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THE HAPPY DAYS OF YORE.
Air—"DIS MOI SOLDAT."
I.
Fill high the bowl! Long years have roll'd above us
Since last we met as friend should meet with friend;
Our ranks are thinn'd of hearts that best did love us,
Yet may our own bound warmly to the end.
Though the full glass seem beaming with reflections
Of pleasures past and comrades now no more,
Bright be the soul, and gay our recollections;
We'll drink the days—the happy days of yore.
Fill high the bowl! Long years have roll'd above us
Since last we met as friend should meet with friend;
Our ranks are thinn'd of hearts that best did love us,
Yet may our own bound warmly to the end.
Though the full glass seem beaming with reflections
Of pleasures past and comrades now no more,
Bright be the soul, and gay our recollections;
We'll drink the days—the happy days of yore.
II.
Their suns have set; but still the ling'ring splendour
Gladdens our sky with gleams of past delight;—
The long-lost sounds of voices blithe and tender
From times gone by are echoed back to-night.
They whom we loved, while living loved our pleasures;
They wish us blest, if yet they view us more.
Deep—as each heart their joyous image treasures—
We'll drink the days—the happy days of yore.
Their suns have set; but still the ling'ring splendour
Gladdens our sky with gleams of past delight;—
The long-lost sounds of voices blithe and tender
From times gone by are echoed back to-night.
They whom we loved, while living loved our pleasures;
They wish us blest, if yet they view us more.
Deep—as each heart their joyous image treasures—
We'll drink the days—the happy days of yore.