WINE* ;

A POEM.

Nulla placere diu, nec vivere carmina possunt,
Quae scibuntur aque potoribus.

Of happiness terrestrial, and the source

Hor.

Whence human pleasures flow, sing, heavenly Muse;
Of sparkling juices, of th' enlivening grape,
Whose quick'ning taste adds vigour to the soul,
Whose sov'reign pow'r revives decaying nature,
And thaws the frozen blood of hoary Age,
A kindly warmth diffusing; youthful fires
Gild his dim eyes, and paint with ruddy hue
His wrinkl'd visage, ghastly wan before :
Cordial restorative to mortal man,

With copious hand by bount'ous gods bestow'd!
Bachus Divine! aid my advent'rous song,
"That with no middle flight intends to soar:"

* In a letter from Aaron Hill to Mr. Savage published in the former's Works, vol. I. p. 339, speaking of Mr. Gay, he has these words :---" That Poem you speak of, called Wine, he printed in the year 171c, as I remember. I am sure I have one among my pamphlets. I will look for it and send it you, if it will be of use or satisfaction to any gentleman of your acquaintThis is the piece Mr. Hill mentions, and it is here printed from a copy of the original edition. Gay.] Pij

ance."

Inspir'd, sublime, on Pegasean wing,

By thee upborne, I draw Miltonic air.

When fumy vapours clog our loaded brows

With furrow'd frowns, when stupid downcast eyes,
Th' external symptons of remorse within,
Express our grief, or when in sullen dumps,
With head incumbent on expanded palm,
Moping we sit, in silent sorrow drown'd;
Whether inveigling Hymen has trepann'd
Th' unwary youth, and ty'd the Gordian knot
Of jangling wedlock not to be dissolv'd;'
Worry'd all day by loud Xantippe's din,
Who fails not to exalt him to the stars,
And fix him there among the branched crew,
(Taurus, and Aries, and Capricorn,
The greatest monsters of the Zodiac)
Or for the loss of anxious worldly pelf,
Or Celia's scornful slights, and cold disdain,
Which check'd his am'rous flame with coy repulse,
The worst events that mortals can befal;

By cares depress'd, in pensive hippish mood,
With slowest pace the tedious minutes roll,

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Thy charming sight, but much more charming gust,
New life incites, and warms our chilly blood.
Straight with pert looks we raise our drooping fronts,
And pour in crystal pure thy purerjuice;

With chearful countenance and steady hand

Raise it lip-high, then fix the spacious rim

To the expecting mouth ;---with grateful taste
The ebbing wine glides swiftly o'er the tongue;
The circling blood with quicker motion flies:
Such is thy powerful influence, thou straight
Dispell'st those clouds that, louring dark, eclips'd
The whilom glories of the gladsome face ;---
While dimpled cheek, and sparkling rolling eyes,
Thy cheering virtues and thy worth proclaim.
So mists and exhalations that arise

From "hills or steamy lake, dusky or grey,"
Prevail, till Phoebus sheds Titanian rays,
And paints their fleecy skirts with shining gold:
Unable to resist, the foggy damps,

That veird the surface of the verdant fields,
At the god's penetrating beams disperse ;
The earth again in former beauty smiles,
In gaudiest livery drest, all gay and clear.
When disappointed Strephon meets repulse,
Scoff'd at, despis'd, in melancholic mood
Joyless he wastes in sighs the lazy hours,
Till reinforc'd by thy most potent aid

He storms the breach, and wins the beauteous fort.
To pay thee homage, and receive thy blessing,
The British seaman quits his native shore,
And ventures thro' the trackless, deep abyss,
Ploughing the ocean, while the upheav'd oak,
"With beaked prow rides tilting o'er the waves;"
Shock'd by tempestuous jarring winds, she rolls

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In dangers imminent, till she arrives

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At those blest climes thou favour'st with thy presence.
Whether at Lusitania's sultry coast,
Or lofty Teneriff, Palma, Ferro,
Provence, or at the Celtiberian shores,
With gazing pleasure and astonishment,
At Paradise (seat of our ancient sire)
He thinks himself arriv'd: the purple grapes,
In largest clusters pendant, grace the vines
Innumerous: in fields grotesque and wild,
They with implicit curls the oak entwine,
And load with fruit divine his spreading boughs:
Sight most delicious! not an irksome thought,
Or of left native isle, or absent friends,
Or dearest wife, or tender sucking babe,
His kindly-treach'rous mem'ry now presents;
The jovial God has left no room for cares.

Celestial Liquor! thou that didst inspire
Maro and Flaccus, and the Grecian bard,
With lofty numbers, and heroic strains
Unparallel'd, with eloquence profound,
And arguments convictive, didst enforce
Fam'd Tully, and Demosthenes renown'd:
Ennius*, first fam'd in Latin song, in vain
Drew Heliconiam streams, ungrateful whet
To jaded Muse, and oft', with vain attempt,

An old Latin poet, of whom a more modern Roman bard, when reading his work made use of this expression. I have been seeking for pearls in Ennius's dunghill."

Heroic acts, in flagging numbers dull,
With pains essay'd; but, abject still and low,
His unrecruited Muse could never reach

The mighty there, till, from the purple fount
Of bright Lenæan fire, her barren drought
He quench'd, and with inspiring nect'rous juice
Her drooping spirits cheer'd:---aloft she tow'rs,
Borne on stiff pennons, and of war's alarms,
And trophies won, in loftiest numbers sings.
'Tis thou the hero's breast to martial acts,
And resolution bold, and ardour brave,
Excit'st thou check'st inglorious lolling ease,
And sluggish minds with gen'rous fires inflam'st.
O Thou! that first my quick'ned soul didst warm,
Still with thy aid assist me, that thy praise,
Thy universal sway o'er all the world,
In everlasting numbers, like the theme,
I may record, and sing thy matchless worth.
Had the Oxonian bard thy praise rehears'd,
His Muse had yet retain'd her wonted height;
Such as of late o'er Blenheim's field she soar'd
Aerial: now in Ariconian bogs

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She lies inglorious, flound'ring, like her theme, Languid and faint, and on damp wing, immerg'd In acid juice, in vain attempts to rise.

With what sublimest joy from noisy town,

At rural seat, Lucre ius retir'd:

-Flaccus, untainted by perplexing cares,

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