To George McDaniel
Hail! Barleycorn... they said you
weren't Nice!
Salve! You bum, and Vale! Hail! Farewell!
Your feet, the Prohis say, go down to Hell;
You led men into Poker, Fights and Dice,
You filled the world with Murder, Lust and Lice,
You made a Bar Fly of the Howling Swell,
You bought the blood that deep-dyed bandits sell—
You might lead one in time, I fear, to Vice!
Old blear-eyed mutt, beloved and accurst!
Before you go, a song for old sake's sake;
A song memorial to the days and nights
When I companioned with the Dipsas Snake
And bared my throat unto his febrous bites,
Quenching a thirst to gain a greater thirst.
II—IN THE OLD DAYS
To Paul Thompson
Liquor there is, but, oh! the Bar is gone!
The long Brass Rail above the Sawdust Floor,
The gay Hot Dog, the gleaming Cuspidore,
The bright, brave Nose that brave, bright lights
shone on,
The jocund Barkeep, Ed or A1 or John,
The ribald jest I loved, the answering roar
That jangled the glasses, shook the swinging door—-
Liquor there is, but these delights are done!
In the old days when bubbles winked at me,
In the glad days when I was steeped in Rum,
I played the Prospero to fantasy,
I drank, and bade my Ariel fancies come.”
But I have lost my ancient wizardry
And mine old self, my lyric self, is dumb.