Anacreontic For the New Year


Come , fill up the Bowl, for if ever the glass
Found a proper excuse or fit season,
For toasts to be honored, or pledges to pass,
Sure, this hour brings an exquisite reason:
For, hark! the last chime of the dial has ceased,
And Old Time, who has leisure to cozen,
Having finished the months, like the flasks at a feast,
Is preparing to tap a fresh dozen!
Hip! Hip! and Hurrah!

Then fill, all ye Happy and Free, unto whom
The past Year has been pleasant and sunny;
Its months each as sweet as if made of the bloom
Of the thyme whence the bee gathers honey —
Days ushered by dew-drops, instead of the tears,
Maybe, wrung from some wretcheder cousin —
Then fill, and with gratitude join in the cheers
That triumphantly hail a fresh dozen!
Hip! Hip! and Hurrah!

And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast,
And been bowed to the earth by its fury;
To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently passed,
Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury —
Still, fill to the future! and join in our chime,
The regrets of remembrance to cozen,
And having obtained a New Trial of Time,
Shout, in hopes of a kindlier dozen!
Hip! Hip! and Hurrah!
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