Classic Poem

ODE XXXV.

DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR; OR , THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER.

I.

T HO ' life declines, and Time, the thief,
Has stoll'n my bloom away,
I charge thee, fly these cheerful haunts, dull Grief,
Nor think, if shine my locks all silver-grey,
That I, like dotard old, will fall thy sickly prey.

II.

Light was my heart, when life was young,
As kid o'er verdant plain,
I laugh'd and danc'd, I caper'd, toy'd, and sung;
The lads and lasses join'd my gamesome strain,
And age stood list'ning by; as growing young again.

III.

Where are those hours? — They are not fled —
My comrades live, and still
Old bald-pates oft we meet, by custom led;
We call up school-boy days with wizard skill,
Talk o'er our merry pranks, and then a bumper fill.

IV.

Why startle at the sparkling glass?
Quaff'd not old Noah wine?
Wise Solomon, — would he not toast his lass?
Nor did, tho' grey their beards, their joys decline,
But Laughter was their god, and Laughter shall be mine.

V.

Ye men, who worship hoards of gold,
Yet pleasure dare not taste,
Can I but laugh, such men-moles to behold?
Or such as riches only know to waste,
Mere squirrels, cracking nuts, and squandering them in haste?

VI.

Philosopher, who wink and blink
With close-glass'd peeping eyes,
Can I but laugh, profoundest Sirs, to think,
What pride 'mid those meek looks in ambush lies?
How Folly screens her face 'mid Wisdom's fair disguise?

VII.

Ye magpie poets, chattering rhymes,
And ye who strains of woe,
Like whining ring-doves, eke against the times,
Magging your saucy clack at all you know,
Or soothing poor dear selves in numbers sadly slow:

VIII.

Whether, good sirs, ye rail, or pine,
What boots it all to me?
To fit, and prate like mock-bird shall be mine.
To chatter, 'plain with you, then off will flee,
And jeer you all at once in some high-laughing glee.

IX.

Ye patriot souls, so wondrous grave,
So loving, good, and wise,
Boasting your country you but wish to save,
— Ye lanky spiders, snaring silly flies,
Oh! how I sit and laugh, to trace your silken lies.

X.

But kings and queens, and such like things,
I reverence much, and never,
No — never will I laugh at queens or kings,
But crowns from red-caps, faith, I cannot sever;
And I could laugh at both for ever and for ever.

XI.

And while I laugh good Joan, my wife,
Shall sport like damsel gay;
For Joan, kind soul, has laugh'd with me thro' life,
And still, like two old lutes, in tune we play,
And while our hearts are blithe, ne'er dream of life's decay.

XII.

Thus, Falstaff-like, I'll live and die,
Laugh long as I can see;
And when Death's busy hand shall close my eye,
This bag of jokes I leave the doctor's fee:
— Then, Doctor, when I'm dead, laugh thou, and think of me.