 | The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 |  |
Bacchanalian
I have heard from my youth,
That in wine there is truth:
And let him who the maxim disputes
Just put by his glass,
And go feed upon grass,
And drink puddle water with brutes.
That in wine there is truth:
And let him who the maxim disputes
Just put by his glass,
And go feed upon grass,
And drink puddle water with brutes.
Wine renders the sage
Blithe as youth, just of age,
And as wise as the sage makes the youth,
Whilst together they reel,
And in unison feel,
That wine is the essence of truth.
Blithe as youth, just of age,
And as wise as the sage makes the youth,
Whilst together they reel,
And in unison feel,
That wine is the essence of truth.
72
'Twas by nectar the gods
Held o'er mortals their rods,
Much more than the thunder of Jove;
'Twas Falernian wine
Did fair Venus enshrine,
And proclaim her the goddess of love.
Held o'er mortals their rods,
Much more than the thunder of Jove;
'Twas Falernian wine
Did fair Venus enshrine,
And proclaim her the goddess of love.
With imperial tokay,
An empire I'd sway,
Far better than Caesar, or Bony;
And with sweet jack, and sherry,
Like Falstaff make merry,
And Pegasus mount like a pony.
An empire I'd sway,
Far better than Caesar, or Bony;
And with sweet jack, and sherry,
Like Falstaff make merry,
And Pegasus mount like a pony.
Wine shows in the glass,
All the charms of the lass
That the love-smitten shepherd adores;
And each drop that he sips,
Like the dew on her lips,
In his heart a new ecstasy pours.
All the charms of the lass
That the love-smitten shepherd adores;
And each drop that he sips,
Like the dew on her lips,
In his heart a new ecstasy pours.
In the sparkling champagne
He encounters again
The sparkles that beam from her eyes;
Like her breath the old hock,
From the true convent stock,
An ambrosial odor supplies.
He encounters again
The sparkles that beam from her eyes;
Like her breath the old hock,
From the true convent stock,
An ambrosial odor supplies.
In Madeira he'll find
The attractions that bind
His heart, to the heart of the fair;
And in Burgundy trace
The sweet blush of her face,
When his passion she heard him declare.
The attractions that bind
His heart, to the heart of the fair;
And in Burgundy trace
The sweet blush of her face,
When his passion she heard him declare.
A bumper then fill,
But a drop do not spill,
To the lass that each heart can beguile;
Who, like wine, inspires,
Gay hope, love, and fires,
And banishes care with a smile.
But a drop do not spill,
To the lass that each heart can beguile;
Who, like wine, inspires,
Gay hope, love, and fires,
And banishes care with a smile.
Apr. 1, 1817
| The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 | |