Trio
Let each merry minstrel enter,
He’s right welcome to our hall!
’Tis but with the self─tormentor
That we are not liberal;
For we fear that his caprices,
That his eye-brows dark and sad,
That his grief that never ceases
Hide an empty heart, or bad.
CHORUS.
No one now for wine shall languish!
Here no minstrel shall be found,
Who all sighs and groans of anguish,
Has not first in rapture drown’d!
1810. ——- ERGO BIBAMUS!
For a praiseworthy object we’re now gather’d here,
So, brethren, sing: ERGO BIBAMUS! Tho’ talk may be hush’d, yet the glasses ring clear,
Remember then: ERGO BIBAMUS!
In truth ’tis an old, ’tis an excellent word,
With its sound so befitting each bosom is stirr’d,
And an echo the festal hall filling is heard,
A glorious ERGO BIBAMUS!
I saw mine own love in her beauty so rare,
And bethought me of: ERGO BIBAMUS;
So I gently approach’d, and she let me stand there,
While I help’d myself, thinking: BIBAMUS!
And when she’s appeased, and will clasp you and kiss,
Or when those embraces and kisses ye miss,
Take refuge, till sound is some worthier bliss,
In the comforting ERGO BIBAMUS!
I am call’d by my fate far away from each friend;
Ye loved ones, then: ERGO BIBAMUS!
With wallet light-laden from hence I must wend.
So double our ERGO BIBAMUS!
Whate’er to his treasures the niggard may add,
Yet regard for the joyous will ever be had,
For gladness lends over its charms to the glad,
So, brethren, sing; ERGO BIBAMUS!
And what shall we say of to-day as it flies?
I thought but of: ERGO BIBAMUS
’Tis one of those truly that seldom arise,
So again and again sing: BIBAMUS!
For joy through a wide-open portal it guides,
Bright glitter the clouds, as the curtain divides,
An a form, a divine one, to greet us in glides,
While we thunder our: ERGO BIBAMUS!
1810. ——- EPIPHANIAS.
THE three holy kings with their star’s bright ray,—
They eat and they drink, but had rather not pay;
They like to eat and drink away,
They eat and drink, but had rather not pay.
The three holy kings have all come here,
In number not four, but three they appear;
And if a fourth join’d the other three,
Increased by one their number would be.
The first am I,—the fair and the white,
I ought to be seen when the sun shines bright!
But, alas! with all my spices and myrrh,
No girl now likes me,
—I please not her.
The next am I,—the brown and the long,
Known well to women, known well to song.
Instead of spices, ’tis gold I bear,
And so I’m welcome everywhere.
The last am I,—the black and small,
And fain would be right merry withal.
I like to eat and to drink full measure,
I eat and drink, and give thanks with pleasure.
The three holy kings are friendly and mild,
They seek the Mother, and seek the Child;
The pious Joseph is sitting by,
The ox and the ass on their litter lie.
We’re bringing gold, we’re bringing myrrh,
The women incense always prefer;
And if we have wine of a worthy growth,
We three to drink like six are not loth.
As here we see fair lads and lasses,
But not a sign of oxen or asses,
We know that we have gone astray
And so go further on our way.
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