Oliver Wendell Holmes

“ When old Miles Standish took the bowl, and filled it to the brim;
(“STIRRED THE POSSET WITH HIS SWORD.”)
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 'twere their mother's milk, and not a man afraid. ”

“ 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 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.
(“ITS BROKEN WALLS.”)
Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear it straight to me ”

“ 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 LAST LEAF. I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town. ”