Classic Poem

At a jovial meeting of gods once on high,
Ere Bacchus was hatch'd from old Jupiter's thigh,
This one told his story, and that sung his song,
And did what he could lest the time should seem long.

Apollo read verses, the Graces wreath'd flowers,
The Muses of harmony sung forth the powers,
Bully Mars crack'd his joke, and fly Momus his jest;
Yet their mirth wanted something to give it a zest.

II.

Said Jove, our assembly to-day's pretty full,
Yet, I don't know how 'tis, we are horridly dull;
We have all the ingredients that mirth should inspire,
But some clay-born alloy damps our heavenly fire.

I have it — in this I'll a mixture inclose
Of all the delights whence good fellowship flows,
And we'll taste of its produce, for mirth's bad at best
When there's any thing wanting to give it a zest.

III.

So saying, so doing, he buried the shrine,
Which quickly sprung up in the form of a vine,
The leaves broad and verdant, the fruit deepest blue,
Whence a juice flow'd that health, love, or youth might renew.

Its influence to feel, they came round it in swarms;
Mars took draughts of courage, and Venus drank charms;
Momus swallow'd bon mots, Cupid love — so the rest,
While Jove, spurning nectar, cry'd — This is the zest.