Classic Poem

With wine-leaves crown the jovial cup,
For, search all Europe round,
You'll say, as pleas'd you drink it up,
Such wine was never found.
Such wine, &c.

Our fathers' land this vine supplies;
What soil can e'er produce
But this, tho' warm'd with genial skies,
Such mild, such gen'rous juice?
Such mild, &c.

Then shall the Rhine our smiles receive,
For on its banks alone
Can e'er be found a wine to give
The soul its proper tone.
The soul, &c.

Come, put the jovial cup around,
Our joys it will enhance,
If any one is mournful found,
One sip shall make him dance.
One sip, &c.