University of Virginia Library

A FESTAL ODE.

What constitutes a feast?
Not haunch of venison, of flavour true,
Fat, juicy, nicely drest;
Nor turtle calipash of verdant hue;
Not soup, in whose rich flood,
French cooks a thousand relishes infuse;
Not fricassees well stewed,
Nor France's greater boast, high-fumed ragouts;
Not a sirloin of beef,
Crowning a dish in which rich gravy lies;
Not turbot, ocean chief,
Which ruddy lobster-sauce accompanies,
No—a good appetite,
And good digestion, turn into a feast
Whate'er front-tooth can bite,
And grinders manducate, and palate taste.
Be it homely bread and cheese,
Of which the ravenous carl tucks in some pounds;
Or bacon smoked, where grease,
Five fingers thick, each stripe of lean surrounds;
Be it onion, fiery root,
Whose rank effluvia draws unbidden tears;
Potato, Erin's fruit,
With which the bogtrotter his stomach cheers;
Be it cabbage, flabby leaf!
Which cross-legg'd tailors smack with liquorish chops;
Or oatmeal porridge, chief,—
Undoubted chief of Scotland's rustic slops.
Yet in these meals so plain,
Let but sharp appetite as guest attend,
And napkin'd Aldermen
May grudge the goût with which the bits descend.
This constitutes a feast,
To experience hunger and have wherewithal
(Though it be not of the best)
To stop the void bread-basket's healthy call.