The moment must come, when the hands that unite br In the firm clasp of friendship, will sever; br When the eyes that have beamed o'er us brightly to-night, br Will have ceased to shine o'er us, for ever. br Yet wreathe again the goblet's brim br With pleasure's roseate crown! br What though the future hour be dim— br The present is our own! br The moment is come, and again we are parting, br To roam through the world, each our separate way; br In the bright eye of beauty the pearl-drop is starting, br But hope, sunny hope, through the tear sheds its ray. br Then wreathe again the goblet's brim br With pleasure's roseate crown! br What though the present hour be dim— br The future's yet our own! br The moment is past, and the bright throng that round us br So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream; br And time has untwisted the fond links that bound us, br Like frost wreaths, that melt in the morning's first beam.