SANS SOUCI. By L. E. L. COME ye forth to our revel by moonlight, Stars weep e'er our last day in June. Braid ye your curls in their thousands, On each snow ankle lace silken sandal, Don the robes like the neck they hide white; Then come forth like planets from darkness, Or like lilies at day-break's first light. Is there one who half regal in beauty, Is there one who sits languid and lonely, And careless locks 'scaped from their band. For a lover not worth that eye's tear-drop, Let her bind up her beautiful tresses; Come, gallants, the gay and the graceful, With hearts like the light plumes ye wear; Eyes all but divine light our revel, Like the stars in whose beauty they share. Come ye, for the wine cups are mantling, Some clear as the morning's first light; Others touched with the evening's last crimson, Or the blush that may meet ye to night. There are plenty of sorrows to chill us, Oh! Hope will spring up from its ashes, If extinct, you need only light more. When one vein of silver's exhausted, Come to-night, for the white blossomed myrtle Is flinging its love-sighs around; And beneath like the veiled eastern beauties, The violets peep from the ground. Seek ye for gold and for silver, There are both on these bright orange-trees; And never in Persia the moonlight Wept o'er roses more blushing than these. There are fireflies sparkling by myriads, The fountain wave dances in light; Hark! the mandolin's first notes are waking, And soft steps break the sleeping of night. Then come all the young and the graceful, Come gay as the lovely should be, 'Tis much in this world's toil and trouble, To let one midnight pass Sans Souci. |