Whisky

Whisky, drink divine !
Why should drivellers bore us
With the praise of wine,
Whilst we've thee before us ?
Were it not a shame,
Whilst we gaily fling thee
To our lips of flame,
If we could not sing thee ?
Whisky, drink divine !

Why should drivellers bore us
With the praise of wine,
Whilst we've thee before us ?

Greek and Roman sung
Chian and Falernian —
Shall no harp be strung
To thy praise, Hibernian ?
Yes ! let Erin's sons —
Generous, brave, and frisky-
Tell the world at once
They owe it to their whisky.
Whisky, etc.

If Anacreon — who
Was the grape's best poet —
Drank our Mountain-dew,
How his verse would show it !
As the best then known,
He to wine was civil ;
Had he Inishowen,
He'd pitch wine to the devil.
Whisky, etc.

Bright as beauty's eye,
When no sorrow veils it :
Sweet as beauty's sigh,
When young love inhales it
Come, then, to my lip —
Come, thou rich in blisses !
Every drop I sip
Seems a shower of kisses.
Whisky, etc.

Could my feeble lays
Half thy virtues number,
A whole grove of bays,
Should my brows encumber.
Be his name adored,
Who summed up thy merits
In one little word,
When he called thee spirits.
Whisky, etc.

Send it gaily round —
Life would be no pleasure,
If we had not found
This enchanting treasure :
And, when tyrant death's
Arrow shall transfix ye,
Let your latest breaths
Be, whisky ! whisky ! whisky !
Whisky ! drink divine !

Why should drivellers bore us
With the praise of wine,
Whilst we've thee before us ?