ON INTEMPERANCE.

O, Take the maddening bowl away! Remove the poisonous cup! My soul is sick—its burning ray Hath drunk my spirit up: Take—take it from my loathing lip Ere madness fires my brain; Take—take it hence! nor let me sip Its liquid death again. O dash it on the thirsty earth, For I will drink no more: It cannot cheer the heart with mirth That grief hath wounded sore; For serpents wreath its sparkling brim, And adders lurk below: It hath no soothing charms for him Who sinks oppress'd with wo. Say not, "Behold its ruddy hue— O press it to thy lips!" For 'tis more deadly than the dew That from the Upas drips; It is more poisonous than the stream Which deadly nightshade leaves: Its joys are transient as the beam That lights its ruddy waves. Say not "It hath a powerful spell To sooth the soul of care;" Say not, "It calms the bosom's swell And drives away despair!" Art thou its votary?—ask thy soul— Thy soul in misery deep— Yea, ask thy conscience if the bowl Can give eternal sleep! Then, hence, away! thou deadly foe Of happiness the whole; Away—away!—I feel thy blow, Thou palsy of the soul! Henceforth I ask no more of thee, Thou bane of Adam's race, But to a heavenly fountain flee, And drink the dews of grace.