Born but to banquet, and to drain the bowl.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Odyssey of Homer. Book x. Line 662.

So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er,—

The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more.

John Gay (1688-1732): The What d' ye call it. Act ii. Sc. 9.

Discourse, the sweeter banquet of the mind.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Odyssey of Homer. Book xv. Line 433.

Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother's, when she feels

For the first time her first-born's breath!

Come when the blessed seals

That close the pestilence are broke,

And crowded cities wail its stroke!

Come in consumption's ghastly form,

The earthquake shock, the ocean storm!

Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet song, and dance, and wine!

And thou art terrible!—the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,

And all we know or dream or fear

Of agony are thine.

Alfred Bunn (1790-1860): Marco Bozzaris.

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garlands dead,

And all but he departed.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Oft in the Stilly Night.