The New Hampshire Gazette

Poetry.

THE JUG OF RUM.

Within thee earthen walls confin'd,
The ruin lurks of half mankind;
More mischiefs here united dwell,
And more diseases haunt this cell,
Than ever plagued the Egyptian flocks,
Or issued from Pandora's box.
Within these prison walls repose,
The reds of many a bloody nose;
The abusive tongue, the horrid oath,
The fist for fighting nothing loathe;
The passion quick, no words can tame,
That bursts like sulphur into flame;
The face with furnace glowing red,
The bloated eye, the broken head!
Forever fastened be that door,
Confin'd within a thousand more;
Destructive fiends of horrid shape,
Even now are plotting an escape.
Here only by a cork control'd,
And slender walls of earthen mould,
In all the pomp of death reside,
Revenge that ne'er was satisfied.
The tree that bears the deadly fruit
Of murder, maiming and dispute;
Assault, that innocence assails,
The images of gloomy jails;
The giddy thought on mischief bent,
The midnight hour in folly spent.
All these within this jug appear,
And Jack the hangman in the rear!
Thrice happy he who early taught
By nature, ne'er this poison sought;
Who friendly to his own repose,
Treads under foot this work of foes.
He with the purling stream content,
The beverage quaffs which nature meant.
In reason's scale his actions weigh'd,
His spirit wants no foreign aid:
Not swell'd too high nor sunk too low,
Placid his easy minutes flow:
Long life is his in vigor pass'd,
Existence welcome to the last;
A spring that never yet grows stale,
Such virtue lies in ADAM's ALE.