_Ode Xxix._

When I drink, I feel, I feel, Visions of poetic zeal! Warm with the goblet's fresh'ning dews, My heart invokes the heavenly Muse. When I drink my sorrow's o'er; I think of doubts and fears no more; But scatter to the railing wind Each gloomy phantom of the mind! When I drink, the jesting boy Bacchus himself partakes my joy; And while we dance through breathing bowers, Whose every gale is rich with flowers, In bowls he makes my senses swim, Till the gale breathes of nought but him! When I drink, I deftly twine Flowers, begemm'd with tears of wine; And, while with festive hand I spread The smiling garland round my head, Something whispers in my breast, How sweet it is to live at rest! When I drink, and perfume stills Around me all in balmy rills, Then as some beauty, smiling roses, In languor on my breast reposes, Venus! I breathe my vows to thee, In many a sigh of luxury! When I drink, my heart refines, And rises as the cup declines;

Rises in the genial flow, That none but social spirits know, When youthful revellers round the bowl, Dilating, mingle soul with soul! When I drink, the bliss is mine; There's bliss in every drop of wine! All other joys that I have known, I've scarcely dared to call my own; But this the Fates can ne'er destroy, Till death o'ershadows all my joy!