Phenix Gazette

[From "Moore's Evenings in Greece."]

THE BIRTH OF THE VINE.

"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" said the cup-loving boy,
As he saw it spring bright from the earth,
And called the young Genii of Wit, Love and Joy,
To witness and hallow its birth.

The fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flamed,
Till the sun-beam that kissed it turned pale;
"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" every spirit exclaimed,
"Hail, hail, to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

First, fleet as a bird, to the summons Wit flew,
While a light on the vine leaves there broke,
In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew
'Twas the light from his lips as he spoke.

"Bright tree! let thy nectar but cheer me," he cried,
"And the fount of Wit never can fail;"
"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" hills and valleys reply,
"Hail, hail, to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

Next, Love, as he leaned o'er the plant to admire
Each tendril and cluster it wore,
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of desire,
As made the tree tremble all o'er.

Oh! never did flower of the earth, sea, or sky,
Such a soul-giving odour inhale;
"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" all re-echo the cry,
"Hail, hail, to the Wine-tree, all hail!"

Last, Joy, without whom Love and Wit die,
Came to crown the bright hour with his ray;
And scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his eye,
When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say:

A laugh of the heart, which was echoed around,
Till, like music, it swelled on the gale;
"'Tis the Vine! 'tis the Vine!" laughing myriads resound,
"Hail, hail, to the Wine-tree, all hail!"