We meet neath the sounding rafter, And the walls around are bare; As they shout back our peals of laughter It seems that the dead are there. Ho! stand to your glasses steady! 'T is all we have left to prize. A cup to the dead already,- Hurrah for the next that dies! (Bartholomew Dowling)

We meet neath the sounding rafter, And the walls around are bare; As they shout back our peals of laughter It seems that the dead are there. Ho! stand to your glasses steady! 'T is all we have left to prize. A cup to the dead already,- Hurrah for the next that dies!

Bartholomew Dowling

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