Ah, liberty! how like thou art
To this large bottle lying here,
Which yesterday from foreign mart,
Came filled with potent English beer!
A touch of steel—a hand—a gush—
A pop that sounded far and near—
A wild emotion—liquid rush—
And I had drunk that English beer!
And what remains?—An empty shell!
A lifeless form both sad and queer,
Dear Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale,
(In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the Vale)
Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e’er drank a bottle, or fathomed a bowl;
In boosing about ’twas his praise to excel,
And among jolly topers he bore off the bell. [...]
What merry fairy, oh cool, delicious beer,
Gave thee the power through centuries to maintain
A charm that soothes dull care, and laughs at pain;
A power sad hearts to vitalize and cheer?
No blasé palate of thy drops can fear;
Once quaffed, lips eager, seek thy sweets again,
Without thee students sing no loud refrain;
Laughter and mirth [...]
Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever
Preferr’d thee to the choicest wine;
From thee my lips they could not sever
By saying thou contain’dst strychnine.
Did I believe the slander? Never!
I held thee still to be divine.
For me thy color hath a charm,
Although ’tis true they call thee Pale;
And be thou cold when I am warm,
As late [...]
THE nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts down all drink when it is stale!
The toast, the nutmeg, and the ginger
Will make a sighing man a singer.
Ale gives a buffet in the head,
But ginger under-props the brain;
When ale would strike a strong man dead
Then nutmeg tempers it again.
The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts down all drink when [...]
“What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?”
“Strong beer,” said I.
“There’s a place for everything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”
“There’s a prize for everyone,
In those old days which poets say were golden—
(Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves:
And, if they did, I’m all the more beholden
To those brown dwellers in my dusty shelves,
Who talk to me ” in language quaint and olden”
Of gods and demigods and fauns and elves,
Pan with his pipes, and Bacchus with his [...]
I Cannot eat but little meat—
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care;
I am nothing a-cold —
I stuff my skin so full within
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare;
With my beer
While golden moments flit:
And, as they fly,
Sit, idly sipping here
O, finer far
Than fame, or riches, are
The graceful smoke-wreaths of this free cigar!
Weep, wail, or sigh?
What if luck has passed me by?
What if my hopes are dead, —
My pleasures fled?
Have I not [...]