(“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.
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 learned 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 flattened down each little cherub's nose;
When once again the bowl was filled, 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!
