Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean

Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul!

Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now.

This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after. Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication: Glory, the grape, love, gold, in these are sunk The hopes of all men, and of every nation; Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: But to return--Get very drunk; and when You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.