'Twas in the flow'ry month of June,
The sun was in the west,
When a merry, blithesome company
Met at a public feast.
Around the room rich banners spread,
And garlands fresh and gay;
Friend greeted friend right joyously
Upon that festal day.
The board was filled with choicest fare;
The guests sat down to dine;
Some called for "bitter," some for "stout,"
And some for rosy wine.
Among this joyful company,
A modest youth appeared;
Scarce sixteen summers had he seen,
No specious snare he feared.
An empty glass before the youth
Soon drew the waiter near;
"What will you take, sir?" he inquired,
"Stout, bitter, mild, or clear?
"We've rich supplies of foreign port,
We've first-class wine and cakes."
The youth with guileless look replied,
"I'll take what father takes."
Swift as an arrow went the words
Into his father's ears,
And soon a conflict deep and strong
Awoke terrific fears.
The father looked upon his son,
Then gazed upon the wine,
Oh, God! he thought, were he to taste,
Who could the end divine?
Have I not seen the strongest fall,
The fairest led astray?
And shall I on my only son
Bestow a curse this day?
No; heaven forbid! "Here, waiter, bring
Bright water unto me;
My son will take what father takes,
My drink shall water be."