_Ob_: 1826, _æt._ 22.
The flying joy through life we seek
For once is ours--the wine we sip
Blushes like Beauty's glowing cheek,
To meet our eager lip.
Round with the ringing glass once more!
Friends of my youth and of my heart--
No magic can this hour restore--
Then crown it ere we part.
Ye are my friends, my chosen ones--
Whose blood would flow with fervour true
For me--and free as this wine runs
Would mine, by Heaven! for you.
Yet, mark me! When a few short years
Have hurried on their journey fleet,
Not one that now my accents hears
Will know me when we meet.
Though now, perhaps, with proud disdain,
The startling thought ye scarce will brook,
Yet, trust me, we'll be strangers then
In heart as well as look.
Fame's luring voice, and woman's wile,
Will soon break youthful friendship's chain--
But shall that cloud to-night's bright smile?
No--pour the wine again!