I-V    VI-X     XI-XV    XVI-XX    XXI-XXV     XXVI-XXX    XXXI-XXXV
XXXVI-XL    XLI-XLV    XLVI-L    LI-LV     LVI-LX    LXI-LXV    LXVI-LXX     LXXI-LXXV

  Magellan's Log Copyright © 2001 Texas Chapbook Press
www.texaschapbookpress.com

LXXI.

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.


LXXII.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!


LXXIII.

Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!


LXXIV.

Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me--in vain!


LXXV.

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on The Grass,
And in Thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one--turn down an empty Glass!