Classic Poem

AN ELEGY

Empty your glass! — Behold where Death is waiting,
Sharp'ning his sword while standing at your door!
Be not afraid; he holds ajar the grating,
Then shuts the tomb and leaves it as before.
Movitz, consumption may spare you a year, man, ...
Be of good cheer, man,
Tune up the chords and sing of youth once more!

Thin is your cheek, and yellow-pale its hue is,
Sunken your chest, your shoulders bent — too bad!
Let 's see your hand — each vein all swelled and blue is,
Flabby and moist, as if a bath you 'd had:
Limp and perspiring your hand is, old fellow, ...
Come, strike your 'cello,
Pour out the bottle, sing and drink, be glad!

You 're dying fast — so deep your cough is sounding:
Hollow it rings; all 's emptiness within.
White is your tongue, your frightened heart is pounding,
Soft as a sponge are muscles, thews, and skin.
Breathe — Lord! the fumes that come out of your throttle ...
Hand me the bottle!
Sing of god Bacchus! Here 's your health! Begin!

Out of this flask your death by drops is flowing
All unobserved, as laugh and song go by.
Trust me, a troop of maggots fiercely glowing
Pours from yon glass that now you tilt on high.
You are consumed. Into tears you are turning,
Entrails are burning.
Can you still pledge me one more health? " Ay, ay! "

Well, then, your health! For Bacchus bids farewell now,
From Venus' throne receive your last adieu.
Fondly for her the tide of blood may swell now;
Slight though it be, it warms your body through.
Sing, read, forget, think, or tearfully ponder, ...
What, are you fonder
Still of your liquor? Die? No. Here 's to you!