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in fleecy hose,

       To "Pilgrim's Progress" unrelenting foes!

      … . … .

      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

       Table of Contents

      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

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