O'er a city Saturnalian, when the feast was at its height,
Cried the demon of the riot, riding on the howling night.
Cried aloud in gleeful frenzy, "Who would wish to be divine,
When as fiend he reigns the master of unnumbered slaves of wine?"
Swept he o'er the noisome brothel where the Bacchanalians brawled,
Mingled with its maudlin wantons where with libertines they sprawled;
Hovered o'er the wine-room's riot where his dupes carnival held,
While the ribald song's wild chorus on the night's mad frenzy swelled.
Gloated as he perched above them, and his voice rang out in pride—
"Oh, my master! I have triumphed, I, thy fiend of drink," he cried.
"Master thou whose cause I cherish, Master thou who reign'st in hell,
Am I worthy of thy kinship? In thy cause have I done well?
"Fiend of drink am I, remorseless, ruling, worshipped everywhere—
Boon companion of the novice, prop of every wreck's despair.
Moods have I to meet the many, costumes fit for any state,
To the brutalized or polished I can be a fitting mate.
"Where patrician faces gather, clothed am I in bright champagne,
Sparkling gloriously golden, beading to an amorous strain.
Eyes grow bright as lips caress me; fevers burn within the veins;
I repay their love with madness, laughing as I forge their chains.
"Now, in ruby robes translucent, dance I in the goblet bright,—
Wanton of the wine-glass, weaving dreams with mirages bedight.
O'er the wastes of wine I lure men, till on sands of quenchless thirst,
Lo, my red simoom engulfs them, helpless, raving, and accurst!
"Ere the sun-god, swiftly rising, swings his flaming sword of day,
Gin-gowned for the assignation, wait I for my quivering prey,—
Wait I for my faithful lovers, they who crave my morning kiss,
Abject, pleading for my favour, for my warmth, reviving bliss.
"Sweet to me their hast'ning footsteps at the well-remembered hour,
And I sparkle with elation, conscious of my mastering power.
Sweet each lover's supplication for the balm he would obtain;
Like a maiden in her beauty reign I 'midst my servile train.
"Ne'er was queen of story olden wooed as I by mortal man;
Ne'er had king in ages golden court so cosmopolitan;
Not for wealth of my surroundings do they tribute to me pay,
For they love me all as faithful in dim dens where I hold sway.
"What a court is this, my master! Here I watch life's strange parade—
Here I view the grotesque pageant of mankind in masquerade—
Maskers from the grimy army tipple with the titled peer;
Every walk of life commingling, great and lowly, all are here.