Books and other items printed in Gaelic from 1871 to 1900 > Gaelic bards, and original poems

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ORIGINAL POEMS.
The older spinster, rising in her turn,
With glass in hand, says some appropriate words,
“To the good health of all,” and does but taste,—
Protesting faintly that her head is weak,
And that indeed she cannot, dare not more,
Yet yielding most reluctantly, ’t would seem,
To the warm pressure of the welcome kind,
That pours so heartily from every side.
What can she do, hut sacrifice herself?
And suck in slowly every diamond drop,
Looking like Socrates, the poisoned sage,
In pensive resignation all the while.
A wringing pressure from the horny hand,
A warm good-wish to each and all around,
Then every man swigs at a gulp his share,
And forth they sally to the street again.
Meeting old faces with a tone of joy,
A quickened step, and eager offered hand,
A kind enquiry and a firm long shake,
As if the one had dropped from the moon,
The other from the planet Jupiter;
And if no further business intervene,
They will adjourn to have a dram betimes.
This jovial work makes heated heads at last,
And warms the blood that courses through their veins,
With no small ardour at the very best,
And fires the mind, and swells the excited soul,
Till whisky, talking, dancing, music’s power,
Or favoured rival’s envied privilege,
Or fancied insult in some careless tone,
Or pride of prowess and ambitious strength,
Or tipsy singer’s loud and cheery note,
Who reels contentedly beside a friend,
With squabbles, and confused and grating noise
Close on the few late revellers the scene.