BACCHANALIAN DREAMINGS.
Cronies leave me in the bar-room, while as yet I've cash to spend,
Leave me here, and if I'm wanted, 'mum's' the word to every friend,
'Tis the place, I can assure you, if from funds you wish to part;
Yet for these you'll get a mixture, wisely stirred will warm the heart.
This old house is situated in a street well-known as High;
Here the choicest spirits gather, when the moon is in the sky.
Oft at night I've seen the taper seemingly to multiply
And assume these quaintish fashions so deceptive to the eye.
Till in fancy I've been lifted high above this earthly ball;
And the lights, like stars have twinkled, in the mirrors on the wall.
In the happiness that followed, I've forgot life's cankering care,
Yet from these Elysian dreamings I've waked to misery and despair.
In this mood I've heard, with pleasure common mortals cannot know,
Grand debates, and songs and speeches, which from sparkling genius flow.
Then I've built aerial castles towering up to heights sublime,
And I've questioned in my fancy, if such blissfulness were mine.
For the nonce, a powerful statesman, I have ruled with iron sway,
Millions of my fellow-creatures, who, of course, were rougher clay.
Changing, then, to mighty warrior, at the head of armies bold,
I've crushed all who dared oppose me, just for glory, not for gold.
Or, again, as learned historian, I've noted down the deeds of yore,
Woven in a graceful fashion, mines of thought from ancient lore.
Burning passions, that consumed me, caused my throbbing heart to swell,
Or, when seized with poet's fancy, I've attempted oft to tell.
But the finest of our fancies very quickly disappear,
If from thoughtfulness we're wakened by the foolish jest or jeer.
White-sleeved waiters can't appreciate thoughts superior to red wine,
And that Act, by one Mackenzie, foeman is to Muses Nine.
In my rev'rie I was shaken, by a hand, and gruffly told
That the hour had just departed, when with safety wine was sold.
From The Modern Athenian, 18th March, 1876.