And bellowings of the distant main.
Fill high my cup with golden wine;
Let cares and griefs be driven away;
That proved by thee, my thirst to stay,
Will, my adored! more precious shine,
So touch’d by those sweet lips of thine.
By thee on easy seat reclined,
My lyre how happy will I string;
My love and country’s praise to sing;
My blissful lot, thy face and mind,