BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER.

Bring the bright garlands hither,

Ere yet a leaf is dying;

If so soon they must wither.

Ours be their last sweet sighing.

Hark, that low dismal chime!

‘ Tis the dreary voice of Time.

Oh, bring beauty, bring roses,

Bring all that yet is ours;

Let life's day, as it closes,

Shine to the last thro’ flowers.

Haste, ere the bowl's declining,

Drink of it now or never;

Now, while Beauty is shining,

Love, or she's lost for ever.

Hark! again that dull chime,

‘ Tis the dreary voice of Time.

Oh, if life be a torrent,

Down to oblivion going,

Like this cup be its current,

Bright to the last drop flowing!