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148
A PEWTER TANKARD.
William Goold, of Windham, exhibited in the Centennial Department of the Maine State Fair, in 1876, a pewter beer-mug, or tankard, “known to have been brought from Scotland two hundred years ago.”
Two hundred years! oh, grim and ghostly goblet,
Why thus torment the thirsty souls of moderns,
Moderns who live in times when pewter tankards
Linger superfluous?
Why thus torment the thirsty souls of moderns,
Moderns who live in times when pewter tankards
Linger superfluous?
Torn from the land that flows with ale and oat-cake,
How in thine age art thou betrayed and stranded
Thus high and dry upon the thirsty shores of
Maine prohibition!
How in thine age art thou betrayed and stranded
Thus high and dry upon the thirsty shores of
Maine prohibition!
Who would deal out Sebago in a tankard?
Or even milkman's milk, pieced out with pump-juice?
Pshaw! who would load a cannon with baked apples?
Perish the notion!
Or even milkman's milk, pieced out with pump-juice?
Pshaw! who would load a cannon with baked apples?
Perish the notion!
149
What are the feeble tipples of the present,
Hop, pop, root, spruce, and such-like weak devices,
By those which, take the centuries together,
Thou hast surrounded!
Hop, pop, root, spruce, and such-like weak devices,
By those which, take the centuries together,
Thou hast surrounded!
Marvellous mug! how many casks and barrels,
Yea, more than that, how many hundred hogsheads,
Pipes, tuns and what not, hast thou held and carried,—
Pale, brown, and home-brewed?
Yea, more than that, how many hundred hogsheads,
Pipes, tuns and what not, hast thou held and carried,—
Pale, brown, and home-brewed?
Surely they err, who say that drinks convivial
Shorten men's lives, and make them weak and shaky;
What devotee who pins his faith on water,
Reaches thy record?
Shorten men's lives, and make them weak and shaky;
What devotee who pins his faith on water,
Reaches thy record?
How many hands have grasped thy quaint old handle!
How many lips have pressed thy time-worn margin!
How many eyes, with foam-drops on their lashes,
Looked down thy distance!
How many lips have pressed thy time-worn margin!
How many eyes, with foam-drops on their lashes,
Looked down thy distance!
Thou hast outlived thy natural use and purpose;
Ale is a myth, and beer an old tradition;
Thou art a phantom, and thine occupation
Gone, like Othello's.
Ale is a myth, and beer an old tradition;
Thou art a phantom, and thine occupation
Gone, like Othello's.
What is our life? Why do we boast and bluster
Even if we count a hundred paltry summers?
What are they worth? a trifling pewter tankard
Laughs at our utmost.
Even if we count a hundred paltry summers?
What are they worth? a trifling pewter tankard
Laughs at our utmost.
Granite and diamonds shame our short duration,
Fine gold outlasts us, and we never wonder,
But to be distanced thus by paltry pewter
Humbles the proudest.
Fine gold outlasts us, and we never wonder,
But to be distanced thus by paltry pewter
Humbles the proudest.
150
Farewell, old tankard! on the next centennial,
Doubtless, some other bard will sing thy praises,
Greet thee with eyes and fingers reverential,
Even as I do,—
Doubtless, some other bard will sing thy praises,
Greet thee with eyes and fingers reverential,
Even as I do,—
Touch thy quaint handle, worn by phantom fingers,
Note the small dints along thy battered margin,
Then passing on, to die and be forgotten,
Leave thee immortal.
Note the small dints along thy battered margin,
Then passing on, to die and be forgotten,
Leave thee immortal.
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