It was at one of these festivous meetings that Uncle Timothy produced the following Lyric of his own.
Fill, fill a bumper! no twilight, no, no! Let hearts, now or never, and goblets o'erflow! Apollo commands that we drink, and the Nine, A generous spirit in generous wine. The bard, in a bumper; behold, to the brim They rise, the gay spirits of poesy--whim! Around ev'ry glass they a garland entwine Of sprigs from the laurel, and leaves from the vine. A bumper! the bard who, in eloquence bold, Of two noble fathers the story has told; What pangs heave the bosom, what tears dim the eyes, When the dagger is sped, and the arrow it flies. The bard, in a bumper! Is fancy his theme? 'Tis sportive and light as a fairy-land dream; Does love tune his harp?'tis devoted and pure; Or friendship?'tis that which shall always endure. Ye tramplers on liberty, tremble at him; His song is your knell, and the slave's morning hymn! His frolicksome humour is buxom and bland, And bright as the goblet I hold in my hand. The bard! brim your glasses; a bumper! a cheer! Long may he live in good fellowship here. Shame to thee, Britain, if ever he roam, To seek with the stranger a friend and a home! Fate in his cup ev'ry blessing infuse, Cherish his fortune, and smile on his muse; Warm be his hearth, and prosperity cheer Those he is dear to, and those he holds dear. Blythe be his autumn as summer hath been;-- Frosty, but kindly, and sweetly serene Green be his winter, with snow on his brow; Green as the wreath that encircles it now! To dear Paddy Knowles, then, a bumper we fill, And toast his good health as he trots down the hill; In genius he 5s left all behind him by goles! But he won't leave behind him another Pat Knowles!
"An unique invitation!" quoth Uncle Tim. "Gentlemen, you must indulge the High Coclcoorums, and go by all means."
Mr. Bosky promised to rise with the lark, and be ready for one on the morrow; and, anticipating a good day's sport, we consented to accompany him.
Supper was announced, and we sat down to that social meal. In a day-dream of fancy, Uncle Timothy re-peopled the once convivial chambers of the _Falcon_ and the _Mermaid_, with those glorious intelligences that made the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. the Augustan age of England. We listened to the wisdom, and the wit, and the loud laugh, as Shakspere and "rare Ben," * in the full confidence of friendship, exchanged "thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," so beautifully described by Beaumont in his letter to Jonson.