Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

FROM THE PHILADELPHIA TRUE AMERICAN.

INTEMPERANCE.

"But at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder."—Prov.

O take the maddening bowl away!
Remove the poisonous cup!
My soul is sick—its burning ray
Hath drank my spirits up:
Take—take it from my loathing lip.
Ere madness fires my brain;
Take—take it hence! nor let me sip
Its liquid death again.

O dash it on the thirsty earth,
For I will drink no more:
It cannot cheer the heart with mirth
That grief hath wounded sore;
For serpents wreathe its sparkling brim,
And adders lurk below:
It hath no soothing charm for him
Who sinks oppressed with woe.

Say not, "Behold its ruddy hue—
(O) press it to thy lips!"
For 'tis more deadly than the dew
That from the Upas drips:
It is more poisonous than the stream
Which deadly nightshade laves:
Its joys are transient as the beam
That lights its ruddy waves.

Say not, "It hath a powerful spell
To soothe the soul of care;"
Say not, "It calms the bosom's swell,
And drives away despair!"
Art thou its votary?—ask thy soul—
Thy soul in misery deep—
Yea, ask thy conscience if the bowl
Can give eternal sleep!

Then, hence, away! thou deadly foe
Of happiness the bane;
Away—away!—I feel thy blow,
Thou PARALYSIS OF THE SOUL!
Henceforth I ask no more of thee,
Thou bane of Adam's race!
But to a Heavenly fountain flee,
And drink the Dews of GRACE.

BOSTON BARD