COME
,
MORTALS
,
ENLIVEN
THE
HOUR
.
COME
mortals
,
enliven
the
hour
that
is
lent
,
Nor
cloud
with
false
fear
the
sunshine
of
to-day
;
The
ills
that
hang
o'er
us
what
sighs
can
prevent
,
Or
waft
from
the
eye
one
moist
sorrow
away
?
Though
we
see
from
afar
,
as
he
travels
life's
road
,
Old
time
mowing
down
both
the
shrub
and
the
flower
,
Soon
or
late
,
we
all
know
,
he
must
sweep
our
abode
,
But
why
damp
our
mirth
by
inquiring
the
hour
?
In
the
span
that's
allotted
then
crowd
every
joy
;
Let
the
goblet
run
high
if
in
dreams
you
delight
;
Though
wine
to
true
pleasure
is
oft
an
alloy
,
And
sober
reflection
grows
sick
at
the
sight
.
Disguis'd
are
our
pleasures
,
as
well
as
our
woes
;
On
their
choice
must
depend
half
the
turn
of
our
fate
;
With
the
tint
of
the
mind
every
circumstance
glows
,
And
gives
to
life's
trifles
their
colour
and
weight
.