IN
THE
DREAM
OF
THE
MOMENT
.
IN
the
dream
of
the
moment
I
call'd
for
the
bowl
,
And
fondly
imagined
each
grief
would
depart
;
But
I
found
that
a
bumper
can't
reach
the
pure
soul
,
Nor
wine
clear
the
sorrows
that
weigh
down
the
heart
.
Though
fancy
may
sparkle
as
shines
the
gay
glass
,
And
wit
,
like
air-bubbles
,
keep
rising
the
while
,
Or
mirth
and
good
humour
shake
hands
as
they
pass
,
And
fond
Recollection
come
back
with
a
smile
;
Yet
,
right
if
I
ween
,
for
the
joys
that
are
past
I
see
a
soft
tear
stealing
into
her
eye
;
—
We
know
,
gentle
maid
,
that
such
hours
cannot
last
,
Though
held
fast
by
friendship
and
brighten'd
by
joy
.
Ah
!
well
do
I
know
,
for
,
since
reason's
young
dawn
First
held
her
light
torch
o'er
this
silver-grown
head
,
I
have
mark'd
the
sweet
floweret
adorning
the
lawn
,
Fade
under
mine
eye
,
and
then
mix
with
the
dead
.
The
light
leaves
of
summer
that
fan
us
to-day
,
And
shake
their
green
heads
as
we
frolic
around
,
One
breath
of
cold
winter
shall
waft
them
away
,
And
a
new
waving
race
the
next
season
be
found
.
Since
thus
it
must
be
—
since
our
summers
must
fade
,
And
autumn
and
winter
succeed
in
their
turn
,
Let
us
make
much
of
life
,
and
enjoy
her
green
shade
,
Nor
long
for
lost
pleasures
continue
to
mourn
.