COME! a health! and it's not to be slighted with sips, A cold pulse, or a spirit supine -- All the blood in my heart seems to rush to my lips, To commingle its flow with the wine. Bring a cup of the purest and solidest ware, -- But a little antique in its shape; And the juice, -- let it be the most racy and rare, All the bloom, with the age, of the grape! Even such is the love I would celebrate now, At once young, and mature, and in prime, -- Like the tree of the orange, that shows on its bough The bud, blossom and fruit at one time! Then with three, as is due, let the honours be paid, Whilst I give with my hand, heart, and head, "Here's to her, the fond mother, dear partner, kind maid Who first taught me to love, woo, and wed!" |