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Temperance Song

[Tune: “The Bonnie Blue Flag”]

1. We are a band of brothers
Who fight the demon Rum,
With all our strength until at length
A better time shall come.

(Chorus)
Hurrah! Hurrah! for Temperance, Hurrah!
‘Tis sweet to think that deadly drink
Some day no more shall mar!

2. We’ll drive from off our table,
We’ll drive from out our gate
The gross offence that clouds our sense,
And leads to dismal Fate.

3. We’ll stop the bloated brewer,
We’ll close the foul saloon,
We’ll teach the land to understand
How mighty is our boon.

4. If aught our progress hinder,
Or check our upward course,
We’ll scorn the hand that threats our stand
And strive with double force.

5. And when at last we triumph;
When whiskey fades from view;
The drunkard slave no more shall crave,
But join our legions, too!

Песнь трезвости

На мелодию «Прекрасного Синего Флага»

1. Отряд мы братьев стойкий,
1. Мы бьемся с Ромом злым
1. И в силу всю идем ко дню,
1. Настанет что благим.

Припев:
Ура! Ура! И Трезвости ура!
Я верить рад, что спирта яд
Уйдет с пути добра!

2. Мы скинем со стола,
1. Изгоним за порог
1. Греха тот вид, что ум мутит
1. И жизни косит срок.

3. Закроем пивоварни
1. И каждый мерзкий бар,
1. Поймут тогда, и навсегда,
1. Огромен как наш дар.

4. Мешать нам вдруг что будет,
1. Иль сдержит наш подъем,
1. Презрим мы то, грозит нам что,
1. И снова в бой пойдем.

5. Когда ж придет победа,
1. И сгинет виски вон,
1. Пропойца-раб не будет слаб,
1. В наш вступит легион!

The Poe-et’s Nightmare

A Fable

Luxus tumultus semper causa est.

Lucullus Languish, student of the skies,
And connoisseur of rarebits and mince pies,
A bard by choice, a grocer’s clerk by trade,
(Grown pessimist through honours long delay’d)
A secret yearning bore, that he might shine
In breathing numbers, and in song divine.
Each day his fountain pen was wont to drop
An ode or dirge or two about the shop,
Yet naught could strike the chord within his heart
That throbb’d for poesy, and cry’d for art.
Each eve he sought his bashful Muse to wake
With overdoses of ice cream and cake,
But though th’ ambitious youth a dreamer grew,
Th’ Aonian Nymph delcin’d to come to view.
Sometimes at dusk he scour’d the heav’ns afar
Searching for raptures in the evening star;
One night he strove to catch a tale untold
In crystal deeps – but only caught a cold.
So pin’d Lucullus with his lofty woe,
Till one drear day he bought a set of Poe:
Charm’d with the cheerful horrors there display’d,
He vow’d with gloom to woo the Heav’nly Maid.
Of Auber’s Tarn and Yaanek’s slope he dreams,
And weaves an hundred Ravens in his schemes.