Virginia Argus

ONE BUMPER AT PARTING.

Sir, 'More ale in the Morning?'

One bumper at parting--though many
Have circled the board since we met,
The fullest, the saddest of any,
Remains to be crown'd by us yet.

The sweetness that pleasure has in it
Is always so slow to come forth,
That seldom, alas, to the minute
It dies, do we know half its worth!

But come, may our life's happy measure
Be half of such moments made up;
They're born on the bosom of pleasure,
They die midst the tears of the cup.

As onward we journey, how pleasant
To pause and inhabit a while!
Those few sunny spots, like the present,
That 'mid the dull wilderness smile.

But Time, like a pitiless mariner,
Cries 'onward!' and spurs the way
Ah! never gives time that traitor faster,
Than when his way lies among flowers

But, come--may our life's happy measure
Be all of such moments made up;
They're born on the bosom of pleasure,
They die midst the tears of the cup.

How brilliant the sun look'd in sinking
The watery zenith ting'd low bright?
Oh! trust me, the farewell of drinking
Should be like the farewell of light.

You saw how he finish'd by darting
His beam o'er a deep billow's brim:
So fill up; let's shine at our parting,
In full liquid glory, like him.

And ah! may our life's happy measure
Of moments like this be made up;
'Twas born on the bosom of pleasure,
It dies 'mid the tears of the cup.