copyright, Kellscraft Studio, 1999
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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.

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:

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!

Some drops were in that bowl,
     Remains of last night's pleasure,
With which the sparks of soul
     Mixed their burning treasure.
Hence the goblet's shower
     Hath such spells to win us;
Hence its mighty power
     O'er that flame within us.
Fill the Bumper Fair!
     Every drop we sprinkle
O'er the Brow of Care
     Smooths away a wrinkle.

                          THOMAS MOORE




 
copyright, Kellscraft Studio, 1999
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Bachelor Ballads
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