Classic Poem

In December of 1851 GM grants or withholds his cheers according to the political status of the countries he mentions.
Bring in the steaming bowl, my lads,
Bring in the piping bowl!
And apples in a shoal, my lads,
All hissing hot and whole!
The jolly yule-log is flaming its last,
For the Year hath reach'd his goal.

The bright keen stars they gaze below,
All eager to see the ghostly show;
How the New Year will come and the Old Year go
O'er the wolds so white with the glimmering snow;
And there's need of wood and coal, my lads,
There's need of wood and coal!

O, the bright keen stars they throng so low!
And the winds are hush'd, and breathe with woe;
For they hear a Death-bell knoll, my lads,
They hear a Death-bell knoll!
O, the winds right soon with joy shall blow,
When the New Year peals, and the cock doth crow
The news from pole to pole, my lads,
The news from pole to pole!

The vanguard of advancing men —
We English pitch our tents to-night!
And reach to all our brethren
A loving hand and a guiding light,
And a harbour free of toll, my lads,
A harbour free of toll!

A hand whose grasp makes all men free!
And a guiding light, that they may see
Our flag of care is furl'd!
And do as we, where'er they be,
And hear us drink, with three times three,
A wassail to the world!
Wassail!

Good barley-wine and honest brew,
Right worthy drink, I wot.
Aye! and the world shall hear us too,
In every silent spot:
Wassail!
Wassail to every soul, my lads,
Wassail to every soul!

Wassail to Her whose crown is now
The quiet star of hope and peace;
The blessings on her royal brow
Are many! may her joys increase!
Swiftly the moments roll, my lads,
round the piping bowl!Swiftly the moments roll!

Wassail to those whose household smiles
Have given the hearth a double glow!
Wassail to all the sister Isles,
For ever one in weal and woe!
Pass round the piping bowl, my lads,
round the piping bowl!Pass round the piping bowl.

Wassail to France! and may she draw
This night a worthy King and Queen,
Or virgin-pure Republic; Law
The guardian of her spotless sheen.
I hear a Death-bell knoll, my lads,
round the piping bowl!I hear a Death-bell knoll!

High wassail to the Sultan! he,
To whom we owe a nation's debt;
Who dared to set the Patriot free,
And let the carrion-eagles fret!
Pass round the piping bowl, my lads,
Pass round the piping bowl!

Wassail to Austria? — No, good faith!
So little can our hopes agree;
But rather waft, with genial breath,
Wassail to noble Hungary!
I hear a funeral dole, my lads,
I hear a funeral dole.

Wassail to Prussia? she, whose chance
It was to have been the German star:
But on a Gorgon's countenance
She gazed, whom Europe calls the Czar:
Wassail to Polish hopes, my lads,
Pass round the foaming bowl.

Wassail to proud Italia! hail
And wassail! not in vain she clanks
Her cruel chains, and shrieks her wail
Above her children's shatter'd ranks;
Swiftly the moments roll, my lads,
Swiftly the moments roll!

Wassail to those free men o' the West,
Whose land is by the setting sun;
The yearning of a mother's breast
Unites us, and our hopes are one.
Wassail to every soul, my lads,
Wassail to every soul!