There Fucks was also, a heathen blind,
And personal foe of Jehovah,
Who believed but in Hegel, and slightly perhaps
In the Venus of Canova.
My Campe was our Amphytrion there,
And smiled and enjoy’d the honour;
His eye was beaming with happiness,
Just like an ecstatic Madonna.
I ate and drank with an appetite good,
And these thoughts then cross’d my noddle:
“This Campe is really an excellent man,
“And of publishers quite the model.
“Another publisher, I feel sure,
“Would have left me of hunger to perish;
“But he has given me drink as well,
“His name I ever shall cherish.
“I thank the mighty Lord of all
“Who this juice of the grape created,
“And Campe to me as a publisher gave,
“Whose merits can’t be overrated.
“I thank the mighty Lord of all
“Who by His own mere motion
“Created on earth the Rhenish wine,
“And the oysters in the ocean.
“Who also made the lemons to grow,
“The oyster’s flavour to sweeten,—
“O may I peacefully to-night
“Digest what I have eaten!”
The Rhenish wine makes my feelings soft,
All quarrelsome thoughts congealing
Within my breast, and kindling instead
A philanthropic feeling.
It now compell’d me to leave the room,
And through the streets to wander;
My soul sought a soul, and the sight of each dress
Of a woman made it still fonder.
In moments like this, with grief I could melt,
While my yearning makes me tremble;
The cats appear to me all too grey,
And Helens the women resemble.—