 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
64
THE INVENTION OF WINE
As one day I was restin'
Mount Mangerton's crest on,
An ould hedge schoolmaster, so larned and fine,
My comrade on the mountain,
Began thus recountin',
In this poem so romantic, The Invention of Wine.
Mount Mangerton's crest on,
An ould hedge schoolmaster, so larned and fine,
My comrade on the mountain,
Began thus recountin',
In this poem so romantic, The Invention of Wine.
Before Bacchus could talk
Or dacently walk,
Down Olympus he leaped from the arms of his nurse;
But though three years in all
Were consumed by the fall
He might have gone further and fared a deal worse
Or dacently walk,
Down Olympus he leaped from the arms of his nurse;
But though three years in all
Were consumed by the fall
He might have gone further and fared a deal worse
For he chanced, you must know,
On a flower and fruit show,
In some parish below, at the Autumn Assizes,
Where Solon and Crœsus,
Who'd been hearin' the cases,
By the people's consint were adjudgin' the prizes.
On a flower and fruit show,
In some parish below, at the Autumn Assizes,
Where Solon and Crœsus,
Who'd been hearin' the cases,
By the people's consint were adjudgin' the prizes.
“Fruit prize Number One
There's no question upon—
We award it,” they cried, in a breath, “to—the divle!
By the powers of the delf'
On your Lowness's shelf,
Who's this Skylarking Elf wid his manners uncivil?”
There's no question upon—
We award it,” they cried, in a breath, “to—the divle!
By the powers of the delf'
On your Lowness's shelf,
Who's this Skylarking Elf wid his manners uncivil?”
65
For widout even a ticket,
That Deity wicked,
Falling plump in their midst in a posture ungainly,
Pucked that bunch of prize grapes
Into all sorts of shapes
And made them two Judges go on most profanely.
That Deity wicked,
Falling plump in their midst in a posture ungainly,
Pucked that bunch of prize grapes
Into all sorts of shapes
And made them two Judges go on most profanely.
“O, the deuce!” shouted Solon,
“He's not left a whole un!”
“It's the juice thin, indeed,” echoed Crœsus, half-cryin';
For a squirt of that same,
Like the scorch of a flame,
Was playing its game the ould Patriarch's eye in.
“He's not left a whole un!”
“It's the juice thin, indeed,” echoed Crœsus, half-cryin';
For a squirt of that same,
Like the scorch of a flame,
Was playing its game the ould Patriarch's eye in.
Thin Solon said, “Tie him,
At our pleasure we'll try him.
Walk him off to the gaol, if he's able to stand it;
If not, why, thin get sure,
The loan of a stretcher,
And convey him away! Do yez hear me command it?”
At our pleasure we'll try him.
Walk him off to the gaol, if he's able to stand it;
If not, why, thin get sure,
The loan of a stretcher,
And convey him away! Do yez hear me command it?”
But Crœsus, long life to you,
Widout sorrow or strife to you,
And a peaceable wife to you, that continted you'll die!
Just thin you'd the luck
The forefinger to suck
That you'd previously stuck wid despair in your eye.
Widout sorrow or strife to you,
And a peaceable wife to you, that continted you'll die!
Just thin you'd the luck
The forefinger to suck
That you'd previously stuck wid despair in your eye.
66
No more that eye hurt you—
For the excellent virtue
Of the necther you'd sipped cured its smartin' at once,
And you shouted to Solon,
“Stop your polis patrollin'!
Where's the sinse your ould poll in, you ignorant dunce?
For the excellent virtue
Of the necther you'd sipped cured its smartin' at once,
And you shouted to Solon,
“Stop your polis patrollin'!
Where's the sinse your ould poll in, you ignorant dunce?
“Is it whip into quad
A celestial God,
For I'll prove in a crack that the crayther's divine.
Look here! have a sup,”
Some more juice he sopped up
In a silver prize cup, and They First Tasted Wine
A celestial God,
For I'll prove in a crack that the crayther's divine.
Look here! have a sup,”
Some more juice he sopped up
In a silver prize cup, and They First Tasted Wine
Said Solon, “Be Japers,
Put this in the papers;
For this child wid his capers is divine widout doubt!
Let's kneel down before him,
And humbly adore him,
Then we'll mix a good jorum of the drink he's made out.”
Put this in the papers;
For this child wid his capers is divine widout doubt!
Let's kneel down before him,
And humbly adore him,
Then we'll mix a good jorum of the drink he's made out.”
Now the whole of this time
That Spalpeen Sublime
Was preparing his mind for a good coorse of howlin';
For you've noticed, no doubt,
That the childer don't shout
Till a minute or more on their heads they've been rowlin'.
That Spalpeen Sublime
Was preparing his mind for a good coorse of howlin';
For you've noticed, no doubt,
That the childer don't shout
Till a minute or more on their heads they've been rowlin'.
67
“Milleah, murther!” at last
He shouted aghast,
“My blood's flowin' as fast as a fountain of wather;
It'll soon be all spilt,
And then I'll be kilt”—
Mistakin' the juice of the grapes for his slaughter.
He shouted aghast,
“My blood's flowin' as fast as a fountain of wather;
It'll soon be all spilt,
And then I'll be kilt”—
Mistakin' the juice of the grapes for his slaughter.
Thin, glancin' around,
He them gintlemen found
Their lips to the ground most adorin'ly placed,
Though I'm thinking the tipple,
Continuin' to ripple
Round that sacred young cripple, their devotion increased.
He them gintlemen found
Their lips to the ground most adorin'ly placed,
Though I'm thinking the tipple,
Continuin' to ripple
Round that sacred young cripple, their devotion increased.
“By Noah's Ark and the Flood,
They're drinking my blood.
O you black vagabones!” shouted Bacchus, “take that!”
Here wid infantile curses
He up wid his thrysus
And knocked the entire cavalcade of them flat.
They're drinking my blood.
O you black vagabones!” shouted Bacchus, “take that!”
Here wid infantile curses
He up wid his thrysus
And knocked the entire cavalcade of them flat.
But soon to his joy
That Celestial Boy,
Comprehendin' the carnage that reddened the ground,
Extendin' his pardon
To all in the garden,
Exclaimed wid a smile, as a crater he crowned—
That Celestial Boy,
Comprehendin' the carnage that reddened the ground,
Extendin' his pardon
To all in the garden,
Exclaimed wid a smile, as a crater he crowned—
68
“My bould girls and boys,
Be using your eyes;
For you now recognise the god Bacchus in me.
Come, what do you say
To a slight dajoonay,
Wid cowld punch and champagne, for I'm on for a spree?”
Be using your eyes;
For you now recognise the god Bacchus in me.
Come, what do you say
To a slight dajoonay,
Wid cowld punch and champagne, for I'm on for a spree?”
So widout further pressing,
Or the bother of dressing,
Down to table they sat wid that Haythen Divine,
And began celebratin',
Wid the choicest of atin',
And drinkin' like winkin' The Invention of Wine.
Or the bother of dressing,
Down to table they sat wid that Haythen Divine,
And began celebratin',
Wid the choicest of atin',
And drinkin' like winkin' The Invention of Wine.
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