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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! | |
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But determined to send round the goblet once more, | 5 |
They sued to the fairer immortals for aid | |
In composing a draught which, till drinking were oer, | |
Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. | |
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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. | |
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Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board | |
Were scattered profusely in every ones reach, | |
When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, | 15 |
Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach. | |
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The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on | |
With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, | |
That the honey of Hybla, een when they were gone, | |
Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. | 20 |
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Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook, | |
And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl, | |
All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, | |
The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole. | |
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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. | |
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