_Ode Xxxvi._

He, who instructs the youthful crew To bathe them in the brimmer's dew, And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses, All the bliss that wine possesses! He, who inspires the youth to glance In winged circlets through the dance; Bacchus, the god again is here, And leads along the blushing year; The blushing year with rapture teems, Ready to shed those cordial streams, Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, Illuminate the sons of earth, And when the ripe and vermeil wine, Sweet infant of the pregnant vine, Which now in mellow clusters swells, Oh! when it bursts its rosy cells, The heavenly stream shall mantling flow, To balsam every mortal woe! No youth shall then be wan or weak, For dimpling health shall light the cheek; No heart shall then desponding sigh, For wine shall bid despondence fly! Thus--till another autumn's glow Shall bid another vintage flow!