer breath. Father of rosy day, IV. No more thy clouds of incense rise; But waking flow'rs At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies. V. God of the Delphic fane, No more thou listenest to hymns sublime; But they will leave On winds at eve, A solemn echo to the end of time. TO A COLD BEAUTY. I. LADY, wouldst thou heiress be Thou dost still lock up thy heart ;Thou that shouldst outlast the snow, But in the whiteness of thy brow? II. Scorn and cold neglect are made III, When the little buds unclose, Red, and white, and pied, and blue, And that virgin flow'r, the rose, Opes her heart to hold the dew, Wilt thou lock thy bosom up With no jewel in its cup? |