294 LAMB'S POEM. 



Shoots at rovers shooting at us ; 

 While each man through thy heightening steam 

 Does like a smoking ,<Etna seem, 

 And all about us does express 

 (Fancy and wit in richest dress) 

 A Sicilian fruitfulness. 

 Thou though such a mist dost show us 

 That our best friends do not know us, 

 And for those allowed features 

 Due to reasonable creatures, 

 Liken'st us to feel Chimeras 

 Monsters that, who see us, fear us ; 

 Worse than Cerberus or Geryon, 

 Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion. 

 Bacchus we know, and we allow, 

 His tipsy rites, but what art thou, 

 That but by reflex canst show 

 What his deity can do, 

 As the false Egyptian spell 

 Aped the true Hebrew miracle? 

 Some few vapors thou may'st raise, 

 The weak brain may serve to amaze, 

 But to the reins and nobler heart 

 Canst nor life nor heat impart. 

 Brother of Bacchus, later born, 

 The old world was sure forlorn, 

 Wanting thee, that aidest more, 

 The gods' victories than before 

 All his panthers, and the brawls, 

 Of his piping Bacchanals. 

 These, as stole, we disallow 

 Or judge of thee meant : only thou 

 His true Indian conquest art ; 

 And, for ivy round his dart, 

 The reformed god now weaves 

 A finer thyrsus of thy leaves. 

 Scent to match thy rich perfume 

 Chemic art did ne'er presume, 

 Through her quaint alembic strain, 

 None so sov'reign to the brain. 

 Nature, that did in thee excel, 

 Framed again no second smell. 

 Roses, Violets but toys 

 For the smaller sort of boys ; 

 Or for greener damsels meant ; 

 Thou art the only manly scent. 



