Then thus, in their eternal tongue
And musical thunders, all have sung.
To every ear which ear hath given,
From birth to death, this note of Heaven.
Deathlings! on earth drink, laugh, and love!
Ye mayn’t hereafter—under or above.
Yes, this the tale they all have told,
Since first they made old Chaos shrink—
Since first they flocked creation’s fold,
And filled all air like flakes of gold
Which drop yon royal drink:
For as the moon doth madmen rule,
It is, that near and few they are;
And so in Heaven each single star
Doth sway some reasonable fool,
Whether on earth or other sphere;
For what’s above is what is here.
Moons and madmen only change;
What can truth or stars derange?
Brave stars, bright monitors of joy!
Bight well ye time your hours of warning;
For, sooth to say the eve’s employ
Doth wax less lovely towards the morning.
So push the goblet gaily round—
Drink deep of its wealth—drink on!
Our earthly joy too soon doth cloy,
Our life is all but gone;
And, not enjoy yon glorious cup,
And all the sweets which lie,
Like pearls, within its purple well—
Who would not hate to die?
And who, without the cheering glance
Of woman’s witching eye,
Could stand against the storms of fate,
Or cankering care defy?
It adds fresh brightness to the bowl;
Then why will men repine?
Content we’ll live with Heaven’s best gifts—
With woman, and with wine.
Cups while they sparkle—
Maids while they sigh;
Bright eyes will darkle—
Lips grow dry.
Cheek while the dew-drops
Water its rose;
Life’s fount hath few drops
Dear as those.
Arms while they tighten—
Hearts as they heave:
Love cannot brighten
Life’s dark eve.
Oh! the wine is like life;
And the sparkles that play
By the lips of the bowl
Are the loves of the day.
Then kiss the bright bubble
That breaks in its rise;
Oh I love is a trouble,
As light when it dies.
Let the young be glad! though cares in crowds
Leave scarce a break of blue,
Yet bppe gives wings to morning clouds;
And while their shade the sky enshrouds—
By love and wine, which through them shine—
They are turned to a golden hue.
Then give us wine, for we ought to shine
In the hour of dark and dew.
Well might the thoughtful race of old
With ivy twine the head
Of him they hailed their god of wine—
Thank God! the lie is dead:
For ivy climbs the crumbling hall
To decorate decay;
And spreads its dark deceitful pall
To hide what wastes away.
And wine will circle round the brain
As ivy o’er the brow,
Till what could once see far as stars
Is dark as Death’s eye now.
Then dash the cup down! ’tis not worth
A soul’s great sacrifice:
The wine will sink into the earth,
The soul, the soul—must rise.
A toast!
Here’s beauty’s fairest flower—
The maiden of our own birth-land!
Pale face!—oh for one happy hour
To hold my splendid Spaniard’s hand!
Why differ on which is the fairest form,
When all are the same the heart to warm?
Although by different charms they strike,
Their power is equal and alike.
Ye bigots of beauty! behold I stand forth,
And drink to the lovely all over the earth.
Come, fill to the girl by the Tagus’ waves!
Wherever she lives there’s a land of slaves.
And here’s to the Scot! with her deep blue eye,
Like the far off lochs ’neath her hill-propt sky.
To her of the green Isle! whose tyrants deform
The land, where she beams like the bow in the storm.
To the Norman! so noble, and stately and tall;
Whose charms, ever changing, can please as they pall:
Two bowls in a breath! here’s to each and to all!
Come fill to the English! whose eloquent brow
Says, pleasure is passing, but coming, and now;
Oh! her eyes o’er the wine are like stars o’er the sea,
And her face is the face of all Heaven to me.
And here’s to the Spaniard! that warm blooming maid,
With her step superb, and her black locks’ braid.
To her of dear Paris! with soul-spending glance,
Whose feet, as she’s sleeping, look dreaming a dance.
To the maiden whose lip like a rose-leaf is curled,
And her eye like the star-flag above it unfurled!
Here’s to beauty, young beauty, all over the world!
Hurrah! a glorious toast;
’Twould warm a ghost.
It moves not me. I cannot drink
The toast I have given.
There!—Earth may pledge it, and she will—
Herself and her beauty to Heaven.
Drink to the dead—youth’s feelings vain!
Drink to the heart—the battered wreck,
Hurled from all passions stormy main!
Though aye the billows o’er it break,
The ruin rots, nor rides again.
Friend of my heart! away with care,
And sing, and dance, and laugh:
To love, and to the favourite fair,
The wine-cup ever quaff.
Oh, drink to the lovely! whatever they are,
Though fair as snow—as light;
For whether or falling, or fixed the star,
They both are heavenly bright.
Out upon Care! he shall not stay
Within a heart like thine;
There’s nought in Heaven or earth can weigh
Down youth, and love, and wine.
Then drink with the merry! though we must die,
Like beauty’s tear we’ll fall;
We have lived in the light of a loved one’s eye,
And to live, love, and die is all.
Vain is the world and all it boasts:
How brief Love’s pleasure’s date!
We turn the bowl and all forget
The bias of our fate.
How goes the enemy?
What can he mean?
He asks the hour.
Aha! then I
Advise, if Time thy foe hath been,
Be quick! shake hands, man, with Eternity.
XVI
Scene—A churchyard.
| Festus and Lucifer beside a grave. | |
| Festus |
Let years crowd on, and age bow down |
| Lucifer |
Oh! life in sporting on earth lies, |
