Additional Poems (1837-1848) | Page 9

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A HEALTH, unmingled with the reveller's wine,
To him whose title
is indeed divine;
Truth's sleepless watchman on her midnight tower,

Whose lamp burns brightest when the tempests lower.
Oh, who can
tell with what a leaden flight
Drag the long watches of his weary
night,
While at his feet the hoarse and blinding gale
Strews the torn
wreck and bursts the fragile sail,
When stars have faded, when the
wave is dark,
When rocks and sands embrace the foundering bark!

But still he pleads with unavailing cry,
Behold the light, O wanderer,
look or die!
A health, fair Themis! Would the enchanted vine
Wreathed its green
tendrils round this cup of thine!
If Learning's radiance fill thy modern
court,
Its glorious sunshine streams through Blackstone's port
Lawyers are thirsty, and their clients too,
Witness at least, if memory
serve me true,
Those old tribunals, famed for dusty suits,
Where
men sought justice ere they brushed their boots;
And what can match,
to solve a learned doubt,
The warmth within that comes from "cold
with-out "?
Health to the art whose glory is to give
The crowning boon that
makes it life to live.
Ask not her home;--the rock where nature flings

Her arctic lichen, last of living things;
The gardens, fragrant with
the orient's balm,
From the low jasmine to the star-like palm,
Hail
her as mistress o'er the distant waves,
And yield their tribute to her
wandering slaves.
Wherever, moistening the ungrateful soil,
The
tear of suffering tracks the path of toil,
There, in the anguish of his
fevered hours,
Her gracious finger points to healing flowers;
Where
the lost felon steals away to die,
Her soft hand waves before his
closing eye;
Where hunted misery finds his darkest lair,
The
midnight taper shows her kneeling there!
VIRTUE,--the guide that
men and nations own;
And LAW,--the bulwark that protects her
throne;
And HEALTH,--to all its happiest charm that lends;

These
and their servants, man's untiring friends
Pour the bright lymph that

Heaven itself lets fall,
In one fair bumper let us toast them all!
THE PARTING WORD
I MUST leave thee, lady sweet
Months shall waste before we meet;

Winds are fair and sails are spread,
Anchors leave their ocean bed;

Ere this shining day grow dark,
Skies shall gird my shoreless bark.

Through thy tears, O lady mine,
Read thy lover's parting line.
When the first sad sun shall set,
Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet;

When the morning star shall rise,
Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes;

When the second sun goes down,
Thou more tranquil shalt be
grown,
Taught too well that wild despair
Dims thine eyes and spoils
thy hair.
All the first unquiet week
Thou shalt wear a smileless cheek;
In the
first month's second half
Thou shalt once attempt to laugh;
Then in
Pickwick thou shalt dip,
Slightly puckering round the lip,
Till at last,
in sorrow's spite,
Samuel makes thee laugh outright.
While the first seven mornings last,
Round thy chamber bolted fast

Many a youth shall fume and pout,
"Hang the girl, she's always out!"

While the second week goes round,
Vainly shall they ring and
pound;
When the third week shall begin,
"Martha, let the creature
in."
Now once more the flattering throng
Round thee flock with smile and
song,
But thy lips, unweaned as yet,
Lisp, "Oh, how can I forget!"

Men and devils both contrive
Traps for catching girls alive;
Eve
was duped, and Helen kissed,--
How, oh how can you resist?
First be careful of your fan,
Trust it not to youth or man;
Love has
filled a pirate's sail
Often with its perfumed gale.
Mind your
kerchief most of all,

Fingers touch when kerchiefs fall;
Shorter ell
than mercers clip
Is the space from hand to lip.

Trust not such as talk in tropes,
Full of pistols, daggers, ropes;
All
the hemp that Russia bears
Scarce would answer lovers' prayers;

Never thread was spun so fine,
Never spider stretched the line,

Would not hold the lovers true
That would really swing for you.
Fiercely some shall storm and swear,
Beating breasts in black despair;

Others murmur with a sigh,
You must melt, or they will die:

Painted words on empty lies,
Grubs with wings like butterflies;
Let
them die, and welcome, too;
Pray what better could they do?
Fare thee well: if years efface
From thy heart love's burning trace,

Keep, oh keep that hallowed seat
From the tread of vulgar feet;
If
the blue lips of the sea
Wait with icy kiss for me,
Let not thine
forget the vow,
Sealed how often, Love, as now.
A SONG OF OTHER DAYS
As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet
Breathes soft the Alpine rose,
So
through life's desert springing sweet
The flower of friendship grows;

And as where'er the roses grow
Some rain or dew descends,
'T is
nature's law that wine should flow
To wet the lips of friends.
Then
once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;
And he that
has the warmest heart
Shall loudest laugh and sing.
They say we were not born to eat;
But gray-haired sages think
It
means, Be moderate in your meat,
And partly live to drink.
For
baser tribes the rivers flow
That know not wine or song;
Man wants
but little drink below,
But wants that little strong.
Then once again,
etc.
If one bright drop is like the gem

That decks a monarch's crown,

One goblet holds a diadem
Of rubies melted down!
A fig