lo, full of indignation, did
not endure longer that the deadly Contagion of such easy ruin should
creep over them thus. And, That he might take away from seers all means
of deception, he Enticed from the rich bosom of the earth this friendly
plant, Than which no other is more ready either to refresh for work the
Mind wearied by long studies, or to sooth troublesome sorrows of the
head.

O plant, given to the human race by the gift of the Gods! No other out
of the entire list of plants has ever vied with you. On your account
sailors sail from our shores And fearlessly conquer the threatening
winds, sandbanks and Dreadful rocks. With your nourishing growth you
surpass dittany, Ambrosia, and fragrant panacea. Grim diseases flee from
you. To You trusting health clings as a companion, and also the merry
Crowd, conversation, amusing jokes, and sweet whisperings.

The poet Belighi toward the close of the sixteenth century composed a
poem, which, freely translated, runs:

In Damascus, in Aleppo, in great Cairo,
At every turn is to be found
That mild fruit which gives so beloved a drink,
Before coming to court to triumph.
There this seditious disturber of the world,
Has, by its unparalleled virtue,
Supplanted all wines from this blessed day.

Jacques Delille (1738-1813) the didactic poet of nature, in _chant vi_
of his "_Three Reigns of Nature_," thus apostrophizes the "divine
nectar" and describes its preparation:

DIVINE COFFEE

_Translation from the French_

A liquid there is to the poet most dear,
'T was lacking to Virgil, adored by Voltaire,
'T is thou, divine coffee, for thine is the art,
Without turning the head yet to gladden the heart.
And thus though my palate be dulled by age,
With joy I partake of thy dear beverage.
How glad I prepare me thy nectar most precious,
No soul shall usurp me a rite so delicious;
On the ambient flame when the black charcoal burns,
The gold of thy bean to rare ebony turns,
I alone, 'gainst the cone, wrought with fierce iron teeth.
Make thy fruitage cry out with its bitter-sweet breath;
Till charmed with such perfume, with care I entrust
To the pot on my hearth the rare spice-laden dust:
First to calm, then excite, till it seethingly whirls,
With an eye all attention I gaze till it boils.
At last now the liquid comes slow to repose;
In the hot, smoking vessel its wealth I depose,
My cup and thy nectar; from wild reeds expressed,
America's honey my table has blest;
All is rea