The Mint Julep

'TIS said that the gods on Olympus of old

  (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?)

One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told

  That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out!

But determined to send round the goblet once more,

  They sued to the fairer immortals for aid

In composing a draught which, till drinking were o'er,

  Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.

Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,

  And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain,

And which first had its birth from the dew of the morn,

  Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again.

Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board

  Were scattered profusely in every one's reach,

When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard,

  Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach.

The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on

  With glances so fraught with sweet magical power,

That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone,

  Has never been missed in the draught from that hour.

Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,

  And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl,

All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,

  The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole.

The draught was delicious, and loud the acclaim,

  Though something seemed wanting for all to bewail,

But Juleps the drink of immortals became,

  When Jove himself added a handful of hail.

Charles Fenno Hoffman

Monterey

[Ed. Note: American forces led by Zachary Taylor attacked and captured the Mexican city of Monterrey on September 22-23, 1846, during the Mexican-American War. --Nelson]

WE were not many--we who stood

  Before the iron sleet that day--

Yet many a gallant spirit would

Give half his years if he then could

  Have been with us at Monterey.

Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed

  In deadly drifts of fiery spray,

Yet not a single soldier quailed

When wounded comrades round them wailed

  Their dying shout at Monterey.

And on--still on our column kept

  Through walls of flame its withering way;

Where fell the dead, the living stept,

Still charging on the guns which swept

  The slippery streets of Monterey.

The foe himself recoiled aghast,

  When, striking where he strongest lay,

We swooped his flanking batteries past,

And braving full their murderous blast,

  Stormed home the towers of Monterey.

Our banners on those turrets wave,

  And there our evening bugles play;

Where orange boughs above their grave

Keep green the memory of the brave

  Who fought and fell at Monterey.

We are not many--we who pressed

  Beside the brave who fell that day;

But who of us has not confessed

He'd rather share their warrior rest,

  Than not have been at Monterey?

Charles Fenno Hoffman

Sparkling and Bright

SPARKLING and bright in liquid light,

Does the wine our goblets gleam in,

With hue as red as the rosy bed

Which a bee would choose to dream in.

  Then fill to-night, with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting

  As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,

And break on the lips while meeting.

Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight

Of Time through Life's dominions,

We here a while would now beguile

The graybeard of his pinions,

  To drink to-night, with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting

  As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,

And break on the lips while meeting.

But since Delight can't tempt the wight,

Nor fond Regret delay him,

Nor Love himself can hold the elf,

Nor sober Friendship stay him,

  We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light,

To loves as gay and fleeting

  As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,

And break on the lips while meeting.

Charles Fenno Hoffman