  No. I. January, 1837. The Bottle of St. Januarius. I. In the land of the citron and myrtle, we're told That the blood of a MARTYR is kept in a phial, Which, though all the year round, it lie torpid and cold, Yet grasp but the crystal, 'twill warm the first trial ... Be it fiction or truth, with your favourite FACT, O, profound Lazzaroni! I seek not to quarrel; But indulge an old priest who would simply extract From your legend, a lay—from your martyr, a moral. II. Lo! with icicled beard Januarius comes! And the blood in his veins is all frozen and gelid, And he beareth a bottle; but TORPOR benumbs Every limb of the saint:—Would ye wish to dispel it? With the hand of good-fellowship grasp the hoar sage— Soon his joints will relax and his pulse will beat quicker; Grasp the bottle he brings—'twill grow warm. I'll engage, Till the frost of each heart lies dissolved in the LIQUOR! Probatum est. P. Prout. Water-grass-hill, Kal. Januarii. |
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