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Sunday up the River.
Sits long and ariseth drunken,
But not with the feast and the wine;
He reeleth with his own heart,
That great rich Vine.
XIX.
This air is as rich as wine;
Flowing with balm from the sunny south,
And health from the western brine.
Drink! drink! open your mouth!
This air is as strong as wine:
My brain is drugged with the balm o' the south,
And rolls with the western brine.
Drink! drink! open your mouth!
This air is the choicest wine;
From that golden grape the Sun, i' the south
Of Heaven's broad vine.
XX.
Floating down a river,
