No! Stand to your glasses!—steady!
This world is a world of lies;
One cup to the dead already:
Hurrah for the next that dies!
Cut off from the land that bore us,
Betray’d by the land we find,
When the brightest are gone before us,
And the dullest are left behind.
Stand!—stand to your glasses!—steady!
’Tis all we have left to prize;