A Sentiment
The pledge of Friendship! it is still divine,
Though watery floods have quenched its burning wine;
Whatever vase the sacred drops may hold,
The gourd, the shell, the cup of beaten gold,
Around its brim the hand of Nature throws
A garland sweeter than the banquet’€™s rose.
Bright are the blushes of the vine-wreathed bowl,
Warm with the sunshine of Anacreon’€™s soul,
But dearer memories gild the tasteless wave
That fainting Sidney perished as he gave.
'€™T is the heart’€™s current lends the cup its glow,
Whate’€™er the fountain whence the draught may flow,'€”Â
The diamond dew-drops sparkling through the sand,
Scooped by the Arab in his sunburnt hand,
Or the dark streamlet oozing from the snow,
Where creep and crouch the shuddering Esquimaux;
Ay, in the stream that, ere again we meet,
Shall burst the pavement, glistening at our feet,
And, stealing silent from its leafy hills,
Thread all our alleys with its thousand rills,'€”Â
In each pale draught if generous feeling blend,
And o’€™er the goblet friend shall smile on friend,
Even cold Cochituate every heart shall warm,
And genial Nature still defy reform!
