AIR—'Rossen the Beau.'
COME fill up the glass, and tho' never
We tasted of gladness before,
The thought of this moment for ever
Shall gladden the heart to its core:
An isle as we sail o'er life's ocean―
An isle shall this moment remain,
On which we'll look back with emotion,
And long to salute it again!

Chorus—Come fill up the glass, etc.

Let the miser exult in his treasure;
The king in his sceptre and crown;
The lover be loved without measure;
The warrior blest with renown;
We envied no mortal his blisses,
When anguish our bosom hath torn;
And tasting such treasure as this is,
We laugh every other to scorn.

Chorus—Come fill up the glass, etc.

Since the life-giving goblet is given,
Man may be oppressed by the day,
But the links of oppression are riven
When night brings its spell into play:
That spell so excelling's united
All other fair spells in its train,
To enjoy which, ho! ho! you're invited
To pass round the goblet again.

Chorus—Come fill up the glass, etc.