TAKE HENCE THE BOWL.

Take hence the bowl;— tho’ beaming

Brightly as bowl e'er shone,

Oh, it but sets me dreaming

Of happy days now gone.

There, in its clear reflection,

As in a wizard's glass,

Lost hopes and dead affection,

Like shades, before me pass.

Each cup I drain brings hither

Some scene of bliss gone by;—

Bright lips too bright to wither,

Warm hearts too warm to die.

Till, as the dream comes o'er me

Of those long vanished years,

Alas, the wine before me

Seems turning all to tears!