Christmas Day And Other Poems

e. I'll tell thee, though in humbler verse, Of its insidious, hidden curse, That hurried me from bad to worse In rapid flight: There's ruin both to soul and purse In " getting tight." Some call it venial?any name But that which is its right one?shame; They say, " We must not strongly blame The faults of youth!" Oh, habit in the man's the same, I've learned that truth. My cheek runs hot as I confess, That my first cup was called?excess ; The quaffing of the draught was bliss, Its dregs remorse; Long, long, 'twill be ere I shall miss Its baleful force. For this expression, " That my first cup was called excess," I am indebted to J. B. Gough, Esq., the Temperance Lecturer. What is there in the fiendish skill That tricks my palate 'gainst my will, That leads me on from fill to fill, From more to more ? Each time a bottle nearer hell Than that before. 'Tis not for me?the social glass An hour with pipe and friend to pass ; And?just to oil our intercourse? A nip of grog; A lord of God's great universe Chained like a dog! There's, maybe, pleasure in the wine, For when half-drunk you're half-divine ; Song, Music, Painting?all the Nine, Are at your call; Then drop from angels down to swine In one swift fall. See note C at the end of this volume. Next morning, "just to put you square, Of that which bit you take a hair : " So it goes on from year to year, Until death com... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.