Songs

Ah fading Joy! how quickly art thou past!
Yet we thy ruin haste.
As if the cars of human life were few,
We seek out new:
And follow fate, which would too fast pursue.

See how on every bough the birds express,
In their sweet notes, their happiness.
They all enjoy, and nothing spare;
But on their Mother Nature lay their care:
Why then should Man, the lord of all below,
Such troubles choose to know,
As none of all his subjects undergo?

Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall,
And with a murmuring sound
Dash, dash upon the ground,
To gentle slumbers call.