XII.
Away! bring wine, bring odours, to the shade[206]
Where the tall pine and poplar blend on high!
Bring roses, exquisite, but soon to fade!
Snatch every brief delight,—since we must die!—
Yet is the hour, degenerate Greeks! gone by,
For feast in vine-wreath’d bower or pillar’d hall;
Dim gleams the torch beneath yon fiery sky,
And deep and hollow is the tambour’s call,
And from the startled hand th’ untasted cup will fall.