Ay truly! even to the loftiest star! To us, my friend, the ages that are pass'd Abook with seven seals, close - fasten'd, are; And what the spirit of the timesmen call, Is merely their own spirit after all, Wherein, distorted oft, the timesare glass'd. Then truly, 'tis a sight to grieve the soul! At the first glance we fly itin dismay; A very lumber - room, a rubbish - hole; At best a sort of mock -heroic play, With saws pragmatical, and maxims sage, To suit the puppetsand their mimic stage.
(Turning to the table.)
A truce to words, mere empty sound, Let deeds at length appear, my friends!While idle compliments you round, You might achieve some useful ends. Whytalk of the poetic vein? Who hesitates will never know it; If bards ye are, asye maintain, Now let your inspiration show it. To you is known what werequire, Strong drink to sip is our desire; Come, brew me such without delay!To - morrow sees undone, what happens not to - day; Still forward press,nor ever tire! The possible, with steadfast trust, Resolve should be theforelock grasp; Then she will ne'er let go her clasp, And labours on, becauseshe must.
'Twas all delusion, cheat and lie.
Meanwhile, the treasure I see glimmering there, Will it ascend into the openair?}
Of purgatorial fire as yet 'tis but a drop.
Now listen to the sad affair!