| |
| THOU, born to sip the lake or spring, | |
| Or quaff the waters of the stream, | |
| Why hither come, on vagrant wing? | |
| Does Bacchus tempting seem,— | |
| Did he for you this glass prepare? | 5 |
| Will I admit you to a share? | |
| |
| Did storms harass or foes perplex, | |
| Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay,— | |
| Did wars distress, or labors vex, | |
| Or did you miss your way? | 10 |
| A better seat you could not take | |
| Than on the margin of this lake. | |
| |
| Welcome!—I hail you to my glass: | |
| All welcome here you find; | |
| Here let the cloud of trouble pass, | 15 |
| Here be all care resigned. | |
| This fluid never fails to please, | |
| And drown the griefs of men or bees. | |
| |
| What forced you here we cannot know, | |
| And you will scarcely tell, | 20 |
| But cheery we would have you go | |
| And bid a glad farewell: | |
| On lighter wings we bid you fly,— | |
| Your dart will now all foes defy. | |
| |
| Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink, | 25 |
| And in this ocean die; | |
| Here bigger bees than you might sink, | |
| Even bees full six feet high. | |
| Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said | |
| To perish in a sea of red. | 30 |
| |
| Do as you please, your will is mine; | |
| Enjoy it without fear, | |
| And your grave will be this glass of wine, | |
| Your epitaph—a tear; | |
| Go, take your seat in Charon’s boat; | 35 |
| We ’ll tell the hive, you died afloat. | |
| |
