THE BLESSINGS OF THE POPPY

When the first men to this world's climates came

Smit by the winter's rude inclement blast,

Unskilled to raise the wall, or wake the fire,

Badly, in narrow huts, their lives they passed.

Conscious of pains they knew not how to cure,

In vain they sighed, and sighing begged relief,

No druggist came, by art or reason taught

With strength of potent herbs, to calm their grief.

Fierce tortures to allay, some reverend sage

Preach'd Patience to the pangs, that could not hear;

For restless anguish doomed her victim still

To groan thro’ life, and sigh from year to year,

At length from Jove, and heaven's etherial dome

Sky-walking Hermes came to view these plains:

He looked — and saw what fate or gods had done,

And gave the Poppy, to relieve all pains.

Then to the sons of grief his speech addressed,

“Through this dull flower is shed such potent dew,

“When pain distracts — drink this — and drown in sleep

“All ills, that Nature sent to torture you.

“From other worlds, by other beings trod,

“To these bleak climes this plundered plant I bore;

“Receive a gift, all worthy of a god,

“Since pain, when hushed to sleep,— is pain no more.”