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Old books to read !-
Ay, bring those nodes of wit,
The brazen-clasped, the vellum writ,

Time-honored tomes !
The same my sire scanned before,
The same my grandsire thumbed o'er,
The same his sire from college bore,
The well-earned meed

Of Oxford's domes :

Old Homer blind,
Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by
Old Tully, Plautus, Terence lie;
Mort Arthur's olden minst relsie,
Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay!
And Gervase Markham's venerie-

Nor leave behind
The Holye Book by which we live and die.

No danger fear

While wine is nearWe'll drown him if he stings us

Then wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

Old friends to talk !
Ay, bring those chosen few,
The wise, the courtly, and the true,

So rarely found;
Him for my wine, him for my stud,
Him for my easel, distich, bud
In mountain walk!

Bring Walter good :
With soulful Fred; and learned Will,
And thee, my alter ego (dearer still

For every mood).
These add a bouquet to my wine!
These add a sparkle to my pine!

If these 1 tine,
Can books, or fire, or wine be good I

ROBERT HINCKLEY MESSINGER.

'Twas nectar fed

Of old, 'tis said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos;

And man may brew

His nectar too ;
The rich receipt's as follows:-

Take wine like this;

Let looks of bliss Around it well be blended;

Then bring wit's beam

To warm the stream, And there's your nectar, splendid !

So wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

Wreathe the Bowl.

Say, why did Time

His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly,

When wine he knew

Runs brisker through, And sparkles far more brightly?

Oh, lend it us,

And, smiling thus, The glass in two we'd sever,

Make pleasure glide

In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever!

Then wreathe the bowl

With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us!

Thomas MOORE.

WREATHE the bowl

With flowers of soul, The brightest wit can find us;

We'll take a flight

Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us !

Should Love amid

The wreaths be hid That Joy, the enchanter, brings us,

FILL THE BUMPER FAIR.

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Sparkling and Bright. SPARKLING and bright in liquid light,

Does the wine our goblets gleam in;
With hue as red as the rosy bed

Which a bee would choose to dream in.
Then fill to-night, with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting
A8 bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,

And break on the lips while meeting. Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight

Of Time through Life's dominions,
We here a while would now beguile

The graybeard of his pinions,
To drink to-night, with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,

And break on the lips while meeting.
But since Delight can't tempt the wight,

Nor fond Regret delay him,
Nor Love himself can hold the elf,

Nor sober Friendship stay him,
We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that suim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.

CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.

Fill the Bumper fair. Fill the bumper fair!

Every drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of care

Smooths away a wrinkle.
Wit's electric flame

Ne'er so swiftly passes
As when through the frame

It shoots from brimming glasses. Fill the bumper fair;

Every drop we sprinkle O'er the brow of care

Smooths away a wrinkle.

Sages can, they say,

Grasp the lightning's pinions, And bring down its ray

From the starred dominions :So we, sages, sit,

And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, From the heaven of wit

Draw down all its lightning.

Champagne Rosé. Lily on liquid roses floating

So floats yon foam o'er pink champagne. Fain would I join such pleasant boating, And prove that ruby main,

And float away on wine ! Those seas are dangerous, graybeards swear,

Whose sea-beach is the goblet's brim ; And true it is they drown old Care – But what care we for him,

So we but float on wine!

Wouldst thou know what first

Made our souls inherit This ennobling thirst

For wine's celestial spirit ? It chanced upon that day,

When, as bards inform us, Prometheus stole away

The living fires that warm us :

And true it is they cross in pain,

Who sober cross the Stygian ferry; But only make our Styx champagne, And we shall cross right merry,

Floating away in wine!

The careless youth, when up

To Glory's fount aspiring, Took nor urn nor cup

To hide the pilfered fire in. But oh his joy, when, round

The halls of heaven spying, Among the stars, he found

A bowl of Bacchus lying!

bliss;

Some drops were in that bowl,

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, Remains of last night's pleasure,

Is all we can have of the few we hold dear;
With which the sparks of soul

And oft even joy is unheeded and lost
Mixed their burning treasure.

