SONG OF THE DECANTER

An anonymous poem

There was an old decanter,

and its mouth was gaping

wide; the rosy wine

had ebbed away

and left

its crys-

tal side;

and the wind

went humming,

h u m m i n g;

up and

down the

sides it flew,

and through the

reed-like,

hollow neck

the wildest notes it

blew. I placed it in the

window, where the blast was

blowing free, and fancied that its

pale mouth sang the queerest strains

to me. "They tell me--puny con-

querors!--the Plague as slain his ten,

and War his hundred thousands of the

very best of men; but I"--'twas thus

the bottle spoke--"but I have con-

quered more than all your famous con-

querors, so feared and famed of yore.

Then come, ye youths and maidens,

come drink from out my cup, the bev-

erage that dulls the brain and burns

the spirit up; that puts to shame

the conquerors that slay their

scores below; for this has del-

uged millions with the lava tide

of woe. Though, in the path

of battle, darkest waves of

blood may roll; yet while

I killed the body, I have

damned the very soul.

The cholera, the sword,

such ruin never wrought,

as I, in mirth or malice, on

the innocent have brought.

And still I breathe upon them,

and they shrink before my breath;

and year by year my thousands tread

THE TERRIBLE ROAD TO DEATH.

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