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As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet Breathes soft the Alpine rose, So, through life's desert, springing sweet,
The flower of friendship grows; And as, where'er the roses grow, Some rain or dew descends, Tis nature's law that wine should flow To wet the lips of friends.
— Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Old Time and I the other night, had a carouse together; The wine was golden, warm, and bright — aye, just like summer weather. Quoth I, " Here's Christmas come again, and I no farthing richer; ■ Time answered, "Ah! the old, old strain! — I prithee pass the pitcher.
" Why measure all your good in gold! no rope of sand is weaker;
Tis hard to get, 'tis hard to hold,—come, lad, fill up your beaker.
Has thou not found true friends more true, and loving ones more loving ?"
I could but say, M A few, a few! so keep the liquor moving."
u Hast thou not seen the prosperous knave come down a precious thumper ? His cheats disclosed." " I have, I have!" " Well, surely, that's a bumper!n "Nay, hold awhile, I've seen the just find all their hopes grow dimmer;" • They will hold on, and strive, and trust, and conquer." " That's a brimmer.*
** Tis not because to-day is dark, no brighter day's before 'em: There's rest for every storm-tossed bark." " So be it, pass the joram! " Yet I must own, I would not mind to be a little richer." ** Labor and wait, and you may find—" " Halloah! an empty pitcher."
— Mark Lemon,
This song of mine is a song of the vine,
To be sung by glowing embers Of wayside inns, when the rain begins
To darken the drear Novembers.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.