For want of some heart that could echo it, near.
Hence the goblet's shower

Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is Hath such spells to win us;

gone,
Hence its mighty power

To meet in some world of more permanent
O'er that flame within us.
Fill the bumper fair !

For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on,
Every drop we sprinkle

Is all we enjoy of each other in this.
O'er the brow of care
Smooths away a wrinkle.

But, come, the more rare such delights to the heart,
Thomas MOORE.

The more we should welcome, and bless them the

more; They're ours, when we meet — they are lost when

we part And doth not a Meeting like this.

Like birds that bring Summer, and fly when 'tis

o'er. And doth not a meeting like this make amends For all the long years I've been wand'ring away

Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink, To see thus around me my youth's early friends,

Let Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, As smiling and kind as in that happy day!

through pain, Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er That, fast as a feeling but touches one link, mine,

Her magic shall send it direct through the chain. The snow-fall of Time may be stealing - what

THOMAS MOORE. then i Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, We'll wear the gay tinge of Youth's roses again.

How Stands the Glass Around? What softened remembrances come o'er the heart,

How stands the glass around? In gazing on those we've been lost to so long!

For shame! ye take no care, my boys; The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part,

How stands the glass around ? Still round them, like visions of yesterday,

Let mirth and wine abound. throng;

The trumpets sound; As letters some hand hath invisibly traced,

The colors they are flying, boys. When held to the flame will steal out on the

To fight, kill, or wound, sight,

May we still be found So many a feeling, that long seemed effaced,

Content with our hard fare, my boys The warmth of a moment like this brings to

On the cold ground. light.

Why, soldiers, why And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide,

Should we be melancholy, boys ? To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew,

Why, soldiers, why, Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide,

Whose business 'tis to die 1 The wreck of full many a hope shining through ;

What, sighing ! fie! Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers

Don't fear, drink on, be jolly, boys! That once made a garden of all the gay shore,

'Tis he, you, or 1! Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours,

Cold, hot, wet or dry, And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once

We're always bound to follow, boys,

And scorn to fly.

more.

FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR.

175

ANONYMOUS.

'Tis but in vain

Though the ocean roar around me,
I mean not to upbraid you, boys —

Yet it still shall bear me on;
'Tis but in vain

Though a desert should surround me,
For soldiers to complain :

It hath springs that may be won.
Should next campaign
Send us to Him who made us, boys,

Were't the last drop in the well,
We're free from pain !

As I gasped upon the brink,
But if we remain,

Ere my fainting spirit fell
A bottle and a kind landlady

'Tis to thee that I would drink.
Cure all again.

With that water, as this wine,

The libation I would pour
Should be - Peace with thine and mine,

And a health to thee, Tom Moore !
Come, Send Round the wine.

LORD BYRON. COME, send round the wine, and leave points of be

lief To simpleton sages and reasoning fools; farewell! but whenever You Welcome This moment's a flower too fair and too brief

the hour. To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools.

FAREWELL! but whenever you welcome the hour Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, That awakens the night-song of mirth in your But while they are filled from the same bright bower, bowl,

Then think of the friend who once welcomed it The fool who would quarrel for difference of hue too, Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. And forgot his own griefs to be happy with

you. Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side, His griefs may return, not a hope may remain

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds may agree of the few that have brightened his pathway of Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, pain,

If he kneel not before the same altar with me But he ne'er will forget the short vision that From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly

threw To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? Its enchantment around him while lingering with No! perish the hearts and the laws that try

you ! Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this !

Thomas MOORE. And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up

To the highest top-sparkle each heart and each

cup,

Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, to Thomas Moore.

My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that My boat is on the shore,

night And my bark is on the sea;

Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your But, before I go, Tom Moore,

wiles, Here's a double health to thee!

And return to me beaming all o'er with your

smiles ; Here's a sigh for those that love me, Too blest if it tells me that, 'mid the gay And a smile for those who hate;

cheer, And, whatever sky's above me,

Some kind voice had murmured, “I wish he were Here's a heart for every fate.

here!"

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