The New York Journal, And Daily Patriotic Register

GREAT Spirit hail! -- Confusion's angry fire,
And like thy parent Bacchus, born of fire;
The soul's decoy; the greedy merchant's lure;
Disease of money, but reflection's cure.
We owe, great Dram! the trembling hand to thee,
The headstrong purpose, and the feeble knee;
The loss of honor, and the cause of wrong;
The brain enchanted, and the faltering tongue,
Whilst Fancy flies before thee unconfined,
Thou leav'st disabled Prudence far behind.
In thy pursuits our fields are left forlorn,
Whilst giant weeds oppress the pigmy corn.
Thou throw'st a mist before the planter's eyes;
The plough grows idle, and the harvest dies;
By thee refreshed, no cruel Norths we fear
'Tis ever warm and calm when thou art near;
On the bare earth for thee exposed we lie,
And brave the malice of a frowning sky.
Like those who did in ancient times repent,
We sit in ashes, and our clothes are rent.
From thee a thousand flattering whims escape
Like hasty births, that ne'er have perfect shape,
Thine idiots seem in gay delusion fair.
But born in shame, they soon expire in air.
O grand deluder! such thy charming art,
Twere good we ne'er should meet, or ne'er should part.
Ever abscond, or ever tend our call,
Leave us our sense entire, or none at all.