University of California Berkeley 
 
 Gift of 
 THE HEARST CORPORATION 
 
Hearsf Memorial Library 
 
 Drawer No Inventory No. X 
 
 "NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM LIBRARY 
 WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORITY. 
 
 noNiry Of HIAMT 
 
ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL 
 
: 
 
ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 New York 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
WHATEVER we may lack today of the custom 
 ary gaiety, we still have left our traditions of 
 the Christmastide. No doubt that, for other gener 
 ations of the children of men, the Punch-bowl and 
 its ceremonials will live in folklore. They are pre 
 served here in Doctor Holmes' ballad; and fancy will 
 readily refill the antique vessel with the old-time brew 
 to cheer our holiday. 
 
 And how potent is the delightful potation as ladled 
 out by the amiable Autocrat! Its spirit of good-fellow 
 ship still inspires the Season's merry-making. Not so 
 long ago our boys Over There, as those at Bunker's 
 Hill, were cheered and heartened by a draught of it; 
 and if now we must resign ourselves to do without 
 the "generous warmth" and "the banished joys that 
 danced around its brim," we will not forever forego 
 the pleasures of boon companionship, although indeed 
 times change and we with times save in the ways 
 of friendship. C. M. F. 
 
 December, 1920. 
 
ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL 
 
 This ancient silver bowl of mine, it 
 
 tells of good old times, 
 Of joyous days, and jolly nights -, and 
 
 merry Christmas chimes ; 
 They were a free and jovial race, but 
 
 honest, brave, and true, 
 That dipped their ladle in the punch 
 
 when this old bowl was new. 
 
A Spanish galleon brought the bar^ 
 
 so runs the ancient tale; 
 9 Twas hammered by an Antwerp smith^ 
 
 whose arm was like a flail; 
 And now and then between the strokes , 
 
 for fear his strength should fail^ 
 He wiped his brow^ and quaffed a cup 
 
 of good old Flemish ale. 
 
' T was purchased by an English squire 
 
 to please his loving dame, 
 Ufho saw the cherubs ', and conceived 
 
 a longing for the same; 
 And oft, as on the ancient stock another 
 
 twig was found, 
 ' T was Jl lied with caudle spiced and hot, 
 
 and handed smoking round. 
 
But, changing hands ^ it reached at length 
 
 a Puritan divine^ 
 W^ho 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 schnaps. 
 
And then, of course, you know what 9 s 
 
 next, it left the Dutchman s shore 
 With those that in the Mayflower came, 
 
 a hundred souls and more, 
 Along with all the furniture,to Jill their 
 
 new abodes, 
 To judge by what is still on hand, at least 
 
 a hundred loads. 
 
' Twas on a dreary winter s eve, the night 
 
 was closing dim, 
 When old Miles Standish took the bowl, 
 
 andjilledit to the brim; 
 The little Captain stood and stirred the 
 
 posset with his sword, 
 And all his sturdy men-at-arms were 
 
 ranged about the board. 
 
He poured the fiery Hollands in, the 
 
 man that never feared, 
 He took a long and solemn draught, and 
 
 wiped his yellow beard; 
 And one by one the musketeers the men 
 
 that fought and prayed 
 All drank as V were their mother s milk, 
 
 and not a man afraid. 
 
That nighty affrighted from his nest, the 
 
 screaming eagle flew, 
 He heard the Pequot* s ringing whoop, 
 
 the soldier s wild halloo; 
 And there the sachem learned the rule 
 
 he taught to kith and kin y 
 "Run from the white man whenyoujind 
 
 he smells of Hollands gin!" 
 
A hundred years, and fifty more, had 
 
 spread their leaves and snows, 
 A thousand 'rubs had flattened down each 
 
 little cherub' s nose, 
 When once again the bowl was filled, but 
 
 not in mirth or joy, 
 ' T 'was mingled by a mother s hand to 
 
 cheer her parting boy. 
 
Drink) 'John, she said, V will do you 
 
 goocl^ poor child) you' II never bear 
 This working in the dismal trench, out 
 
 in the midnight air; 
 And if God bless me! you were hurt, 
 
 V would keep away the chill; 
 So^ohn did drink, and well he wrought 
 
 that night at Bunker s Hill! 
 
I tell you, there was generous warmth in 
 
 good old English cheer; 
 I tell you, V was a pleasant thought to 
 
 bring its symbol here. 
 ' T is but the fool that loves excess; hast 
 
 thou a drunken soul? 
 Thy bane is in thy shallow skull, not in 
 
 my silver bowl! 
 
I love the memory of the past, its pressed 
 
 yet fragrant flowers, 
 The moss that clothes its broken walls, 
 
 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 around its brim. 
 
Of this book three hundred copies were printed for 
 
 Thomas Nast Fairbanks by The Marchbanks Press 
 
 in December y Nineteen hundred and twenty