ODE LII.—ON THE VINTAGE.
Now ripen'd by the genial sun,
The grapes are glean'd; the sports begun.
See youths and smiling virgins bear[1]
The purple produce of the year;
In vats the luscious burden lies,
And home the modest maiden hies:
For joyous youths alone remain,
With blood-red juice their limbs to stain,[2]
To crush the cluster's bloomy pride,
And revel in the crimson tide.
Then loud they raise the vintage hymn,
When foaming o'er the vessel's brim
They view the joy-inspiring juice,
Which Bacchus sends them for their use.
Should hoary age inhale the draught,
His youth renew'd, at least in thought,
His tott'ring, trembling limbs advance,
And try the long-forgotten dance.
But when the youth its influence feels,
When wine prevails, and reason reels;
When wandering through the lonely grove
His heart beats high with hopes of love;
If there, beneath the secret shade,
He chance to spy some lovely maid,
Who, press'd by sleep's invading pow'r,
- ↑
"Fair maids and blooming youths, that smiling bear
The purple product of th' autumnal year."
Pope. - ↑ We are informed by travellers that the ancient custom of treading the grapes is still practised in many of the wine countries. Matthews, in his "Diary of an Invalid," has given us a full description of this disgusting process, which he witnessed in Portugal. After the juice is crushed out it is put into vats to ferment itself fine, during which process all impurities are carefully removed. It may however be proper to mention, that of late years wine-presses have come into more general use.
