Classic Poem

Air —“ I sing the Maid of Lodi .”

I sing the fount of soda,
?That sweetly springs for me,
And I hope to make this ode a
?Delightful melody;
For if “Castalian” water
?Refreshed the tuneful nine,
Health to the Muse! I've broughther
?A bubbling draught of mine.
?????? ??? ?? ????—
?So Pindar sang of old,
Though modern bards— proh dor! —
?Deem water dull and cold;
But if at my suggestion
?They'd try the crystal spring,
They'd find that, for digestion,
?Pure element's the thing.
With soda's cheerful essence
?They'd fill the brimming glass,
And feel the mild 'fervescence
?Of hydrogen and gas;
Nor quaff Geneva's liquor—
?Source of a thousand ills!
Nor swill the poisonous ichor
?Cork (to her shame!) distils.
Gin is a lurking viper,
?That stings the maddened soul,
And Reason pays the piper,
?While Folly drains the bowl;
And rum, made of molasses,
?Inclineth man to sin;
And far potheen surpasses
?The alcohol of gin.
But purest air in fixture
?Pervades the soda draught,
And forms the sylph-like mixture
?Brewed by our gentle craft.
Nor is the beverage injured
?When flavoured with a lime;
Or if, when slightly gingered,
?'Tis swallowed off in time.
Far from the tents of topers
?Blest be my lot to dwell,
Secure from interlopers
?At peaceful “ Sunday's well .”
Free o'er my lawn to wander,
?Amid sweet flowers and fruits;
And may I still grow fonder
?Of chemical pursuits.
Through life with step unerring
?To glide, nor wealth to hoard,
Content if a red herring
?Adorn my frugal board;
While Martha, mild and placid,
?Assumes the household cares,
And pyroligneous acid
?The juicy ham prepares.