What life like that of the bard can be -- br The wandering bard, who roams as free br As the mountain lark that o'er him sings, br And, like that lark a music brings, br Within him, where'er he comes or goes -- br A fount that for ever flows! br The world's to him like some playground, br Where fairies dance their moonlight round; -- br It dimm'd the turf where late they trod; br The elves but seek some greener sod; br So, when less bright his scene of glee, br To another away flies he! br br Oh, what would have been young Beauty's doom br Without a bard to fix her bloom? br They tell us, in the moon's bright round, br Things lost in this dark world are found; br So charms, on earth long pass'd and gone, br In the poet's lay live on. -- br Would you have smiles that ne'er grow dim? br You've only to give them all to him, br Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand, br Can lend them life, this life beyond. br And fix them high, in Poesy's sky -- br Young stars that never die! br br Then welcome the bard where'er he comes, br For, though he hath countless airy homes, br To which his wing excursive roves, br Yet still, from time to time, he loves br To light upon earth and find such cheer br As brightens our banquet here.