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Drink Drink! the Red, Red Wine |
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DRINK ! DRINK ! THE RED, RED WINE1
Drink ! drink ! the red, red wine,
That in the goblet glows, Is hallow'd by the blood that stain'd
The ground whereon it grows.
Drink ! drink ! there's health and joy
In its foam to the free and brave ; But 'twould blister up like the elf-king's cup
The pale lip of the slave !
Drink ! drink ! and as your hearts
Are warm'd by its ruddy tide, Swear to live as free as your fathers liv'd,
Or to die as your fathers died.
A STOOP OF RHENISH
By John Davidson (1837-1909)
When dogs in office frown you down, And malice smirches your renown; When fools and knaves your blunders twit, And melancholy dries your wit; Be no more dull,
But polish and plenish Your empty skull With a stoop of Rhenish.
1 Set to music as a trio, by Sir H. R. Bishop.
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