Adieu, she cried, and waved her lily hand

My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd.

'Twas when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclined.

So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er,— The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more.

Life is a jest; and all things show it. I thought so once; and now I know it.

Remote from cities liv'd a swain, Unvex'd with all the cares of gain; His head was silver'd o'er with age, And long experience made him sage.