The GROANS of the TANKARD. Anna Laetitia Barbauld (née Aikin) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T236 K019955.000 Barbauld, Mrs. (Anna Letitia), 1743-1825. Poems. London printed for Joseph Johnson 1773 pp. 25-30. vi,138p. ; 4⁰.

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The GROANS of the TANKARD . Dulci digne mero ! HORAT. OF strange events I sing , and portents dire ; The wond'rous themes a reverent ear require ; Tho' strange the tale , the faithful Muse believe , And what she says with pious awe receive . 'Twas at the solemn , silent , noon-tide hour , When hunger rages with despotic power , When the lean student quits his Hebrew roots For the gross nourishment of English fruits , And throws unfinish'd airy systems by For solid pudding and substantial pye , When hungry poets the glad summons own , And leave spare fast to dine with Gods alone ; Our sober meal dispatch'd with silent haste , The decent grace concludes the short repast : Then urg'd by thirst we cast impatient eyes Where deep , capacious , vast , of ample size , The tankard stood , replenish'd to the brink With the cool beverage blue-ey'd Naiads drink . But lo ! a sudden prodigy appears , And our chill'd hearts recoil with startling fears ; Its yawning mouth disclos'd the deep profound , And in low murmurs breath'd a sullen sound ; Cold drops of dew did on the sides appear ; No finger touch'd it , and no hand was near ; At length th' indignant vase its silence broke , First heav'd deep hollow groans , and then distinctly spoke . " How chang'd the scene ! for what unpardon'd crimes " Have I surviv'd to these degenerate times ? " I , who was wont the festal board to grace , " And midst the circle lift my honest face , " White o'er with froth , like Etna crown'd with snow , " Which mantled o'er the brown abyss below , " Where Ceres mingled with her golden store " The richer spoils of either India's shore , " The dulcet reed the Western islands boast , " And spicy fruit from Banda's fragrant coast . " At solemn feasts the nectar'd draught I pour'd , " And often journey'd round the ample board : " The portly Alderman , the stately Mayor , " And all the furry tribe my worth declare ; " And the keen Sportsman oft , his labours done , " To me retreating with the setting sun , " Deep draughts imbib'd , and conquer'd land and sea , " And overthrew the pride of France by me . " Let meaner clay contain the limpid wave , " The clay for such an office nature gave ; " Let China's earth , enrich'd with colour'd stains , " Pencil'd with gold , and streak'd with azure veins , " The grateful flavour of the Indian leaf , " Or Mocho's sunburnt berry glad receive ; " The nobler metal claims more generous use , " And mine should flow with more exalted juice . " Did I for this my native bed resign , " From the dark bowels of Potosi's mine ? " Was I for this with violence torn away , " And drag'd to regions of the upper day ? " For this the rage of torturing furnace bore , " From foreign dross to purge the bright'ning ore ? " For this have I endur'd the fiery test , " And was I stamp'd for this with Britain's lofty crest ? " Unblest the day , and luckless was the hour " Which doom'd me to a Presbyterian's power ; " Fated to serve the Puritanick race , " Whose slender meal is shorter than their grace ; " Whose moping sons no jovial orgies keep ; " Where evening brings no summons but to sleep ; " No Carnival is even Christmas here , " And one long Lent involves the meagre year . " Bear me , ye pow'rs ! to some more genial scene , " Where on soft cushions lolls the gouty Dean , " Or rosy Prebend , with cherubic face , " With double chin , and paunch of portly grace , " Who lull'd in downy slumbers shall agree " To own no inspiration but from me . " Or to some spacious mansion , Gothic , old , " Where Comus sprightly train their vigils hold ; " There oft exhausted , and replenish'd oft , " Oh ! let me still supply th' eternal draught ; " Till care within the deep abyss be drown'd , " And thought grows giddy at the vast profound . " More had the goblet spoke , but lo ! appears An ancient Sybil furrow'd o'er with years ; Her aspect sour , and stern ungracious look With sudden damp the conscious vessel struck ; Chill'd at her touch its mouth it slowly clos'd , And in long silence all its griefs repos'd : Yet still low murmurs creep along the ground , And the air vibrates with the silver sound .