THE FENNEL. Ill 



courage to those who partook of it ; an idea which 

 has been embellished by Longfellow, who deduces 

 from it a moral. 



" Filled is life's goblet to the brim, 

 And though my eyes with tears are dim, 

 I see its sparkling bubbles swim, 

 And chant a melancholy hymn, 



With solemn voice and slow. 



No purple flowers no garlands green, 

 Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, 

 Nor maddening draughts of Hyppocrene 

 Like gleams of sunshine, flash between 

 Thick leaves of misletoe. 



The goblet wrought with curious art, 

 Is filled with waters that upstart 

 From the deep fountains of the heart 

 By strong convulsions rent apart, 

 And running all to waste. 



And as it mantling passes round, 

 With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 

 Whose seed and foliage sun-embrowned 

 Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 

 And give a bitter taste. 



Above the lowly plants it towers, 

 The fennel with its yellow flowers ; 

 And in an earlier age than ours 

 Was gifted with the wondrous powers 

 Lost vision to restore. 



It gave men strength, and fearless mood, 

 And gladiators fierce and rude 

 Mingled it with their daily food, 

 And he who battled and subdued, 

 A wreath of fennel wore. 



