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Thomas Moore - Fill the Bumper Fair
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Fill the bumper fair! 
   Every drop we sprinkle 
O`er the brow of Care 
   Smooths away a wrinkle. 
Wit`s electric flame 
   Ne`er so swiftly passes, 
As when through the frame 
   It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair! 
   Every drop we sprinkle 
O`er the brow of Care 
   Smooths away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, they say, 
   Grasp the lightning`s pinions, 
And bring down its ray 
   From the starr`d dominions: 
So we, Sages, sit, 
   And, `mid bumpers brightening, 
From the Heaven of Wit 
   Draw down all its lightning. 
Fill the bumper, etc. 

Wouldst thou know what first 
   Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 
   For wine`s celestial spirit? 
It chanced, upon that day, 
   When, as bards inform us, 
Prometheus stole away 
   The living fires that warm us: 
Fill the bumper etc. 

The careless Youth, when up 
   To Glory`s fount aspiring, 
Took nor urn nor cup 
   To hide the pilfer`d fire in. — 
But oh, his joy, when, round 
   The halls of heaven spying, 
Among the stars he found, 
    The bowl of Bacchus lying! 
Fill the bumper, etc. 

Some drops were in that bowl, 
   Remains of last night`s pleasure, 
With which the Sparks of Soul 
   Mix`d their burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet`s shower 
   Hath such spells to win us; 
Hence its mighty power 
   O`er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair! 
   Every drop we sprinkle 
O`er the brow of Care 
   Smooths away a wrinkle.
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