VI.
He pulled up the fibre; he smelt it,
And bit it, and kneeling again,
Kissed the liquid, and fancied he felt it
Had ceased to enliven his brain.
VII.
Home took he the plant, and sawed it asunder—
Analyzed it with acids and brine;
And found it at last, to his wonder,
Nothing more than the root of—a vine!
VIII.
Then he doubted, the more he reflected;
And the question to this day is moot,
If the grape-vine the fount had affected,
Or the fount gave its force to the fruit.
[THE DEVIL-TAVERN.]
A TALE OF TINNECUM