Who, in his farmhouse, close without The picket's eastern end, Sat growling at the twinge of gout That kept him from his friend. But Peter strapped his wooden peg, When tea and cake were ended (Meanwhile the sound remaining leg Its high jack-boot defended), A woolsey cloak about him threw, And swore, by wind and limb, Since Govert kept from Peter's view, Peter would visit him; Then sallied forth, through snow and blast, While many a humbler greeter Stood wondering whereaway so fast Strode bluff Hardkoppig Pieter. Past quay and cowpath, through a lane Of vats and mounded tans, He puffed along, with might and main, To Govert Loockermans; Once there, his right of entry took, And hailed his ancient crony: "Myn Gód! in dese Manhattoes, Loock, Ve gets more snow as money!" To which, and after whiffs profound, With doubtful wink and nod, There came at last responsive sound: "Yah, Peter; yah, Myn Gód!" Then goedevrouw Marie sat her guest Beneath the chimney-gable, And courtesied, bustling at her best To spread the New Year's table. She brought the pure and genial schnapps, That years before had come-- In the "Nieuw Nederlandts," perhaps-- To cheer the settlers' home; The long-stemmed pipes; the fragrant roll Of pressed and crispy Spanish; Then placed the earthen mugs and bowl, Nor long delayed to vanish. Thereat, with cheery nod and wink, And honors of the day, The trader mixed the Governor's drink As evening sped away. That ancient room! I see it now: The carven nutwood dresser; The drawers, that many a burgher's vrouw Begrudged their rich possessor; The brace of high-backed leathern chairs, Brass-nailed at every seam; Six others, ranged in equal pairs; The bacon hung abeam; The chimney-front, with porcelain shelft; The hearty wooden fire; The picture, on the steaming delft, Of David and Goliah. I see the two old Dutchmen sit Like Magog and his mate, And hear them, when their pipes are lit, Discuss affairs of state: The clique that would their sway demean; The pestilent importation Of wooden nutmegs, from the lean And losel Yankee nation. But when the subtle juniper Assumed its sure command, They drank the buxom loves that were,-- They drank the Motherland; They drank the famous Swedish wars, Stout Peter's special glory, While Govert proudly showed the scars Of Indian contests gory. Erelong, the berry's power awoke Some music in their brains, And, trumpet-like, through rolling smoke, Rang long-forgotten strains,-- Old Flemish snatches, full of blood, Of phantom ships and battle; And Peter, with his leg of wood, Made floor and casement rattle.