Life and Letters of Joel Barlow, LL.D., Poet, Statesman, Philosopher: With Extracts from His Works and Hitherto Unpublished Poems

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G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1886 - 306 pages

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Page 102 - Come, dear bowl, Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul. The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine, Its substance mingled, married in with thine, Shall cool and temper thy superior heat, And save the pains of blowing while I eat. Oh, could the smooth, the emblematic song Flow like thy genial juices o'er my tongue, Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime, And, as they roll in substance, roll in rhyme, No more thy awkward, unpoetic name Should shun the muse or prejudice thy fame; But, rising...
Page 102 - I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel, My morning incense, and my evening meal — The sweets of Hasty Pudding.
Page 110 - tis no deadly sin: — Like the free Frenchman, from your joyous chin Suspend the ready napkin; or, like me, Poise with one hand your bowl upon your knee; Just in the zenith your wise head project, Your full spoon, rising in a line direct, Bold as a bucket, heed no drops that fall, The wide-mouthed bowl will surely catch them all!
Page 108 - So the vexed cauldron rages, roars, and boils. • First with clean salt she seasons well the food, Then strews the flour and thickens all the flood. Long o'er the simmering fire she lets it stand — To stir it well demands a stronger hand : The husband takes his turn, and round and round The ladle flies ; at last...
Page 7 - Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace ; How happy should I prove, Might I supply that envied place With never-fading love ! There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye, Involved in fragrance, burn and die.
Page 103 - E'en in thy native regions, how I blush To hear the Pennsylvanians call thee Mush. ! On Hudson's banks, while men of Belgic spawn Insult and eat thee by the name Suppawn.
Page 106 - E'er yet the sun the seat of Cancer gains; But when his fiercest fires emblaze the land, Then start the juices, then the roots expand; Then, like a column of Corinthian...
Page 104 - Compare thy nursling man to pamper'd pigs ; With sovereign scorn I treat the vulgar jest, Nor fear to share thy bounties with the beast. What though the generous cow gives me to quaff The milk nutritious ; am I then a calf! Or can the genius of the noisy swine, Though nursed on pudding, thence lay claim to mine? Sure the sweet song I fashion to thy praise, Runs more melodious than the notes they raise.
Page 107 - The days grow short ; but though the falling sun To the glad swain proclaims his day's work done, Night's pleasing shades his various tasks prolong, And yield new subjects to my various song. For now, the corn-house...
Page 105 - To mix the food by vicious rules of art, To kill the stomach and to sink the heart, To make mankind to social virtue sour, Cram o'er each...

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