What though the generous cow gives me to quaff
The milk nutritious: am I then a calf?
Or can the genius of the noisy swine,
Though nursed on pudding, claim a kin to mine?
Sure the sweet song, I fashion to thy praise,
Runs more melodious than the notes they raise.
My song resounding in its grateful glee,
No merit claims: I praise myself in thee.
My father loved thee through his length of days!
For thee his fields were shaded o'er with maize;
From thee what health, what vigor he possess'd,
Ten sturdy freemen from his loins attest;
Thy constellation ruled my natal morn,
And all my bones were made of Indian corn.
Delicious grain! whatever form it take,
To roast or boil, to smother or to bake,
In every dish 't is welcome still to me,
But most, my Hasty Pudding, most in thee.
Let the green succotash with thee contend,
Let beans and corn their sweetest juices blend,
Let butter drench them in its yellow tide,
And a long slice of bacon grace their side;
Not all the plate, how famed soe'er it be,
Can please my palate like a bowl of thee.
Some talk of Hoe-Cake, fair Virginia's pride,
Rich Johnny-Cake this mouth has often tried;
Both please me well, their virtues much the same,
Alike their fabric, as allied their fame,
Except in dear New England, where the last
Receives a dash of pumpkin in the paste,
To give it sweetness and improve the taste.
But place them all before me, smoking hot,
The big, round dumpling, rolling from the pot,
The pudding of the bag, whose quivering breast,
With suet lined, leads on the Yankee feast,
The Charlotte brown, within whose crusty sides

A belly soft the pulpy apple hides;

The yellow bread whose face like amber glows,
And all of Indian that the bake-pan knows,-
You tempt me not-my fav'rite greets my eyes,
To that loved bowl my spoon by instinct flies.

ST. GEORGE TUCKER

(Born at Bermuda, June 29, 1752; died in Nelson County, Virginia, November, 1827]

DAYS OF MY YOUTH

Days of my youth,

Ye have glided away;

Hairs of my youth,

Ye are frosted and gray;

Eyes of my youth,

Your keen sight is no more;

Cheeks of my youth,

Ye are furrowed all o'er;

Strength of my youth,

All your vigor is gone;
Thoughts of my youth,

Your gay visions are flown.

Days of my youth,

I wish not your recall;
Hairs of my youth,

I'm content ye should fall;

Eyes of my youth,

You much evil have seen;

Cheeks of my youth,

Bathed in tears have you been;

Thoughts of my youth,

You have led me astray;

Strength of my youth,

Why lament your decay?

Days of my age,

Ye will shortly be past;

Pains of my age,

Yet awhile ye can last;

Joys of my age,

In true wisdom delight;

Eyes of my age,

Be religion your light;
Thoughts of my age,

Dread ye not the cold sod;
Hopes of my age,

Be ye fixed on your God.

OCCASIONAL POEMS OF THE REVOLUTIONARY

PERIOD

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS

This ballad was occasioned by a real incident. Certain machines, in the form of kegs, charged with gunpowder, were sent down the river to annoy the British shipping then at Philadelphia. The danger of these machines being discovered, the British manned the wharfs and shipping, and discharged their small arms and cannons at everything they saw floating in the river during the ebb-tide. Author's Note.

Gallants attend and hear a friend

Trill forth harmonious ditty,

Strange things I'll tell which late befell
In Philadelphia city.

'T was early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising.
A soldier stood on a log of wood,
And saw a thing surprising.

As in amaze he stood to gaze,

The truth can't be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come floating down the tide, sir.

A sailor too in jerkin blue,

This strange appearance viewing, First damned his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, "Some mischief 's brewing.

"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,
Packed up like pickled herring;
And they're come down to attack the town,
In this new way of ferrying."

The soldier flew, the sailor too,

And scared almost to death, sir,

Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cried, which some denied,
But said the earth had quakèd ;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the streets half naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea,

Lay all this time a-snoring,

Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm,
In bed with Mrs. Loring.

Now in a fright, he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;

He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,

"For God's sake, what's the matter?"

At his bedside he then espied,

Sir Erskine at command, sir, Upon one foot he had one boot,

And th' other in his hand, sir.

"Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries,

"The rebels—more's the pity, Without a boat are all afloat,

And ranged before the city.

"The motley crew, in vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.

"Therefore prepare for bloody war,
These kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted."

The royal band now ready stand
All ranged in dread array, sir,
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,

Attacked from every quarter;

Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay, 'Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, 't is said, though strongly made,
Of rebel staves and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,

The conquering British troops, sir