A PARAPHRASE.

By Bacchus, no!
Good Bacchus, be not slow
To keep them back beyond the floe
Of Danube's waters, where the snow
Bites at the toe:
Good Bacchus, wine, thy gift, I know
Before I drink it, like the rose
That over leagues of India grows;
I scent from far, but here my nose
Rebels and fancies he-goats; well!
These Kelts that live among our foes
Take corn for grapes, and with some spell
Corrupting it, make this strong drink—
But stay, I think
The potion makes my senses blink!