The Deadly Old Decanter

There was an old decanter, and its mouth was gaping wide;
the rosy wine had ebbed away, and left its crystal side;
and the wind went humming—humming up and down; the sides it flew;
and through the reed-like, hollow neck the wildest notes it blew.
I placed it in the window, where the blast was blowing free,
and fancied that its pale mouth sang the queerest strains to me.
"They tell me-puny conquerors! the Plague has slain his ten,
and War his hundred thousands of the very best of men;
"but I" —'twas thus the Bottle spoke-"but I have conquer'd more
than all your famous conquerors, so fear'd and famed of yore.
Then come, ye youths and maidens all, come drink from out my cup
the beverage that dulls the brain, and burns the spirits up;
that puts to shame your conquerors that slay their scores below;
for this has deluged millions with the lava tide of woe.
Though in the path of battle dark streams of blood may roll;
yet while I kill'd the body, I have damn'd the very soul.
The cholera, the plague, the sword, such ruin never wro't
as I, in mirth or malice, on the innocent have brought.
And still I breathe upon them, and they shrink before my breath,
and year by year my thousands tread the dismal way of death."

Source: Linden Harp: a rare collection of popular melodies adapted to sacred and moral songs, original and selected. Illustrated. Also a manual of... #63