kling flask,
Let proudly rule as King the Great Kauhee,
For he gives joy divine to all that ask,
Together with his spouse, sweet _Eau de Vie_
Oh, let us 'neath his sovran pleasure bask.
Come, raise the fragrant cup and bend the knee!

II

O great Kauhee, thou democratic Lord,
Born 'neath the tropic sun and bronzed to splendour
In lands of Wealth and Wisdom, who can render
Such service to the wandering Human Horde
As thou at every proud or humble board?
Beside the honest workman's homely fender,
'Mid dainty dames and damsels sweetly tender,
In china, gold and silver, have we poured
Thy praise and sweetness, Oriental King.
Oh, how we love to hear the kettle sing
In joy at thy approach, embodying
The bitter, sweet and creamy sides of life;
Friend of the People, Enemy of Strife,
Sons of the Earth have born thee labouring.

In America, too, poets have sung in praise of coffee. The somewhat
doubtful "kind that mother used to make" is celebrated in James Whitcomb
Riley's classic poem:

LIKE HIS MOTHER USED TO MAKE[351]

_"Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo., Mo., 1874._

"I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim,
As us fellers in the restaurant was kindo' guyin' him,
And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another punkin pie
And a' extry cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye--
"I was born in Indiany--more'n forty years ago--
And I hain't ben back in twenty--and I'm work-in' back'ards slow;
But I've et in ever' restarunt twixt here and Santy Fee,
And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin' home, to me!"
"Pour us out another. Daddy," says the feller, warmin' up,
A-speakin' crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup--
"When I see yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake--
"'Come in and git some coffee like yer mother used to make'--
I thought of _my_ old mother, and the Posey county farm,
And me a little kid again, a-hangin' in her arm,
As she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs and poured 'em in"--
And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in his chin;
And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood
As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker would;
Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen door--and next,
Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs--
And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!--
Thank God we've met him comin'!--Don't you know yer mother, Jim?"
And the feller, as he grabbed her, says,--"You bet I hain't forgot--
But,"