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72

THE TIPPLER TO HIS BOTTLE.

What hast thou ever done for me?
Defeated every good endeavor,
I never can through life agree
To place my confidence in thee,
No, never! no, never!
Often have I thy stream admired,
Thou nothing hast availed me ever,
Vain have I thought myself inspired;
Say have I else but pain acquired?
Not ever! no, never!
No earthly good, no stream of health,
Flows from thy fount thou cheerful giver,
From thee affluence sinks to stealth,
From thee I pluck no bloom of health,
Whatever! no, never!
Thou canst impart a noble mind,
Power from my tongue flows like a river,
The gas flows dead I'm left behind,
To all that's evil down conjured,
To flourish more, never!
With thee I must thro' life complain,
Thy powers at large will union sever,
Disgorge no more thy killing bane,
The bird, hope, flies from thee in vain,
To return more, never!