What is war and all its joys?
Useless mischief, empty noise.
What are arms and trophies won?
Spangles glittering in the sun.
Rosy Bacchus, give me wine,
Happiness is only thine!

What is love without the bowl?
'Tis a languor of the soul:
Crowned with ivy, Venus charms;
Ivy courts me to her arms.
Bacchus, give me love and wine,
Happiness is only thine!

Oh , this love—this love!
I ainse the passion slighted;
But hearts that truly love,
Must break or be united.
Oh, this love!

When first he cam' to woo,
I little cared aboot him;
But seene I felt as though
I could na' live without him.
Oh, this love!

He brought to me the ring,
My hand asked o' my mither—
I could na' bear the thought
That he should wed anither.
Oh, this love!

And now I'm a' his ain—
In a' his joys I mingle;
Nac for the wealth of warlds
Wad I again be single!
Oh, this love!

Let us sing in chorus praises
Of jolly buxom Bacchus.
Long live the purple vintage,
Long live the wine-vat's treasure,
And long live we to quaff it.

We love the sparkling colours
Of wine, we love carousals.
Pale cheeks the wine-bowl flushes,
It kindles eyes with love-light,
And dullards' tongues makes witty.

Who worships not the wine-god,
And when the goblet circles
Refuses to be merry,
May he be changed by Circe
To a frog, and croak in marshes.

Till I have peace with thee, war other men,
And when I have peace, can I leave thee then?
All other wars are scrupulous; only thou
O fair free city, mayst thyself allow
To any one. In Flanders, who can tell
Whether the master press, or men rebel?
Only we know, that which all idiots say,
They bear most blows which come to part the fray.
France in her lunatic giddiness did hate
Ever our men, yea and our God of late;
Yet she relies upon our angels well,
Which ne'er return; no more than they which fell.
Sick Ireland is with a strange war possessed

I love to mark the bustling deer
Leap oer the walk as rousd from lare
& run till distance damps their fear
Then stopping turn them round to stare
Where wind shook boughs if suns are bright
To stretch their dancing shadows round
Oft wakes afresh their idle fright
& starts them swifter oer the ground.

Man in this Lapst Estate at very best,
A Cripple is and footsore, sore opprest,
Can't track Gods Trace but Pains, and pritches prick
Like poyson'd splinters sticking in the Quick.
Yet jims in th'Downy path with pleasures spread
As twas below him on the Earth to tread.
Can prance, and trip within the way of Sin,
Yet in Gods path moves not a little wing.

Almighty this foreseing, and withall
That all this stately worke of his would fall
Tumble, and Dash to pieces Did in lay
Before it was too late for it a Stay.

Where are last year's snows,
Where the summer's rose,—
Who is there that knows?

Or the glorious note
Of some singer's throat,
Heard in years remote?

Or the love they bore
Who, in days of yore,
Loved, but are no more?

Or the faiths men knew
When, before mind grew,
All strange things seemed true?


The snows are sweet spring rain,
The dead rose blooms again,
Young voices keep the strain.

The old affection mild
Still springs up undefiled
For love, and friend, and child.

The old faiths grown more wide,

Friends of true liberty! arise;
The tyrant-foe's at hand;
The glorious freedom of the skies
Give to our glorious land;
The liberty of light and love—
For such the saints enjoy above.

Enkindle, by the torch of truth,
The love of all that's good;
Let th' aspiring soul of youth
Stand where a Daniel stood;
The moral might, that wreath'd his brow,
Would make ten thousand tyrants bow.

Come forth, ye steadfast moral band!
Who guide true Freedom's car;
Set forth the truth thro' all the land,
Scatter it wide and far,

Love, oh love, oh careless love
Love, love, oh careless love
You have caused me to weep
You have caused me to moan
You have caused me to leave my happy home

Don't never drive a stranger from your door
Don't never drive a stranger from your door
It may be your best friend knocking
At your door
It may be your brother: you will never know

Careless love, look how you carried me down
Careless love, look how you carried me down
You caused me to lose my mother
And she's laying in six feet of ground

Yes! 'twas the hour when all my hopes
Seemed idle as the dews that shake
And tremble in their lotus-cups
By deep Tsurugi's lake,—
'Twas then the omen said :
“Fear not! he'll come his own dear love to wed.”

What though my mother bids me flee
Thy fond embrace? No heed I take ;
As pure, as deep my love for thee
As Kiyosumi's lake.
One thought fills all my heart:
When wilt thou come no more again to part?