At table all else is effaced
As for youth, it but swallows, then whistles an air;
As for me, to a jovial resort I'd repair,

Where to eat, and enjoy what I taste.

I have drunk; but have never thus relish'd the bowl!
For wine makes us lords, and enlivens the soul,

And loosens the trembling slave's tongue.
Let's not seek to spare then the heart-stirring drink,
For though in the barrel the old wine may sink,

In its place will fast mellow the young.

I have danced, and to dancing am pledged by a vow!
Though no caper or waltz may be raved about now,

In a dance that's becoming, whirl round.
And he who a nosegay of flowers has dress'd,
And cares not for one any more than the rest,

With a garland of mirth is aye crown'd.

Then once more be merry, and banish all woes!
For he who but gathers the blossoming rose.

By its thorns will be tickled alone.
To-day still, as yesterday, glimmers the star;