Though all things fall and rise;
Long may we thus remain!

Eternal be our ties!

1775.
-----
Constancy in change.

Could this early bliss but rest

Constant for one single hour! 
But e’en now the humid West

Scatters many a vernal shower. 
Should the verdure give me joy?

’Tis to it I owe the shade;
Soon will storms its bloom destroy,

Soon will Autumn bid it fade.

Eagerly thy portion seize,

If thou wouldst possess the fruit! 
Fast begin to ripen these,

And the rest already shoot. 
With each heavy storm of rain

Change comes o’er thy valley fair;
Once, alas! but not again

Can the same stream hold thee e’er.

And thyself, what erst at least

Firm as rocks appear’d to rise,
Walls and palaces thou seest

But with ever-changing eyes. 
Fled for ever now the lip

That with kisses used to glow,
And the foot, that used to skip

O’er the mountain, like the roe.

And the hand, so true and warm,

Ever raised in charity,
And the cunning-fashion’d form,—­

All are now changed utterly. 
And what used to bear thy name,

When upon yon spot it stood,
Like a rolling billow came,

Hast’ning on to join the flood.

Be then the beginning found

With the end in unison,
Swifter than the forms around

Are themselves now fleeting on! 
Thank the merit in thy breast,

Thank the mould within thy heart,
That the Muses’ favour blest
Ne’er will perish, ne’er depart.

1803.*
-----
Table song.

[Composed for the merry party already mentioned, on the occasion of the departure for France of the hereditary prince, who was one of the number, and who is especially alluded to in the 3rd verse.]

O’er me—­how I cannot say,—­

Heav’nly rapture’s growing. 
Will it help to guide my way

To yon stars all-glowing? 
Yet that here I’d sooner be,

To assert I’m able,
Where, with wine and harmony,

I may thump the table.

Wonder not, my dearest friends,

What ’tis gives me pleasure;
For of all that earth e’er lends,

’Tis the sweetest treasure. 
Therefore solemnly I swear,

With no reservation,
That maliciously I’ll ne’er

Leave my present station.

Now that here we’re gather’d round,

Chasing cares and slumbers,
Let, methought, the goblet sound

To the bard’s glad numbers! 
Many a hundred mile away,

Go those we love dearly;
Therefore let us here to-day

Make the glass ring clearly!

Here’s His health, through Whom we live!

I that faith inherit. 
To our king the next toast give,