Poems (Markham)/Voice of intemperance
Voice of Intemperance
I rove through the city Or prowl on the plain,And boast of the innocent Victims I've slain;
Of my widows and orphans, The tears they have shed;Of desolate hovels, And hearts that have bled;
Of minds once enlightened, In the ranks of the brave;Of the fate of the monarch, Or the death of the slave.
When I ride on the ocean Or sail on the lake,I mark down the millions That follow my wake.
To the mother that weeps O'er the fate of her son,I boast of the chivalrous Deeds I have done—
The oceans of blood And tears I have spilt,And witnessed cruelty, Sorrow and guilt.
At a breath or a touch Of my magical wand,The mighty are fallen— Their wealth I command.
The home of the happy Is wrecked at my name;The spoils of the wealthy Is the height of my fame;
The brow of the beautiful, Lovely and gay,I have mantled with shame And stamped with dismay.
The maid on her lover Looks down with disdainFor the ties that had bound them I had severed in twain.
The pride of man's heart, Her music and song,Is turned into wailing As I entered the throng.
The voice of his children, As they sport in the dale,At the sound of the revel Is swept from the vale.
But I felt my influence Begin to decay,When the cold water army Was set in array.
But her ranks are so broken Her chieftains are fled,That I've taken fresh courage And hold up my head.
My health is improving, I feel no alarms,Since the cold water army Have laid down their arms.E. M.Oregon City, December 20, 1849.Oregon Spectator, December 27, 1849.