THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,
Worthless 'tis for aught beside.
Wine and food are brought,
To revolve, be my behest!
Far too soon of the bliss pure contemplation affords.Mighty, indeed, are these figures! these limbs, how gracefully rounded!
That thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship ordain'd.See, I have follow'd thee thither, to Rome, with kindly intention,
I honour thee! and why?Hast thou e'er lighten'd the sorrowsOf the heavy laden?Hast thou e'er dried up the tearsOf the anguish-stricken?Was I not fashion'd to be a manBy omnipotent Time,And by eternal Fate,Masters of me and thee?
As they sing, and wake the lyre,Tendencies of noblest worth,To each type of strength give birth.
The morn arrived; his footstep quickly scared
Stay, a cup I'll fetch theeWhence to drink.
Comes here, with his bucket full!