Poetics :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thee, too, O! Wine—but not that rampant boy,
Bull-fac'd, whom ivy-leaves adorn,
Of Jove and Proserpine in secret born;—
I rather hail thee, mother, Queen of Joy:
And hence th'Impostor with his lies,
And each lewd lubber's sleek disguise,
Who calls thee, foul himself within,
The harlot—mother of all sin.
Ere from his bride's embrace the warrior goes,
To roll his thunder on his country's foes,

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Fill, fill the generous bowl;
Drown his cares, and fire his soul;
And when return'd from toil and pain,
He greets domestic bliss again,
And talks o'er dangers, fears, and wand'rings past,
And hopes true love will ever, ever last;
Merry let the song abound,
Sparkling let the glass go round;
Nor let the bard of honest vein,
Who hopes to feel the secret fire
Of old Anacreon's tuneful lyre,
The soul-enlivening juice disdain.
He shall draw enraptur'd hence,
Mantling wit and racy sense.
This empyrean, warm and free,
Shall teach him the true minstrelsy:
When, too, hinds and village boys
Hawkee sound, and farmers' joys
Want assessors, who like thee,
Partner fit of jollity?
Nor less from thee the child of care and sorrow,
As from ambrosia new life shall borrow;
Let him thy sweet nectar quaff,
And he shall smile and he shall laugh.
But hence hypocrisy and sleek design,
Ne'er may they know thy joys, thou pure, all-conquering Wine.

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ANTISTROPHE.

Thee then I sing, thou power of open face;
Fain would I hear thy voice, and go
Where thy purple juices flow,
Thy footsteps as my mystic Goddess trace.
“I will shew thee, then, my hoard:
“In no man's cellar can be stored,
“Or ampler casks, or nobler wine,
“Than what in Brown's and Mallet's shine.
“Ne'er was Falernian or Cæcubian juice,
“In mirths more gay, of flavours more profuse,
“Than theirs from Oporto brought,
“Or in Lisbon's vintage wrought;
“Or what from France's vine-clad hills,
“Soft, and clear, and bright distils;
“Or what, if suit thy taste, the German Rhine,
“A stout, stern, rough, unyielding, sparkling wine.
“Genuine they shall teach thee truth,
“Age's nurses, guides of youth;
“And learn thee more than sages grave,
“How to scorn the slave of wealth,
“And how to prize content and health,
“And how to cheat the greedy grave.
“Ye, who would then now be free,
“Free from care, come follow me.
“But heed the bard, and know the glass
“Reason's law must never pass.

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“Hence the mingling storm of life,
“Treachery, Gloom, domestic Strife,
“Fire, that sets the soul on flame,
“Dire Attempt, and lasting Shame.
“This of old the Centaurs shew'd,
“Driv'n from drunkenness to blood:
“Then wild they attack the blest abodes,
“As to o'erthrow the thrones of gods.
“And who are ye, that are my votaries true?
“Mark then each bottle's course, and heed my lessons too.

EPODE.

“For there's a bottle of strange powers;
“'Twas brought from fairy-land;
“Never it stops, and it cannot stand,
“Restless and rapid as flit the light hours.
“'Twas blown in distant age
“From foul diseased breath,
“Of sorcerer base, called Archimage,
“And pregnant with disease and death.
“She too, whom men Acrasia call,
“Foul daughter of that foulest sire,
“And as foul mother, mad Desire,

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“Into it from baleful lips let fall,
“Bitter-sweet berries, bright, of deadly gall:
“Then a wicked elfin took it;
“And thrice, and thrice, and thrice she shook it:
“Then thrice, thrice, thrice, tapping the ground,
“She turn'd the bottle round, round, round;
“And thrice she utter'd a charmed sound:
“Bottle, I give thee a power to fly,
“Quickly to empty and quickly to fill;
“Readily, constantly, I will supply
“Spirits and force, and so never stand still.
“She said: My vot'ries all, then hear my voice:
“Let moderation temper all your joys.
“For the vine in fairy-land first grew,
“And it thence some evil humours drew.
“In those regions I have been,
“And on the trees the fays have seen,
“Oft at eve and oft at morn,
“Like bees upon the flowery thorn.
“With mildews some the branches spread,
“Some above, and some below,
“Busy and mischievous all in a row:
“And some the fruit,
“And some the root,
“The venom'd creatures would have poisoned.
“And tho' to bless man's ailing progeny,
“Heav'n preserv'd the sacred tree
“From the mightier evil free;
“Still you, at times, can trace,
The mischief of the wicked elfin race,

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“Felt still by those, their glass too oft who fill:—
“So, my Votaries, all pray beware of the bottle that never stands still.”