“Not a sigh for the lot that darkles,
Not a tear for the friends that sink;
We’ll fall ’mid the wine-cup’s sparkles,
As mute as the wine we drink.
Come! stand to your glasses!—steady!
’Tis this that the respite buys;
One cup to the dead already;
Hurrah for the next that dies!
VI.
“Who dreads to the dust returning?