SONG FOR PUNCH DRINKERS. AFTER SCHILLER. PUNCH. Four be the elements, Here we assemble 'em, Each of man's world And existence an emblem. Press from the lemon The slow flowing juices-- Bitter is life In its lessons and uses. Bruise the fair sugar lumps-- Nature intended Her sweet and severe To be everywhere blended. Pour the still water-- Unwarning by sound, Eternity's ocean Is hemming us round. Mingle the spirit, The life of the bowl-- Man is an earth-clod Unwarmed by a soul! Drink of the stream Ere its potency goes!-- No bath is refreshing Except while it glows! THE SONG OF THE HUMBUGGED HUSBAND. PUNCH. She's not what fancy painted her-- I'm sadly taken in: If some one else had won her, I Should not have cared a pin. I thought that she was mild and good As maiden e'er could be; I wonder how she ever could Have so much humbugg'd me. They cluster round and shake my hand-- They tell me I am blest: My case they do not understand-- I think that I know best. They say she's fairest of the fair-- They drive me mad and madder. What do they mean by it? I swear I only wish they had her. 'Tis true that she has lovely locks, That on her shoulders fall; What would they say to see the box In which she keeps them all? Her taper fingers, it is true, 'Twere difficult to match: What would they say if they but knew How terribly they scratch? TEMPERANCE SONG. PUNCH. AIR--FRIEND OF MY SOUL. Friend of my soul, this water sip, Its strength you need not fear; Tis not so luscious as egg-flip, Nor half so strong as beer. Like Jenkins when he writes, It can not touch the mind; Unlike what he indites, No nausea leaves behind. LINES ADDRESSED TO ** **** ***** ON THE 29TH Of SEPTEMBER WHEN WE PARTED FOR THE LAST TIME. PUNCH. I have watch'd thee with rapture, and dwelt on thy charms, As link'd in Love's fetters we wander'd each day; And each night I have sought a new life in thy arms, And sigh'd that our union could last not for aye. But thy life now depends on a frail silken thread, Which I even by kindness may cruelly sever, And I look to the moment of parting with dread, For I feel that in parting I lose thee forever. Sole being that cherish'd my poor troubled heart! Thou know'st all its secrets--each joy and each grief; And in sharing them all thou did'st ever impart To its sorrows a gentle and soothing relief. The last of a long and affectionate race, As thy days are declining I love thee the more, For I feel that thy loss I can never replace-- That thy death will but leave me to weep and deplore.