"Ere Solitude fall heavy on my heart,
That lingers for the far approach of day.
Who would not vindicate the happy doom
To be for ever number'd with the dead,
Rather than bear the miserable gloom,
When all his comfort, all his friends are fled?
Bear me, ye gods! where I may calmly rest
From all the follies of the night secure ;
The balmy blessings of Repose to taste,
Nor hear the tongue of Outrage at my door.
HEAR, O ye host of Epicurus! hear!
Each portly form, whose overhanging paunch
Can well denote the all-transcendant joy
That springs unbounded from fruition full
Of rich repast; to you I consecrate
The song advent'rous; happy if the Muse
Can cook the numbers to your palates keen,
Or send but half the relish with her song,
That smoking sirloins to your souls convey.
Hence now, ye starv'lings wan! whose emp-
ty wombs
Oft echo to the hollow-murm'ring tones
Of Hunger fell.-Avaunt, ye base born hinds!
Whose fates unkind ne'er destin'd you to gorge
The banquet rare, or wage a pleasing war
With the delicious morsels of the earth.
To you I sing not: for, alas! what pain,
What tantalizing tortures would ensue,
To aid the force of Famine's sharpest tooth,
Were I to breath my accents in your ear!
Hail, ROAST BEEF! monarch of the festive
throng,
To hunger's bane the strongest antidote ;
Come, and with all thy rage-appeasing sweets
Our appetites allay! For, or attended
By root Hibernian, or plumb pudding rare,
Still thou art welcome to the social board.
Say, can the spicy gales from Orient blown,
Or zephyr's wing, that from the orange grovés
Brushes the breeze, with rich perfumes replete,
More aromatic or reviving smell
To nostrils bring? Or can the glassy streams
Of Pactolus, that o'er its golden sands
Delightful glide, thy luscious drops outvie,
That from thy sides embrown'd unnumber'd
fall?
Behold, at thy approach, what smiles serene Beam from the ravish'd guests!-Still are their tongues,
While they with whetted instruments prepare
For deep incision.-Now the abscess bleeds,
And the devouring band, with stomachs keen,
And glutting rage, thy beauteous form destroy,
Leave you a marrowless skeleton and bare,
A prey to dunghills, or vexatious sport
Of torrent rushing from defilement's urns,
That o'er the city's flinty pavement hurls.
So fares it with the man, whose pow'rful pelf
Once could command respect. Caress'd by all,
His bounties were as lavish as the hand
Of yellow Ceres, till his stores decay'd,
And then (O dismal tale!) those precious drops-
Of flatt'ry that bedew'd his spring of fortune,
Leave the sad winter of his state so fall'n,
Nor nurse the thorn from which they ne'er can
hope
Again to pluck the odour dropping rose !
For thee, Roast Beef! in variegated shapes,
Have mortals toil'd. The sailor sternly braves
The strength of Boreas, and exulting stands
Upon the sea-wash'd deck--with hopes inspir'd
Of yet indulging in thy wish'd for sweets,
He smiles amidst the dangers that surround
him;
Cheerful he steers to cold forbidden climes,
Or to the torrid zone explores his way.
Be kind, ye Pow'rs! and still propitious send This paragon of feeding to our halls.
With this regal'd, who would vain-glorious wish
For tow'ring pyramids superbly crown'd,
With jellies, syllabubs, or ice creams rare ?
These can amuse the eye, and may bestow
A short-liv'd pleasure to a palate strange;
But, for a moment's pleasure, who would vend
A life-time that would else be spent in joy,
For hateful loathings and for gouty rheums,
Ever preceded by indulg'd excess!
Blest be those walls where HOSPITALITY And Welcome reign at large! there may you oft
Of social cheer partake, and love and joy,
Pleasures that to the human mind convey
Ideal pictures of the bliss supreme:
But near the gate where parsimony dwells,
Where ceremony cool, and brow austere,
Confront the guests, ne'er let thy foot ap-
proach!
For, void of kind benev❜lence, heav'nly virtue!
What is life's garden but a devious wild,
Thro' which the traveller must pass forlorn,
Unguided by the aid of Friendship's ray?
Rather, if Poverty hold converse with thee,
To the lone garret's lofty bield ascend,
Or dive to some sad cell; there have recourse
To meagre offals, where, tho' small thy fare,
Freedom shall wing thee to a purer joy
Than banquets with superfluous dainties
crown'd,
Mix'd with reserve and coolness, can afford.
But if your better fortunes have prepar'd
Your purse with ducats, and with health thy
frame,
Assemble, friends! and to the tavern straight, Where the officious waiter, bending low,
Is passive to a fault. Then, nor the Signior
Grand,
Or Russia's Empress, signaliz'd for war,
Can govern with moré arbitrary sway.
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