The Arkansas banner., 1848-11-28
OI LENDING 4 PUSCH.BOWL.
BY oLIvAR wgNDLE HOLMES.

 This ancient silver bowl of mine-it Cells of good
 old times, Of joyous days and jolly nights, and merry Christ
 chimes; They were free and jovial race, but honest, brave
 and true, That dipped their lade in the punch, when this old
 bowl was A Spanish galIeon brought the bar--sO runs he an-
 cient tale T was hammered by an Antwerp smith, whose arm
 was like fail; And now ana then between the strokes for fear his
 strength should fail, lie wiped his brow, and quaffed cup of good old
 Flemish ale. T was purchased by an English squire to please his
 loving dame.
 the same, And oft as on the ancient stock another twig was
 found, T was filled with caudle spiced and hot and handed
 smoking round. But, changing hands, it reached at length Puritan
 divine, Who used to follow Timothy, and take little wine But hated punch and prelacy; and so it was, per
 haps, He went to Leydcn, where he found conventicles
 and schnaps. And then, Of course, you know whats neIt--it left
 the Out hman's shore With those that in the MaynoweT come--a hundred
 souls and more Along with all the furniture to fill their new abodes To judge by what is still on hand, at least hundred
 loads. T was on dreary winters eve, the night was
 closing dim, When old Miles Snndsh took the bowl and filled it
 to the brim. The little Captain stood and stirred the posset with And all his sturdy men at-arms were ranged about
 the board. He poured the fiery hollands in-the man that never He took long and solemn draught, and wiped his
 yellow beard, And, one by one, the musqueteers, the men that
 fought and prayed, All drank as twere their mothers milk, and not
 man afraid, That night. affrighted from his nest the screaming
 eagle flew, He heard the Pequo,'s ringing whOOp, the soldiers nd there the sachem learned the rule he taught to
 kith and kin, Run from the white man whea you find he smells
 of hollands gin: A hundrcd years, and fifty more had spread their
 leaves and snows. A thousand ruhs had fattened down each little
 cherub's nose; When once again the bowl was filled, but not in
 mirth or Joy, Twas mingled by a'mothes's hand to cheer her
 parting joy. Drink. John, she said, twill do you good-poor
 child, you d never bear Ihis working in the dismal trench, out in the mid
 night air; And if--God bless me-you were hurt 'twouId
 keep away the chill; So John did drink-and well he wrought that night at Bankers Hill. tell you. there generous warmth in good old English cheer; tell you, twas pleasant thought to bring its 1 symbol here; lis bat the fool that loves excess-hast thou a drunken soul, The bane is in thy shallow skull, not in my silver bowl. love the memory cf the past-its pressed, yet fra grant flowers The moss that clothes its broken wail--the ivy on its towefs- Say this poor baubls it bequeathed--my eyes grow moist and dim, To think of all the vanished joys that danced around Its brim. hen hll fair and henest cup, and hand in unto ne; he goblet halsows all holds whsteer the liquid Dc; nd may the cherubs on its fsce protect me from the sin, That dooms one to those dreadful wsrds-My dear, where hace you beenl