Thus for the list of human woes,
The pangs each mortal bosom knows,
I find in snuff relief:
It makes me feel less sense of sorrow,
When modern bards their verses borrow,
And soothes my patriot grief.
Then let me sing the praise of snuff—
Give me, ye gods, I pray, enough—
Let others boast their wine;
Let some prefer the nice morceau
And piquant joys of feasting know,
The bliss of snuff be mine.
* * * * *
ODE ON A COLLEGE FEAST DAY.
(For the Mirror.)
Hark! hear ye not yon footsteps dread
That shook the hall with thundering tread?
With eager haste,
The fellows past.
Each intent on direful work.
High lifts the mighty blade and points
the deadly fork!
But hark! the portals sound and pacing
forth,
With steps, alas!
too slow,
The college gips of high illustrious worth
With all the dishes
in long order go;
In the midst,
a form divine,
Appears the fam’d
Sir-loin;
And soon with
plums and glory crown’d,
A mighty pudding
sheds its sweets around.
Heard ye the din of dinner bray?
Knife to fork,
and fork to knife:
Unnumber’d
heroes through the glorious strife,
Through fish, flesh, pies, and puddings
cut their destin’d way.
See, beneath the mighty blade,
Gor’d with
many a ghastly wound,
Low the fam’d Sir-loin is laid,
And sinks in many
a gulph profound.
Arise, arise,
ye sons of glory,
Pies and puddings
stand before ye;
See, the ghosts
of hungry bellies
Point at yonder
stand of jellies;
While such dainties
are beside ye.
Snatch the goods
the gods provide ye:
Mighty rulers
of this state,
Snatch before
it be too late,
For, swift as thought, the puddings, jellies,
pies,
Contract their giant bulks, and shrink
to pigmy size.
From the table now retreating,
All around the
fire they meet,
And, with wine, the sons of eating,
Crown, at length,
the mighty treat:
Triumphant
plenty’s rosy graces
Sparkle
in their jolly faces:
And
mirth and cheerfulness are seen
In
each countenance serene.
Fill
high the sparkling glass,
And
drink the accustom’d toast;
Drink
deep, ye mighty host,
And
let the bottle pass.
Begin, begin, the jovial strain,
Fill,
fill, the mystic bowl,
And drink, and drink, and drink again,
For
drinking fires the soul
But soon, too soon, with one accord they
reel
Each
on his seat begins to nod.
All conquering Bacchus’ power they
feel,
And
pour libations to the jolly god.
At length with dinner, and with wine oppressed,
Down in their chairs they sink, and give
themselves to rest.