'Tis late, and I must haste away

'Tis late, and I must haste away,
My usual hour of rest is near—
And do you press me, youths, to stay—
To stay and revel longer here?

Then give me back the scorn of care
Which spirits light in health allow.
And give me back the dark brown hair
Which curl'd upon my even brow.

And give me back the sportive jest
Which once could midnight hours beguile;
The life that bounded in my breast.
And joyous youth's becoming smile:

And give me back the fervid soul
Which love inflamed with strange delight,
When erst I sorrow'd o'er the bowl
At Chloe's coy and wanton flight.

"'Tis late, and I must haste away,
My usual hour of rest is near—
But give me these, and I will stay—
Will stay till noon, and revel here!