Six songs , opus 19

Of Neptune's empire let us sing,
At whose command the waves obey;
To whom the rivers tribute pay,
Down the high mountains sliding:
To whom the scaly nation yields
Homage for the crystal fields
        Wherein they dwell:
And every sea-dog pays a gem
Yearly out of his wat'ry cell
To deck great Neptune's diadem.

The Tritons dancing in a ring
Before his palace gates do make
The water with their echoes quake,
Like the great thunder sounding:
The sea-nymphs chant their accents shrill,
And the sirens, taught to kill
        With their sweet voice,
Make ev'ry echoing rock reply
Unto their gentle murmuring noise
The praise of Neptune's empery.

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise:
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care and care must keep you:
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Go, happy rose, and interwove
With other flowers bind my love.
Tell her too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fettered me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have my the rods at will,
For to tame, but not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus and go,
And tell her this, but do not so!
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I.

Come to me when the earth is fair 
With all the freshness of the spring, 
When life fills all the liquid air,
And when the woods with music ring; 
When all the wakening flowers rejoice, 
And birds remind me of your voice. 

Come to me when the summer's heat 
Is strong the breeze of spring to kill; 
When gardens with perfume are sweet, 
And when the languid noon is still;
Come when the opened buds disclose 
The glory of the full-blown rose. 

Come to me when the summer fades, 
When all the rose's sweets are dead, 
When autumn robes the saddening glades, 
When purple heather turns to red; 
Come to me when the wrinkled leaf 
Falls like the tear of constant grief. 

Come chiefly when all warmth is lost,
When autumn to stern winter yields; 
Come when the bitter edge of frost 
Shrouds all the verdure of the fields; 
Come when all else is dark and drear, 
Thy presence then is doubly dear.

    Boat, little boat, 
A breeze on thy white sails shall soon light, 
    Float, lightly float, 
Far away into the moonlight: 
    Winging thy flight,
From the noise and the jar of the world. 
    In a dream of delight 
Shall thy glistening sails be unfurled: 
    Float far away, 
From the glare of the sun's blinding light, 
    From the heat of the day, 
To the cool of the slumbering night: 
    Float through the bay, 
Though the soft ripples' infinite motion; 
    Bear me away, 
To the tireless waves of the ocean: 
    Float to the deep,
To the ocean-bird's long-rolling pillows, 
    Ah ! Let me sleep 
On a soft-tossing cradle of billows.

    Pour out the bright nectar,
    To lay the grim spectre 
That lurks in the depths underlying our mirth; 
    Forget for a minute 
    That life has aught in it, 
Save all that is fair on the face of the earth. 

    Outstrip melancholy,
    We'll catch flying folly, 
And with her away to her kingdom take wing;
    And gay songs and dances
    Shall banish our fancies,
That life has a burden or love has a sting.

    Our friends Care and Sorrow 
    May find us to-morrow; 
To-night if they seek us we'll drown them in wine, 
    And all of our troubles 
    Shall die with the bubbles 
That float on the foaming life-stream of the Rhine.