And trouble and grief will vanish quite
From the happy realms of the Bottle Sprite.
To those who have long been estrang'd from mirth,
And weary moments have pass'd on earth;
On whom the storm of adversity lowers,
While, in secret, they sigh for happier hours,
O let not the Bottle Imp whisper in vain;
There's a cure for all care in this bright Champagne;
As the mist on the mountain melts away
At the radiant beams of the God of Day,