Scotch Whisky By Francis Saltus Saltus

How rare is thy rich, passion-giving worth.
When weary of full many a Scottish mile,
One rests, and stirs thee with a knowing smile
In some dim inn of Edinburgh or Perth.
Gods must have drunk thee at their wondrous birth,
For in thee there is laughter and no guile,
And they, enraptured, from some heavenly aisle,
Perchance have given thee to this sorrowing earth.
For when thou art near, the devil has the pain,
No bitter frown is known, no caustic sneer,
The world on golden axles moves and turns.
And then ring out again, and yet again,
In manly accents, resolute and clear
The immortal songs and glees of Bobby Burns!

From Wikipedia:  Born in 1849 in New York City, he was the elder half-brother of once popular but now relatively obscure novelist Edgar Saltus. He was educated at Columbia University and later at the Roblot Institution in Paris. Saltus was the leader of a group of bohemians in New York, including his brother Edgar and the young James Huneker, which met at Billy Moulds’ bar in Manhattan’s University Place; they were fond of absinthe and had “a taste for anything exotic”. Van Wyck Brooks remarked that the unhappy Saltus “looked like a Greek god gone to ruin, partly as a result of the absinthe that he drank to excess”.


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