Peace to his slumbers under the dew!
Hail to his memory kind and dear!
“And for second pledge, fill up to the brim;
(Laugh lightly, what if our eyes be dim!)
Here’s to the first that shall follow him.”
The sun ran riot across the floor;
Pomegranate-blossoms swung by the door;
Blithe robins lit on the ivied sill:
The voice in the gurgle of wine was lost;
Up from the board were the beakers tossed;