You lie down to your shady slumber
And wake with a fly in your ear,

And your damsel that walks in the morning
Is shod like a mountaineer.

True love is at home on a carpet,
And mightily likes his ease-
And true love has an eye for a dinner,
And starves beneath shady trees.

His wing is the fan of a lady,

His foot's an invisible thing,

And his arrow is tipp'd with a jewel,
And shot from a silver string.

ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

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 dipp'd their ladle in the punch when this old bowl

was new.

A Spanish galleon brought the bar-so runs the ancient

tale;

'Twas hammer'd 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 quaff'd a cup of good old Flemish ale.

'Twas purchased by an English squire to please his loving dame,

Who saw the cherubs and conceived a longing for the

same;

And oft as on the ancient stock another twig was found, 'Twas fill'd with caudle spiced and hot, and handed smoking round..

But, changing hands, it reach'd at length a Puritan divine,

Who used to follow TIMOTHY, and take a little wine,
But hated punch and prelacy; and so it was, perhaps,
He went to Leyden, where he found conventicles and
schnaps.

And then, of course, you know what's next, it left the
Dutchman's shore

With those that in the Mayflower came, a hundred souls

Along with all their furniture, to fill their new abodesTo 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, and fill'd it to the brim ;

The little Captain stood and stirr'd the posset with his sword,

And all his sturdy men-at-arms were ranged about the board.

He pour'd the fiery Hollands in-the man that never fear'd

He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped his yellow beard;

And one by one the musketeers-the men that fought and pray'd

All drank as 'twere their mother's milk, and not a man afraid.

That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming eagle flew

He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's wild

halloo;

And there the sachem learn'd the rule he taught to kith

and kin,

'Run from the white man when you find he smells of Hollands gin !'

A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their leaves and snows,

A thousand rubs had flatten'd down each little cherub's

nose,

When once again the bowl was fill'd, but not in mirth

or joy,

'Twas mingled by a mother's 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 chill;'

So John 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, 'twas a pleasant thought to bring its symbol

here:

'Tis 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 press'd yet fragrant flowers

The moss that clothes its broken walls-the ivy on its

towers;

Nay, this poor bauble it bequeath'd, my eyes grow moist and dim,

To think of all the vanish'd joys that danced around its brim.

Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear it straight to

me;

The goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid be;

And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the

sin

That dooms one to those dreadful words-' My dear, where have you been?'

THE PUPIL OF MERLIN.

[Imitated from the German of Goethe.]

GREAT MERLIN of old had a magical trick
For putting in motion a talisman stick,

That would do at his pleasure whatever he wanted;
He had only to speak and the stick was enchanted;
Off it set in a twinkling, and came in a crack;
He order'd it out, and he whistled it back.

A youthful disciple of Merlin's own school,
A would-be magician, half knave and half fool,
Once peeping through cranny, the secret found out,
Heard the 'conjurote,' saw the stick fly about;

'Twas enough, having seen, he must try the experiment:
So he scamper'd off home in the height of his merriment,
With a substitute broomstick to ape the magician,
Repeated the charm, and enjoin'd his commission.
'Stick ! conjurote! I command thee to bring
A bucket of water just fresh from the spring,
In order to wash the place tidy and clean,
And render my cottage the pride of the green !'
So soon as he utter'd this eloquent spell,
It vanish'd instanter, he mimick'd so well;