ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS

’Tis said that the gods, on Olympus of old, (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt!) One night, ’mid their revels, by Bacchus were told, That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out. But determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer mortals for aid In composing a draught, which till drinking were o’er, Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn, And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board Were scattered profusely, in every one’s reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Express’d the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while Venus looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e’en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. Flora then from her bosom of fragrancy shook, And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole. The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did bewail; But juleps the drink of immortals became, When Jove himself added a handful of hail. Hoffman.

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