Fill me, boy, as deep a draught...

By Thomas Moore

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught
As e'er was fill'd, as e'er was quaff'd;
But let the water amply flow
To cool the grape's intemperate glow;
For, though the bowl's the grave of sadness,
Oh! be it ne'er the birth of madness!
No, banish from our board to-night
The revelries of rude delight!
To Scythians leave these wild excesses,
Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses!
And while the temperate bowl we wreathe,
Our choral hymns shall sweetly breathe,
Beguiling every hour along
With harmony of soul and song!