The Toast Fill me with the rosy wine, Call a toast, a toast divine: Giveth me Poet's darling flame, Lovely Jessie be her name; Then thou mayest freely boast, Thou hast given a peerless toast. The Menagerie Talk not to me of savages, From Afric's burning sun; No savage e'er could rend my heart, As Jessie, thou hast done: But Jessie's lovely hand in mine, A mutual faith to plight, Not even to view the heavenly choir, Would be so blest a sight. Jessie's illness Say, sages, what's the charm on earth Can turn d**h's dart aside! It is not purity and worth, Else Jessie had not died. On Her Recovery But rarely seen since Nature's birth, The natives of the sky; Yet still one seraph's left on earth, For Jessie did not die.