And brimming goblets without end.
The maid whose lips all sweets contain,
The minstrel with bewitching strain,
And, by my side, the merry soul
Who briskly circulates the bowl!
A maiden full of life and light,
Like Eden's fountains pure and bright;
Whose sweetness steals the heart away,
Mild, beauteous, as the moon of May.
A banquet-hall, the social room,