The Rhode Island Republican

POETRY.

(Selected.)

THE WORM OF THE STILL.

I have found what the learn'd seem so puzzl'd to tell,
But Satan now works as a Worm of the Still.
Into serpents of old crept the author of ill ;
The true shape of the devil, and where is his hell
Of all his migrations, this last he likes best ;
Now the arrogant reptile here raises his crest!
His head winding up from the tail of his plan
Till the worm stands erect o'er the prostrated man.
The sweet milk of the earth, to an essence of hell;
Here he joys to transform by his magical spell,
Fermented our food, and corrupted our grain
To famish the stomach, and madden the brain.
By his WATER OF LIFE what distraction and fear!
By the gleam of its light, what pale spectres appear !
What orgies the nights of the drunkard display !
But how black with manure! how benighted his day!
With drams it begins, and with drains it must end,
A dram is his country, his mistress his friend,
Till his ossified heart hates itself at the last,
And a dram nerves his hand for the death doing blast.
Then think not that Satan, still plotting our harm;
Has ever forsaken his serpentine form:
Ah ! this serpent will never want poison to kill,
While the fat of our fields feeds the Worm of the
Still.