 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
175
THE BACCHANALIANS.
Encircled in a cloud of smoke
Sat the convivial core,
Like lightning flashed the merry joke,
The thundering laugh did roar.
Blithe Bacchus pierced his favourite hoard,
The sparkling glasses shine:
“'Tis this,” they cry, “come, sweep the board,
Which makes us all divine!”
Sat the convivial core,
Like lightning flashed the merry joke,
The thundering laugh did roar.
Blithe Bacchus pierced his favourite hoard,
The sparkling glasses shine:
“'Tis this,” they cry, “come, sweep the board,
Which makes us all divine!”
Apollo tuned the vocal shell,
With song, with catch, and glee:
The sonorous hall the notes did swell,
And echoed merrily.
Each sordid, selfish, little thought,
For shame itself did drown;
And social love, with every draught,
Approved them for her own.
With song, with catch, and glee:
The sonorous hall the notes did swell,
And echoed merrily.
Each sordid, selfish, little thought,
For shame itself did drown;
And social love, with every draught,
Approved them for her own.
“Come, fill another bumper up,
And drink in Bacchus' praise,
Who sent the kind, congenial cup,
Such heavenly joys to raise!”
Great Jove, quite mad to see such fun,
At Bacchus 'gan to curse,
And to remind them they were but men,
Sent down the fiend Remorse.
And drink in Bacchus' praise,
Who sent the kind, congenial cup,
Such heavenly joys to raise!”
Great Jove, quite mad to see such fun,
At Bacchus 'gan to curse,
And to remind them they were but men,
Sent down the fiend Remorse.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |