Bacchanalian Songs, SONG

Give me wine, rosy wine, that foe to despair, Whose magical power can banish all care; Of friendship the parent, composer of strife, The soother of sorrow, and blessing of life: The schools about happiness warmly dispute, And weary the sense of the phantom pursuit; In spite of their maxims, I dare to define, The grand summum bonum's a bumper of wine.

To the coward a warmth it ne'er fails to impart, And opens the lock of a miserly heart, While thus we carouse it, the wheels of the soul, O'er life's rugged highway agreeably roll; Each thinks of his charmer, who never can cloy, And fancy rides post to the regions of joy: Inspite of dull maxims, I dare to define The grand summum bonum's a bumper of wine.

'Tis the balsam specific, that heals ev'ry sore, The oft'ner we taste it, we love it the more; Then he who true happiness seeks to attain, With spirit, the full flowing bumper must drain: And he who the court of fair Venus would know, Undanted thro' Bachus's vineyard must go; In spite of dull maxims, I dare to define, The grand summum bonum's a bumper of wine.