When in death I shall calm recline, 
O bear my heart to my mistress dear;   
Tell her it lived upon smiles, and wine
Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here; 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 
To sully a heart so brilliant and light, 
But balmy drops of the red grape borrow, 
To bathe the relic from morning to night. 

When the light of my song is o'er, 
Then take my harp to your ancient hall; 
Hang it up at the friendly door 
Where weary travellers love to call; 
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken,
Revive its soft note in passing along, 
Oh!  let one thought of its master waken 
Your warmest smile for the child of song. 

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 
To grace your revel when I'm at rest;
Never, oh never, its balm bestowing 
On lips that beauty hath seldom blest! 
But when some warm devoted lover 
To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 
Oh!  then my spirit around shall hover, 
And hallow each drop that foams for him.