The Stark County Democrat. [volume] (Canton, Ohio) 1833-1912, 1874-12-24
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THE PUNCH BOWL.


old times,
of ,oyous DAYS, and jolly nights, and merry
Christmas chimes
They were free and jovial race but honest
brave and true,
That dipped their ladle in the punch When thi'
old bowl was new.
A spanlsh galeon brought the bar'-so runs the
ancient tale;
Twas hammered by an Atwerp smith, whose arm
was like fail,
And now and then between the strokes iorieaE
his strength should fail,
He wiped his brow and quatled eupof gold old
Flemish ale.
Twas purchased by an English squire TO please
his loving dame,
Who saw the cherubs, and conceived longing
for the same!
And oft, as on the ancient stock another twis was
found,
Twas filed with caude spiced and hot and
handed smoking round.
But, changing hands, it reached at length a Puri'
tan divine,
Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little
wine,
But hated punch and prelacy; and so it was, per.
haps,
He went to Leyden, where he found conventicles
and scnaps.
And then, of course you know what's next-it
left the Dutchmans shore
with those that in the Mayfower came hun
dred souls or more
Along with all the furniture to MI their new
abodes,-
To Judge by what is still on hand atleast a hun
dred loads.
Twas on dreary winters eve tie night was
closing dim,
when old Miles Standish took the bowl, and filed
tito the brim;
Tho ltle captain stood and stirred the posset with
hissword,
And all his sturdy men'atarms were Ianse"
about the board,
He poured the fiery Hollands in,-the man that
never feared,
He took long and solemn draught and wiped
his yellow beard
And one by one the musketeers-Ihe men tha'
fought aud prayed
All drank as 'were their mothers mild, and nota
man afraid.
That night, aArlghted from his nest, the scream.
ing eagle few,
He heard the Pequots ringing whoop, the soldiers
wild halloo:
And there the sachem learned the rule he taught
TO kith and kin,
run from the white man when you find he
smells of Holland gin"
hundred years, and fifty more, hadspread their
leaves and SHOWS,
A thousand rubs had Hattened down each little
cherub's nose;
When once again the bowl was filed but not In
mirth or Joy,
Twas mingled by mothers hand to cheer her
parting boy.
Drink, John" she said, twill do you good
poor child, you'll never bear
This working in the dismal trench, out In the
midnight air;
And if-God bless me-you were hurt, 'twould
keep away the chilli
So John did drink,-and well he wrought that
night at Bunker's hill!
tell you there was generous warmth in good old
English cheer
tell you, twas a pleasant thought to bring It's
symbol here.
'Tis but the fool that loves exeess;-hast thou
drunken soul?
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull not in my silver
bowl!
Hove the memory Of the past-its pressed 'et
fragrant iOweB,-
The moss that clothes its broken was,-the ivy
on its towers
Nay, this poor bauble it bequeathed, my eyes
grow moist and dim,
To think OF all the vanished joys that danced
aruund It's brim.
Then fill fair and honest cup, and bear it straight
u me.
The goblet hallows all ii holds, whate'er the
liquid be-
And may tie cherubs ON its face protect me firm
the SIM
That doumS one to those dreadful words My
dear, where hdre you been|