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LORD OF THE ISLES.
I. Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board! Summon the
the noble, and the fair ! Through the loud hall in joyous concert pour'd,
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care ! But ask thou not if Happiness be there,
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear ;
Lift not the festal mask !-enough to know, No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe.
With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay,
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear.
Then would he rouse him, and employ
And call for pledge and lay,
Seem gayest of the gay.
Yet nought amiss the bridal throng
yet fear'd to meet his glance, And he shunn'd her's ;-till when by chance They met, the point of foeman's lance
Had given a milder pang!
And from the table sprang.
Of Lorn, this pledge I drink
By this fair bridal-link !"