And a toast,--what should that be? Light, airy, and free, The foam-Aphrodite of Bacchus’s sea, A fancy-tinged bubble, an orbed rainbow-stain, That floats for an instant ’twixt goblet and brain; A breath-born perfection, half something, half naught, And breaks if it strike the hard edge of a thought. Do you ask me to make such? Ah no, not so simple; Ask Apelles to paint you the ravishing dimple Whose shifting enchantment lights Venus’s cheek, And the artist will tell you his skill is too weak; Once fix it, ’tis naught, for the charm of it rises From the sudden bopeeps of its smiling surprises. I’ve tried to define it, but what mother’s son Could ever yet do what he knows should be done? My rocket has burst, and I watch in the air Its fast-fading heart’s-blood drop back in despair; Yet one chance is left me, and, if I am quick, I can palm off, before you suspect me, the stick. Now since I’ve succeeded--I pray do not frown-- To Ticknor’s and Longfellow’s classical gown, And profess four strange languages, which, luckless elf, I speak like a native (of Cambridge) myself, Let me beg, Mr. President, leave to propose A sentiment treading on nobody’s toes, And give, in such ale as with pump-handles _we_ brew, Their memory who saved us from all talking Hebrew,-- A toast that to deluge with water is good, For in Scripture they come in just after the flood: I give you the men but for whom, as I guess, sir, Modern languages ne’er could have had a professor, The builders of Babel, to whose zeal the lungs Of the children of men owe confusion of tongues; And a name all-embracing I couple therewith, Which is that of my founder--the late Mr. Smith. A PARABLE. An ass munched thistles, while a nightingale From passion’s fountain flooded all the vale. “Hee-haw!” cried he, “I hearken,” as who knew For such ear-largess humble thanks were due. “Friend,” said the wingèd pain, “in vain you bray, Who tunnels bring, not cisterns, for my lay; None but his peers the poet rightly hear, Nor mete we listeners by their length of ear.” COLONNA, ITALY, 1852. V. EPIGRAMS. SAYINGS. 1. In life’s small things be resolute and great To keep thy muscle trained: know’st thou when Fate Thy measure takes, or when she’ll say to thee, “I find thee worthy; do this deed for me”? 2. A camel-driver, angry with his drudge, Beating him, called him hunchback; to the hind Thus spake a dervish: “Friend, the Eternal Judge Dooms not His work, but ours, the crooked mind.” 3. Swiftly the politic goes: is it dark?--he borrows a lantern; Slowly the statesman and sure, guiding his steps by the stars. 4. “Where lies the capital, pilgrim, seat of who governs the Faithful?” “Thither my footsteps are bent: it is where Saadi is lodged.” INSCRIPTIONS. FOR A BELL AT CORNELL UNIVERSITY. I call as fly the irrevocable hours, Futile as air or strong as fate to make Your lives of sand or granite; awful powers, Even as men choose, they either give or take.