Come, lovely maiden, yield a kiss, For this my reign as Sultan is. And faithful brother send a fee, For now I choose the Pope to be. * * * DRINKING SONG. Brothers! in this place of festive meeting, Let us every trouble now defeating, God, in goodness, hath us thus combined; Drink here with the friend of honest mind. There, where nectar flows, Sweetest pleasure blows, E'en as flowers when the spring hath shined. Golden time! oh revel we it through, Hanging on the friend's devoted breast; From the friend a blissful warmth we'll borrow; Of our pleasure cool in wine the zest. In the grapes pure blood, Drink we German mood, Feel we of a higher strength possessed. Sip ye not when Bacchus' fountain floweth, With full beakers to lips faintly bent; He who life by drops yet only knoweth, Knoweth not of life the full intent. Lift it to thy mouth, Drain it in thy drouth, For a God from heaven it hath sent On the spirit's light accustomed pinion, In the world the youngling plunges bold; Friends to win him, as his best dominion, And whom fast and faster he will hold. So remain mine all, Till the world shall fall; Round their friend truth's arms eternal fold. Let ye not the strength of youth be wasted; In the wine-cap doth the gold-star shine; From sweet lips be honeyed sweetness tasted, For of life is love the heart divine. Is the strength gone forth? Lose the wine its worth? Follow we, old Charon, nor repine. * * * RHINE-WINE. So, crown with leaves the love o'er-brimming beakers, And drain them o'er and o'er, In Europe far and wide, ye pleasure-seekers, Is such a wine no more! It comes not out of Hungary nor Poland. Nor where they French do speak. St. Vitus, he may fetch wine from such wo-land, Ours there we do not seek. It is from Fatherland's abundance rendered, How were it else so good! How could in it such noble peace be blended, And yet such bravest mood! Yet it grows not upon all German mountains; For many hills we trace, Like the old Cretans, dull and sluggish fountains, Which are not worth their space.