Classic Poem

The god descends who makes the young
In toil unwearied, in love bold;
He adds persuasion to man's tongue,
Which wins a maid as much as gold.
He gives the dancer grace and ease,
He points the jest and aids the song,
He makes dull care fly with the breeze,
The coward brave, the feeble strong.

He guards the green-leaved spreading vine,
Whereon the ripe grape-clusters swell,
Soon to be crushed in streaming wine;
His darling grapes, he loves them well.
O! when we quaff the rosy juice
We freedom find from every woe,
Our features all their pallor lose,
Our cheeks with mantling colour glow.

Then let us pledge a health around,
'Tis the best medicine there is;
And Bacchus pray to keep us sound
Till next year brings new vintage bliss.