30 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
O blest is the laughter 
Of Arcady’s groves 
That chases us after 
To delicate loves, 
The frolics, the fancies, 
The fires, the desires, 
The dives and the dances, 
The lutes and the lyres ! 
 
Follow, o follow, 
Sweet seed of the sun ! 
Through the wood, through the hollow, 
The race is begun 
That shall fill the day up 
With the roses of pleasure, 
The rod — and the cup — 
And the crown of our treasure ! 
 
Sweet are our voices ; 
Our bodies are bare ; 
Their spirit rejoices 
Afloat in the air,