Laugh, my friends, and without blame
Lightly quit what lightly came;
Rich to-morrow as to-day,
Spend as madly as you may!
I, with little land to stir,
Am the exacter laborer.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Once I said, “A face is gone
If too hotly mused upon;
And our best impressions are
Those that do themselves repair.”
Many a face I so let flee—
Ah!-is faded utterly.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Marguerite says, “As last year went,
So the coming year’ll be spent;
Some day next year, I shall be,
Entering heedless, kissed by thee.”
Ah, I hope! yet, once away,
What may chain us, who can say?
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Paint that lilac kerchief, bound
Her soft face, her hair around;
Tied under the archest chin
Mockery ever ambushed in.
Let the fluttering fringes streak
All her pale, sweet-rounded cheek.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Paint that figure’s pliant grace
As she toward me leaned her face,
Half refused and half resigned,
Murmuring, “Art thou still unkind?”
Many a broken promise then
Was new made—to break again.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind,
Eager tell-tales of her mind;
Paint, with their impetuous stress
Of inquiring tenderness,
Those frank eyes, where deep doth be
An angelic gravity.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
What! my friends, these feeble lines
Show, you say, my love declines?
To paint ill as I have done,
Proves forgetfulness begun?
Time’s gay minions, pleased you see,
Time, your master, governs me;
Pleased, you mock the fruitless cry,—
“Quick, thy tablets, Memory!”
Ah, too true! Time’s current strong
Leaves us true to nothing long.
Yet, if little stays with man,
Ah, retain we all we can!
If the clear impression dies,
Ah, the dim remembrance prize!
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!