VIVE LA BAGATELLE.

I like not your care and sorrow, Care to-day and care to-morrow; I like not your brows of sadness— Give me rather tones of gladness; A heart where laughter loves to dwell, Exclaiming, 'Vive la Bagatelle!'

What is fame?—an empty bubble, Nothing worth, though earned with trouble; What are riches?—can mines of wealth Buy happiness—contentment—health? Nor fame nor riches own a spell, To wean me from 'La Bagatelle!'

There is a time for every doing, A time for working and for wooing; A time when we can all be gay, Cheat Sadness of her hoped-for prey, Lock monkish Sorrow in his cell, And hey! for 'Vive la Bagatelle!'

Then live the dance, and live the song, And live Joy's gay and happy throng; Then live the laugh, the joke, the pun— Live frolic, fancy, sport and fun; And let their song in chorus swell, Its burthen, 'Vive la Bagatelle!'