| 'T IS said that the gods, on Olympus of old | |
| (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt), | |
| One night, mid their revels, by Bacchus were told | |
| That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! | |
| |
| But determined to send round the goblet once more, | 5 |
| They sued to their fairer immortals for aid | |
| In composing a draught, which, till drinking were o'er, | |
| Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. | |
| |
| Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn, | |
| And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, | 10 |
| And which first had its birth from the dew of the morn, | |
| Was taught to steal out in bright dewdrops again, | |
| |
| Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board | |
| Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, | |
| When call'd on a tribute to cull from the hoard, | 15 |
| Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. | |
| |
| The liquids were mingled while Venus look'd on | |
| With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, | |
| That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, | |
| Has never been miss'd in the draught from that hour. | 20 |
| |
| Flora then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook, | |
| And with roseate fingers press'd down in the bowl, | |
| All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, | |
| The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole. | |
| |
| The draught was delicious, and loud the acclaim, | 25 |
| Though something seemed wanting for all to bewail; | |
| But Juleps the drink of immortals became, | |
| When Jove himself added a handful of hail. | |
