This ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times,
Of joyous days and jolly nights, and merry Christmas times;
They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave, and true,
Who dipped their ladle in the punch when this old bowl was new.

A Spanish galleon brought the bar,ââ?¬â?à?­so runs the ancient tale;
ââ?¬â?¢T was 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.

ââ?¬â?¢T was 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,
ââ?¬â?¢T was filled with candle spiced and hot, and handed smoking round.

But, changing hands, it reached 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 schnapps.

And then, of course, you know whatââ?¬â?¢s next: it left the Dutchmanââ?¬â?¢s shore
With those that in the Mayflower came,ââ?¬â?à?­a hundred souls and more,ââ?¬â?à?­
Along with all the furniture, to fill their new abodes,ââ?¬â?à?­
To judge by what is still on hand, at least a hundred loads.

ââ?¬â?¢T was on a dreary winterââ?¬â?¢s eve, the night was closing, dim,
When brave Miles Standish took the bowl, and filled it 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,ââ?¬â?à?­the man that never feared,ââ?¬â?à?­
He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped his yellow beard;
And one by one the musketeersââ?¬â?à?­the men that fought and prayedââ?¬â?à?­
All drank as ââ?¬â?¢t were their motherââ?¬â?¢s milk, and not a man afraid.

That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming eagle flew,
He heard the Pequotââ?¬â?¢s ringing whoop, the soldierââ?¬â?¢s 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 ââ?¬Å?Hollands gin!ââ?¬Â

A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their leaves and snows,
A thousand rubs had flattened down each little cherubââ?¬â?¢s nose,
When once again the bowl was filled, but not in mirth or joy, =ââ?¬â?à?­
ââ?¬â?¢T was mingled by a motherââ?¬â?¢s hand to cheer her parting boy.

Drink, John, she said, 't will do you good,ââ?¬â?à?­poor child, youââ?¬â?¢ll never bear
This working in the dismal trench, out in the midnight air; And if -ââ?¬â?à?­
God bless me! -ââ?¬â?à?­ you were hurt, 't would keep away the chill.
So John did drink,ââ?¬â?à?­and well he wrought that night at Bunkerââ?¬â?¢s Hill!

I tell you, there was generous warmth in good old English cheer;
I tell you, ââ?¬â?¢t was a pleasant thought to bring its symbol here.
ââ?¬â?¢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,ââ?¬â?à?­its pressed yet fragrant flowers,ââ?¬â?à?­
The moss that clothes its broken walls, the ivy on its towers;
Nay, this poor bauble it bequeathed,ââ?¬â?à?­my eyes grow moist and dim,
To think of all the vanished 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, whateââ?¬â?¢er the liquid be;
And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin
That dooms one to those dreadful words,ââ?¬â?à?­ââ?¬Å?My dear, where have you been?ââ?¬Â