And gilded foot as silent falls

In depths of plush, as flight of time,

[Pg 26]

And liquid music softer blows

Than Hymen's mellow golden chime:

They plighted troth beneath the sword

Of the knight that wore the blood red rose;

But they drank of the cup that never flows

From the bowl of the Old Drinking Gourd.

Now sunset spills his scarlet dyes

Through fleecy rifts of snowy cloud,

And night puts on her ebon shroud,

And stars look out of wintry skies:

Still spacious halls with revels ring

Where chivalry with beauty vies,

And red-wine flows at festive board.

But oh! for the cove where the redbirds sing

By the crystal wave of the mossy spring,

And a draught from the Old Drinking Gourd.

[Pg 27]

 Prev. P 24/99 next