George Coleman shall sparkle in old bottled cider,
Roast-beef and potatoes friend Crabbe will supply;
Rogers shall hash us an “olla podrida,”
And the best of fresh “cabbage” from Paulding we’ll buy.
Mr. Tennant—free, fanciful, laughing, and lofty,
Shall pour out Tokay and Scotch whiskey like rain;
Southey shall sober our spirits with coffee,
And Horace in London “flash up in champagne.”
Tom Campbell shall cheer us with rosy Madeira,
Refined by long keeping, rich, sparkling, and pure;
And Moore, “pour chasse café,” to each one shall bear a
Sip-witching bumper of parfait amour.
Then come to our banquet—oh! how can you pause
A moment between merry rhyme and dull reason?
Preferring the wit-blighting “Spirit of Laws”
To the spirit of verse, is poetical treason!
Judge Phœbus will certainly issue his writ,
No quirk or evasion your cause can make good, man;
Only think what you’ll surfer, when sentenced to sit
And be kept broad awake till you’ve read the Backwoodsman!
D.
