And ravens croak; The crackling pine, and cedar sweet; The knotted oak, A fagot too, perhap, Whose bright flame, dancing, winking, While the oozing sap Shall make sweet music to our thinking, Old books to read! Ay, bring those nodes of wit, The brazen-clasped, the vellum writ, The same my sire scanned before, The well-earned meed Of Oxford's domes: Old Homer blind, Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by Old Tully, Plautus, Terence lie; Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie, Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay! And Gervase Markham's venerie Nor leave behind The Holye Book by which we live and die. Old friends to talk! Ay, bring those chosen few, The wise, the courtly, and the true, So rarely found; Him for my wine, him for my stud, Him for my easel, distich, bud In mountain-walk! Bring Walter good, With soulful Fred, and learned Will, And thee, my alter ego (dcarer still For every mood). These add a bouquet to my wine! If these I tine, Can books, or fire, or wine be good? Robert Hinckley Messinger [1811-1874] THE SPIRIT OF WINE The Spirit of Wine Sang in my glass, and I listened -"I am health, I am heart, I am life! For I give for the asking The fire of my father, the Sun, And the strength of my mother, the Earth. Inspiration in essence, I am wisdom and wit to the wise, His visible muse to the poet, The soul of desire to the lover, The genius of laughter to all. "Come, lean on me, ye that are weary! Rise, ye faint-hearted and doubting! Haste, ye that lag by the way! I am Pride, the consoler; Valor and Hope are my henchmen; I am the Angel of Rest. "I am life, I am wealth, I am fame: For I captain an army Of shining and generous dreams; "Come, sit with me, ye that are lonely, Ye that are chained, and would soar! I am friendship, the comforter; I am that which forgives and forgets."- The Spirit of Wine Sang in my heart, and I triumphed In the savor and scent of his music, William Ernest Henley [1849-1903] "DAY AND NIGHT MY THOUGHTS INCLINE" DAY and night my thoughts incline When I die, (the day be far!). Let the jar be filled with wine! Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] FALSTAFF'S SONG WHERE'S he that died o' Wednesday? Where worms approaching be; For the wight that died o' Wednesday, Just laid the light below, Is dead as the varlet turned to clay Where's he that died o' Sabba' day? The best of days is foul enough From this world's fare to flee; And the saint that died o' Sabba' day, Where's he that died o' yesterday? As the whoreson knave men laid away A thousand years ago. Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] THE MALTWORM'S MADRIGAL I DRINK of the Ale of Southwark, I drink of the Ale of Chepe; At noon I dream on the settle; at night I cannot sleep; For my love, my love it groweth; I waste me all the day; And when I see sweet Alison, I know not what to say. The sparrow when he spieth his Dear upon the tree, Her lips are like the muscadel; her brows are black as ink; Her eyes are bright as beryl stones that in the tankard wink; But when she sees me coming, she shrilleth out-“Te-Hee! Fye on thy ruddy nose, Cousin, what lackest thou of me? "Fye on thy ruddy nose, Cousin! Why be thine eyes so small? Why go thy legs tap-lappetty like men that fear to fall? Why is thy leathern doublet besmeared with stain and spot? Go to. Thou art no man (she saith)-thou art a Pottlepot!" "No man," i' faith. "No man!" she saith. And "Pottlepot" thereto! "Thou sleepest like our dog all day; thou drink'st as fishes do." I would that I were Tibb the dog; he wags at her his tail; Or would that I were fish, in truth, and all the sea were Ale! So I drink of the Ale of Southwark, I drink of the Ale of Chepe; All day I dream in the sunlight; I dream and cke I weep, But little lore of loving can any flagon teach, For when my tongue is loosed most, then most I lose my speech. Austin Dobson [1840 THE POWER OF MALT And malt does more than Milton can Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world's not. A STEIN SONG From "Spring" GIVE a rouse, then, in the Maytime For a life that knows no fear! Turn night-time into daytime. With the sunlight of good cheer! For it's always fair weather When good fellows get together, With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear. |