Prior and Montague inserted the following poetic vignette in their City Mouse and Country Mouse, written in burlesque of Dryden's Hind and Panther:
Then on they jogg'd; and since an hour of talk
Might cut a banter on the tedious walk,
As I remember, said the sober mouse,
I've heard much talk of the Wits' Coffee-house;
Thither, says Brindle, thou shalt go and see
Priests supping coffee, sparks and poets tea;
Here rugged frieze, there quality well drest,
These baffling the grand Senior, those the Test,
And there shrewd guesses made, and reasons given,
That human laws were never made in heaven;
But, above all, what shall oblige thy sight,
And fill thy eyeballs with a vast delight,
Is the poetic judge of sacred wit,
Who does i' th' darkness of his glory sit;
And as the moon who first receives the light,
With which she makes these nether regions bright,
So does he shine, reflecting from afar
The rays he borrowed from a better star;
For rules, which from Corneille and Rapin flow,
Admired by all the scribbling herd below,
From French tradition while he does dispense
Unerring truths, 't is schism, a damned offense,
To question his, or trust your private sense.
Geoffrey Sephton, an English poet and novelist, many years resident in Vienna, whose fantastic stories and fairy tales are well known in Europe, has written the following sonnets on coffee:
To the Mighty Monarch, King Kauhee[350]
By Geoffrey Sephton
I
Away with opiates! Tantalising snares
To dull the brain with phantoms that are not.
Let no such drugs the subtle senses rot
With visions stealing softly unawares
Into the chambers of the soul. Nightmares
Ride in their wake, the spirits to besot.
Seek surer means, to banish haunting cares:
Place on the board the steaming Coffee-pot!
O'er luscious fruit, dessert and sparkling flask,
Let proudly rule as King the Great Kauhee,
For he gives joy divine to all that ask,
Together with his spouse, sweet Eau de Vie
Oh, let us 'neath his sovran pleasure bask.
Come, raise the fragrant cup and bend the knee!
II
O great Kauhee, thou democratic Lord,
Born 'neath the tropic sun and bronzed to splendour
In lands of Wealth and Wisdom, who can render
Such service to the wandering Human Horde
As thou at every proud or humble board?
Beside the honest workman's homely fender,
'Mid dainty dames and damsels sweetly tender,
In china, gold and silver, have we poured
Thy praise and sweetness, Oriental King.
Oh, how we love to hear the kettle sing
In joy at thy approach, embodying
The bitter, sweet and creamy sides of life;
Friend of the People, Enemy of Strife,
Sons of the Earth have born thee labouring.
In America, too, poets have sung in praise of coffee. The somewhat doubtful "kind that mother used to make" is celebrated in James Whitcomb Riley's classic poem:
Like His Mother Used To Make[351]
"Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo., Mo., 1874.
"I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim,
As us fellers in the restaurant was kindo' guyin' him,
And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another punkin pie
And a' extry cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye—
"I was born in Indiany—more'n forty years ago—
And I hain't ben back in twenty—and I'm work-in' back'ards slow;
But I've et in ever' restarunt twixt here and Santy Fee,
And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin' home, to me!"
"Pour us out another. Daddy," says the feller, warmin' up,
A-speakin' crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup—
"When I see yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake—
"'Come in and git some coffee like yer mother used to make'—
I thought of my old mother, and the Posey county farm,
And me a little kid again, a-hangin' in her arm,
As she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs and poured 'em in"—
And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in his chin;
And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood
As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker would;
Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen door—and next,
Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs—
And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!—
Thank God we've met him comin'!—Don't you know yer mother, Jim?"
And the feller, as he grabbed her, says,—"You bet I hain't forgot—
But," wipin' of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee's mighty hot!"
One of the most delightful coffee poems in English is Francis Saltus' (d. 1889) sonnet on "the voluptuous berry", as found in Flasks and Flagons: