Though clear its depths, and rich its glow,
A spell of madness lurks below.
They say 't is pleasant on the lip,
And merry on the brain;

They say it stirs the sluggish blood,
And dulls the tooth of pain.
Ay--but within its glowing deeps
A stinging serpent, unseen, sleeps.

Its rosy lights will turn to fire,
Its coolness change to thirst;
And, by its mirth, within the brain
A sleepless worm is nursed.
There's not a bubble at the brim
That does not carry food for him.

Then dash the brimming cup aside,
And spill its purple wine;
Take not its madness to thy lip--
Let not its curse be thine.
'T is red and rich but grief and woe
Are in those rosy depths below.
N. P. Willis.


CLXVIII.

THE LEPER.