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ODES AND SONGS.
We know the cup is wreathed with plants, More deadly than the Upas-tree;
Its richest recollection haunts, The soul with all that misery.
They say the draught has potent spell, To wean the thought from ills away;
And raise the drooping one to dwell Where dreary night is chang'd to day.
We deem the wretch may never know, The meaning of unmix'd despair,
Till tempted by his bitt'rest foe, He seeks the cup and finds it there.
Some vow in unextinguished hate, With Alcohol no terms to hold;
" From all that can intoxicate," We write upon our banners fold.
For we, the sons have marshalled strong,' On fields, that bear our father's name;
Their glorious dust gives back the song, Once more of freedom and of fame.
25 SONG OF THE MECHANICS.
SHALL the bone and muscle heaven Lent us, shall subduing skill To an enemy be given ?
Shall the red wine triumph still ? Each of us, around whose dwelling,
Labor's ample blessings flow, Feels his manly bosom swelling
With indignant answer. No!
Raging drink! thoul't not enslave us;
Sparkling bowl! thou now art dim; Angel temperance stoops to save us
From the death within thy brim.