To fill my soul with dread;
But SPIRITS pale of RUIN BLUE
Of Deady—not the DEAD—
"To clutch thee how this breast doth throb,
Thou source of purest pleasure,
Fain would I wash my sooty gob
From yon Imperial measure!
"Soon may the cordial MAX be mine,
My sinking heart to cheer;
So my grim soul no more shall pine