Cannera, whom an angel had taken to the island for the express purpose of
introducing her to him.
NE'ER ASK THE HOUR.
Ne'er ask the hour--what is it to us
How Time deals out his treasures?
The golden moments lent us thus,
Are not _his_ coin, but Pleasure's.
If counting them o'er could add to their blisses,
I'd number each glorious second:
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses,
Too quick and sweet to be reckoned.
Then fill the cup--what is it to us
How time his circle measures?
The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's.
Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,
Till Care, one summer's morning,
Set up, among his smiling flowers,
A dial, by way of warning.
But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun,
As long as its light was glowing,
Than to watch with old Care how the shadows stole on,
And how fast that light was going.
So fill the cup--what is it to us
How Time his circle measures?
The fairy hours we call up thus,
Obey no wand but Pleasure's.
SAIL ON, SAIL ON.
Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark--
Wherever blows the welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark,
More sad than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,
"Tho' death beneath our smile may be,
Less cold we are, less false than they,
Whose smiling wrecked thy hopes and thee.
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