 | The Harp of Erin |  |
ORIGINAL ELEGY ON A COUNTRY ALEHOUSE.
Dim burns the taper with a twinkling
flame,
The sooty coal forsakes the narrow grate,
Frail glasses broke a broken purse proclaim,
And vacant jugs the landlord's bill relate.
The sooty coal forsakes the narrow grate,
Frail glasses broke a broken purse proclaim,
And vacant jugs the landlord's bill relate.
Here let me, then, thy ruin'd state bewail,
Fair alehouse, fairest of the busy green;
With tears bemoan thy abdicated ale,
With sighs survey thy cellar's solemn scene.
Fair alehouse, fairest of the busy green;
With tears bemoan thy abdicated ale,
With sighs survey thy cellar's solemn scene.
125
Here oft, immers'd in politics profound,
The social curate smoak'd his ev'ning pipe;
Here too the clerk his mantling goblet crown'd,
And press'd the blushful glass in beauty ripe.
The social curate smoak'd his ev'ning pipe;
Here too the clerk his mantling goblet crown'd,
And press'd the blushful glass in beauty ripe.
Oft did yon bell (a bell no more!) with joy
Bound to the smith's reverberating hand;
Oft did the woodman yon crack'd screw employ,
And bottled nectars bounce at his command.
Bound to the smith's reverberating hand;
Oft did the woodman yon crack'd screw employ,
And bottled nectars bounce at his command.
Ah! here, the purring, solitary cat,
Musing, the hearth with em'rald eye reviews;
In grand Parnassian pomp the poet sat,
And quaff'd substantial bumpers to his Muse.
Musing, the hearth with em'rald eye reviews;
In grand Parnassian pomp the poet sat,
And quaff'd substantial bumpers to his Muse.
Here has he stood, meanwhile his slumb'ring crew,
Stretoh'd o'er the floor, in awful silence lay;
(Sad proof how well thy former host could brew!)
And wept them hurried from the light of day.
Stretoh'd o'er the floor, in awful silence lay;
(Sad proof how well thy former host could brew!)
And wept them hurried from the light of day.
Full many an epitaph, with cunning lore,
Frolic he mutter'd o'er each victim's head;
To calm his sorrows, claim'd one tankard more,
And made the young sun light him to his bed.
Frolic he mutter'd o'er each victim's head;
To calm his sorrows, claim'd one tankard more,
And made the young sun light him to his bed.
126
No more the quaint-ey'd catch, the teeming
jest,
The loud-continued laugh, the ready wit,
Shall swell with fond applause the simple breast,
The shrinking clown with poignant sting shall hit.
The loud-continued laugh, the ready wit,
Shall swell with fond applause the simple breast,
The shrinking clown with poignant sting shall hit.
Farewell tobacco, mellowing ale farewell!
To higher themes the ardent bosom clings;
Yet let this verse thy alehouse-honours tell,
And bid thy landlord shine, enroll'd with kings.
To higher themes the ardent bosom clings;
Yet let this verse thy alehouse-honours tell,
And bid thy landlord shine, enroll'd with kings.
| The Harp of Erin | |