Such is the classical and genial range of thought in which Béranger loves to indulge, amid the unpretending effusions of a professed drinking song; embodying his noble and patriotic aspirations in the simple form of an historical anecdote, or a light and fanciful allegory. He abounds in

philanthropic sentiments and generous outbursts of pas sionate eloquence, which come on the feelings unexpectedly, and never fail to produce a corresponding excitement in the heart of the listener. I shall shortly return to his glorious canticles; but meantime, as we are on the chapter of wine, by way of contrast to the style of Béranger, I may be allowed to introduce a drinking ode of a totally different character, and which, from its odd and original conceptions, and harmless jocularity, I think deserving of notice. It is. besides, of more ancient date; and gives an idea of what songs preceded those of Béranger.

Les Eloges de l'Eau.

Il pleut! il pleut enfin !
Et la vigne altérée
Va se voir restaurée
Par un bienfait divin.
De l'eau chantons la gloire,

On la meprise en vain,
C'est l'eau qui nous fait boire
Du vin! du vin! du vin!

C'est par l'eau, j'en conviens,
Que Dieu fit le déluge;
Mais ce souverain Juge
Mit le mal près du bien !
Du déluge l'histoire

Fait naître le raisin ;
C'est l'eau qui nous fait boire
Du vin! du vin! du vin!

Ah! combien je jouis

Quand la rivière apporte
Des vins de toute sorte
Et de tous les pays!
Ma cave est mon armoire-

A l'instant tout est plein;
C'est l'eau qui nous fait boire
Du vin! du vin! du vin!

Par un tems sec et beau

Le meunier du village,
Se morfond sans ouvrage,

Il ne boit que de l'eau ;

Wine Debtor to Water.

AIR-"Life let us cherish."

Rain best doth nourish

Earth's pride, the budding vine!
Grapes best will flourish

On which the dewdrops shine.
Then why should water meet with scorn,
Or why its claim to praise resign?
When from that bounteous source is born
The vine! the vine! the vine!

Rain best disposes

Earth for each blossom and each bud;
True, we are told by Moses,

Once it brought on 66 a flood:"
But while that flood did all immerse,
All save old Noah's holy line,
Pray read the chapter and the verse-
The vine is there! the vine!

Wine by water-carriage

Round the globe is best conveyed;
Then why disparage

A path for old Bacchus made?
When in our docks the cargo lands
Which foreign merchants here consign,
The wine's red empire wide expands-
The vine! the vine! the vine!

Rain makes the miller

Work his glad wheel the livelong day; Rain brings the siller,

And drives dull care away:

Il rentre dans sa gloire
Quand l'eau rentre au
moulin ;
C'est l'eau qui lui fait boire
Du vin! du vin! du vin!

Faut-il un trait nouveau ?
Mes amis, je le guette;
Voyez à la guinguette
Entrer ce porteur d'eau !
Il y perd la mémoire

Des travaux du matin ;
C'est l'eau qui lui fait boire
Du vin! du vin ! du vin !

Mais à vous chanter l'eau
Je sens que je m'altère ;
Donnez moi vite une verre
Du doux jus du tonneau-
Ce vin vient de la Loire,

Ou bien des bords du Rhin;
C'est l'eau qui nous fait boire
Du vin! du vin ! du vin !

For without rain he lacks the stream,
And fain o'er watery cups must pine;
But when it rains, he courts, I deem,
The vine! the vine! the vine !*

Though all good judges

Water's worth now understand,
Mark yon chiel who drudges

With buckets in each hand;
He toils with water through the town,
Until he spies a certain “sign,"
Where entering, all his labour done,
He drains thy juice, O vine!
But pure water singing

Dries full soon the poet's tongue;
So crown all by bringing

A draught drawn from the bung
Of yonder cask, that wine contains

Of Loire's good vintage or the Rhine
Queen of whose teeming margin reigns
The vine! the vine! the vine!

A "water-poet" is a poor creature in general, and though limpid and lucid enough, the foregoing runs at a very low level. Something more lofty in lyrics and more in the Pindaric vein ought to follow; for though the old Theban himself opens by striking a key-note about the excellence of that element, he soon soars upward far above low-water mark, and is lost in the clouds

"Multa Dirceum levat aura cycnum ;"

yet, in his highest flight, has he ever been wafted on more daring and vigorous pinions than Béranger? This will be at once seen. Search the racing calendar of the Olympic turf for as many olympiads as you please, and in the horsepoetry you will find nothing better than the "Cossack's Address to his Charger."

*This idea, containing an apparent paradox, has been frequently worked up in the quaint writing of the middle ages. There is an old Jesuits' riddle, which I learnt among other wise saws at their colleges, from which it will appear that this Miller is a regular Joe.

Q. "Suave bibo vinum quoties mihi suppetit nda;

Undaque si desit, quid bibo ?"

R."Tristis aquam!"