Anacreontic

Why must Poets, when they sing,
Drink of the Castalian spring?
Sure 'tis chilling to the brain;
Witness many a modern strain:
Poets! would ye sing with fire,
Wine, not water, must inspire.
Come, then, pour thy purple stream,
Lovely Bottle! thou'rt my theme.
How within thy crystal frame
Does the rosy nectar flame!
Not so beauteous on the vine
Did the clustering rubies shine,
When the potent God of day
Fill'd them with his ripening ray;
When with proudness and delight
Bacchus view'd the charming sight.
Still it keeps Apollo's fires;
Still the vintage-God admires.
Hail sweet antidote of wo!
Chiefest blessing mortals know!
Nay, the mighty powers divine
Own the magic force of wine.
Wearied with the world's affairs,
Jove himself, to drown his cares,
Bids the nectar'd goblet bear:
Lo! the youthful Hebe fair
Pours the living draught around;
Hark! with mirth the skies resound.
'Tis to wine, for aught I know,
Deities their godship owe;
Don't we mortals owe to wine
Manhood, and each spark divine?
Say, thou life-inspiring Bowl,
Who thy heavenly treasure stole?
Not the hand that stole Jove's fire
Did so happily aspire;
Tell the lucky spoiler's name,
Worthy never-dying fame.
Since it must a secret be,
Him I'll praise, in praising thee.
Glory of the social treat!
Source of friendly converse sweet!
Source of cheerfulness and sense,
Humour, wit, and eloquence,
Courage and sincerity,
Candour and philanthropy!
Source of O thou bounteous wine!
What the good that is not thine?
Were my nerves relax'd and low?
Did my chill blood toil on slow?
When thy spirit through me flows,
How each vital function glows!
Tuned, my nerves, no longer coy,
Answer to the touch of joy:
On the steams, that from thee rise,
Time on swifter pinions flies;
Fancy gilds them with her rays;
Hope amid the rainbow plays.
But behold! what Image bright
Rises heavenly to my sight!
Could such wondrous charms adorn
Venus, when from ocean born?
Say, my Julia, is it thou,
Ever lovely, loveliest now?
Yet, methinks, the Cyprian Queen
Comes herself, but takes thy mien.
Goddess! I confess thy power,
And to love devote the hour,
Let me but, with grateful soul,
Greet once more the bounteous Bowl.