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THE GOURD BESIDE THE SPRING.
The gallant knight, in days of old,
Sang gaily flagon songs; The monarch drained his cup of gold
And laughed his people's wrongs; With goblets, flowing to the brim,
Bacchantes drink their wine, But no alluring rosy rim
Brings song to harp of mine.
Yet notes of memory sweetly come
In songs I love to sing, Of hearty, healthy bumpers, from
The gourd beside the spring.
The soldier loves his old canteen,
And sounds in song its praise; The lover toasts his mistress queen
In wine-begotten lays; The soul of poesy's outpoured
Alike to cup and king, And all forget the brown old gourd
They drank from at the spring.
There's happiness in banquet halls,
Amid the bright and gay, Where brilliant song the soul enthralls,
And wit and wine hold sway;