A Platonic Bacchanal Song

Fill high the bowl of life for me—
Let roses mantle round its brim,
While heart is warm, and thought is free,
Ere beauty's light is waning dim—
Fill high with brightest draughts of soul,
And let it flow with feeling o'er,
And love, the sparkling cup, he stole
From Heaven, to give it briskness, pour.
O! fill the bowl of life for me,
And wreath its dripping brim with flowers,
And I will drink, as lightly flee
Our early, unreturning hours.
Fill high the bowl of life with wine,
That swelled the grape of Eden's grove,
Ere human life, in its decline,
Had strowed with thorns the path of love—
Fill high from virtue's crystal fount,
That springs beneath the throne of Heaven,
And sparkles brightly o'er the mount,
From which our fallen souls were driven.
O! fill the bowl of life with wine,
The wine, that charmed the gods above,
And round its brim a garland twine,
That blossomed in the bower of love.

Fill high the bowl of life with spirit,
Drawn from the living sun of soul,
And let the wing of genius bear it,
Deep-glowing, like a kindled coal—
Fill high from that ethereal treasure,
And let me quaff the flowing fire,
And know awhile the boundless pleasure,
That Heaven-lit fancy can inspire.
O! fill the bowl of life with spirit,
And give it brimming o'er to me,
And as I quaff, I seem to inherit
The glow of immortality.
Fill high the bowl of life with thought
From that unfathomable well,
Which sages long and long have sought
To sound, but none its depths can tell—
Fill high from that dark stainless wave,
Which mounts and flows for ever on,
And rising proudly o'er the grave,
There finds its noblest course begun.
O! fill the bowl of life with thought,
And I will drink the bumper up,
And find, whate'er my wish had sought,
In that, the purest, sweetest cup.