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When ice-bound streams in darkness creep,
And Nature dreams in wintry sleep,
And Norland tempests whirl the snow,
Give, oh give us, Clos Vougeot.

When friends are shy because I'm poor,
And hint they knew my ruin sure,
And half the world becomes my foe,
Give, oh give me, Clos Vougeot.

When wealth comes flooding to my hand,
And boon companions understand,
That round my board the wine cups flow,
Give, oh give us, Clos Vougeot.

When I am hale, and fresh, and strong,
And Time runs merry as my song,
To keep the fire at healthful glow,
Give, oh give me, Clos Vougeot.

When grief and care my senses clutch,
And Fancy flies at Sorrow's touch;
And life's machine runs dull and slow,
Give oh give me, Clos Vougeot!


Jolly companions! three times three!
Let us confess what fools we be!
We eat more dinner than hunger craves,
We drink our passage to early graves,
And fill, and swill, till our foreheads burst,
For sake of the wine, and not of the thirst.
Jolly companions! three times three,
Let us confess what fools we be!

We toil and moil from morn to night
Slaves and drudges in health's despite,
Gathering and scraping painful gold
To hoard and garner till we're old;
And die, mayhap, in middle prime,
Loveless, joyless, all our time.
Jolly companions! three times three,
Let us confess what fools we be!

Or else we leave our warm fireside,
Friends and comrades, bairns or bride,
To mingle in the world's affairs,
And vex our souls with public cares;
And have our motives misconstrued.
Reviled, maligned, misunderstood.
Jolly companions! three times three,
Let us confess what fools we be!


I've drunk good wine
From Rhone and Rhine,
And filled the glass
To friend or lass,
Mid jest and song,
The gay night long,
And found the bowl
Inspired the soul,

With neither wit, nor wisdom richer,
Than comes from water in the pitcher.

I've ridden far
In coach and car,
Sped four in hand
Across the land;
On gallant steed
Have measured speed,
With the summer wind
That lagged behind;

But found more joy for days together
In tramping o'er the mountain heather.

I've dined, long since,
With king and prince,
In solemn state,
Stiff and sedate;
And wished I might
Take sudden flight
And dine alone
Unseen, unknown,

On a mutton chop and hot potato,
Reading my Homer or my Plato.

It comes to this,
The truest bliss
For great or small
Is free to all;
Like the fresh air,
Like flowerets fair,
Like night or day,
Like work or play;

And books that charm or make us wiser
Better to know than king or kaiser.


"MY own dear, dear, little Maggie!"

I was Maggie.  As to whether or not I was
dear, it is not for me to say, but detraction
itself acknowledged me little.  Hence, with the
usual contentment of gentle English maidens,
I greatly desired to be tall.  Tall and fair,
with delicate features, and a well-cut nose.
Such was my refined taste.  Men, I conceived
should, without exception, be dark; women,
without exception, fair.

But I and my theories had got somehow into
a sort of muddle.

Here was I, Maggie, short, dark, plump (I
forgot to mention that, in my standard of beauty,
women were etherially slight.  I admire, indeed,
the scraggiest specimens), with arms over which
I had frequently sighed, they were so round and
so plump, and meant to remain so.  I derived no
comfort from their dimpled appearance.

Then again, he who had called me his dear
little Maggie, was fair.  Decidedly fair,
understand!  No sort of compromise.  Yellow hair,
whiskers, moustache, all quite golden.  No doubt
he had some good points.  Handsome sleepy
blue eyes, brilliantly white teeth, and that sort
of thing.  But the one fact remained; he was

I had fretted and fumed at this at first, but
it was so useless (for, with the best intentions to
please me, my lover could not positively change
his skin, and the hottest sun had no power to
bronze him), that at last I left off thinking about
it and fell back resignedly on his inner qualities.
One of them was, at all events, a reverence for
all things worthy to be reverenced.

We had had the most orthodox courtship.
All adjectives on his part, all modest depreciation
on mine. It had had only one drawback.  It
had left us where we began.  We were neither
of us any nearer to the old sweet end of
courtship.  Marriage was still but a lovely
perspective.  The fact is, that among the many
mistakes the fairies made at my birth, they forgot
to endow me with wealth.  That and the fair