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The Literary Gazette, 30th June 1827, page 429
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE WHITE SHIP.
"Strike the sails again, and drop
Your anchor by the shore;
Our purple cup has yet to make
A few glad circles more.
Fair sister, seat thee by my side—
Another health to thee:
Yon sky shall lose its rival blush,
Ere we pass o'er the sea.
I call on thee, thou minstrel young,
To praise the ruby tide:"
Thus spoke the young Prince Henry,
And soon the song replied:—
SONG.
Deep, deep, drain the cup,
Or leave its wealth untasted—
Deep, deep, drain the cup,
Or its best gift is wasted.
Drink not of the purple wine
For a moment's gladness—
Flashing wit and careless laugh
Are but transient madness;—
There's sparkling light floats on the bowl,
There's flashing mirth within it:
But its deep forgetfulness
Is the best spell in it.
Drain the red wine till it be
Lethe to life's sorrow;
'Tis something to forget to-day
That there must come to-morrow.
