NILOTIC DRINKING SONG by BAYARD TAYLOR

I.

You may water your bays, brother-poets, with lays
That brighten the cup from the stream you doat on,
By the Schuylkill's side, or Cochituate's tide,
Or the crystal lymph of the mountain Croton:
(We may pledge from these
In our summer ease,
Nor even Anacreon's shade revile us -- )
But I, from the flood
Of his own brown blood,
Will drink to the glory of ancient Nilus!

II.

Cloud never gave birth, nor cradle the Earth,
To river so grand and fair as this is
Not the waves that roll us the gold of Pactolus,
Nor cool Cephissus, nor classic Ilissus.
The lily may dip
Her ivory lip
To kiss the ripples of clear Eurotas;
But the Nile brings balm
From the myrrh and palm,
And the ripe, voluptuous lips of the lotus.

III.

The waves that ride on his mighty tide
Were poured from the urns of unvisited mountains;
And their sweets of the South mingle cool in the mouth
With the freshness and sparkle of
Northern fountains.
Again and again
The goblet we drain, --
Diviner a stream never Nereid swam on:
For Isis and Orus
Have quaffed before us,
And Ganymede dipped it for Jupiter Ammon.

IV.

Its blessing he pours o'er his thirsty shores,
And floods the regions of Sleep and Silence,
When he makes oases in desert places,
And the plain is a sea, the hills are islands.
And had I the brave
Anacreon's stave,
And lips like the honeyed lips of Hylas,
I'd dip from his brink
My bacchanal drink,
And sing for the glory of ancient Nilus!

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