John Dryden(1631–1700)
Song from The Indian Emperor
Ah, f a d i n g joy, h o w quickly art thou past!
Yet we thy ruin h a s t e .
As if the cares of h u m a n life were few,
W e s e e k out new:
A n d follow fate, which would too fast p u r s u e . 2
S e e h o w on every b o u g h the birds express
In their sweet notes their h a p p i n e s s .
T h e y all enjoy a n d n o t h i n g spare;
B u t on their m o t h e r n a t u r e lay their care.
W h y then s h o u l d m a n , the lord of all below,
S u c h troubles c h o o s e t o k n o w
As n o n e of all his s u b j e c t s u n d e r g o ?
Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall,
A n d with a m u r m u r i n g s o u n d
D a s h , d a s h u p o n the g r o u n d ,
To gentle s l u m b e r s call.