AN

CHRISTMAS.

The singing waits-a merry throng,

At early morn, with simple skill,

Yet imitate the angel's song,

And chaunt their Christmas ditty still;
And, 'mid the storm that dies and swells
By fits, in hummings softly steals

The music of the village bells,

Ringing around their merry peals.

When this is past, a merry crew,

Bedecked in masks and ribbons gay,

The Morris Dance, their sports renew,
And act their winter evening play.
The clown turned king, for penny praise,
Storms with the actor's strut and swell,

And harlequin, a laugh to raise,

Wears his hunch-back and tinkling bell.

And oft for pence and spicy ale,

With winter nosegays pinned before,

The wassail-singer tells her tale,

And drawls her Christmas carols o'er.

While 'prentice boy, with ruddy face,

And rime-bepowdered dancing locks,

From door to door, with happy face,

Runs round to claim his "Christmas-box."

The block upon the fire is put,

To sanction custom's old desires,

And many a fagot's bands are cut

For the old farmer's Christmas fires;

Where loud-tongued gladness joins the throng,

And Winter meets the warmth of May,

Till, feeling soon the heat too strong,
He rubs his shins and draws away.

While snows the window-panes bedim,
The fire curls up a sunny charm,
Where, creaming o'er the pitcher's rim,
The flowering ale is set to warm.

Mirth, full of joy as summer bees,

Sits there its pleasures to impart,

And children, 'tween their parent's knees, Sing scraps of carols off by heart.

And some, to view the winter weathers,

Climb up the window-seat with glee,
Likening the snow to falling feathers,
In fancy's infant ecstacy;
Laughing, with superstitious love,

O'er visions wild that youth supplies,

Of people pulling geese above,

And keeping Christmas in the skies.

As though the homestead trees were drest, In lieu of snow, with dancing leaves, As though the sun-dried martin's nest, Instead of ic'cles hung the eaves ;

The children hail the happy day

As if the snow were April's grass, And pleased, as 'neath the warmth of May, Sport o'er the water froze to glass.

Thou day of happy sound and mirth,

That long with childish memory stays,

CHRISTMAS.

How blest around the cottage hearth,
I met thee in my younger days,
Harping, with rapture's dreaming joys,

On presents which thy coming found,
The welcome sight of little toys,

The Christmas gift of cousins round.

About the glowing hearth at night,

The harmless laugh and winter tale Go round; while parting friends delight To toast each other o'er their ale. The cotter oft with quiet zeal

Will, musing, o'er his Bible lean; While in the dark the lovers steal,

To kiss and toy behind the screen.

Old customs! Oh! I love the sound,
However simple they may be ;
Whate'er with time hath sanction found,

Is welcome, and is dear to me,

Pride grows above simplicity,

And spurns them from her haughty mind:

And soon the poet's song will be

The only refuge they can find.

CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR.

THOMAS MILLER.

THOSE Christmas bells as sweetly chime,
As on the day when first they rung

So merrily in the olden time,

And far and wide their music flung:
Shaking the tall grey ivied tower,
With all their deep melodious power:
They still proclaim to every ear,

Old Christmas comes but once a year.

Then he came singing through the woods,

And plucked the holly bright and green; Pulled here and there the ivy buds;

Was sometimes hidden, sometimes seenHalf-buried 'neath the mistletoe,

His long beard hung with flakes of snow;
And still he ever carolled clear,

Old Christmas comes but once a year.

He merrily came in days of old,

When roads were few, and ways were foul,

Now staggered,-now some ditty trolled,
Now drank deep from his wassail bowl;

His holly silvered o'er with frost.
Nor never once his way he lost,

For reeling here and reeling there,
Old Christmas comes but once a year.

The hall was then with holly crowned,

'T was on the wild-deer's antlers placed;

CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR.

It hemmed the battered armour round,

And every ancient trophy graced.

It decked the boar's head, tusked and grim,
The wassail bowl wreathed to the brim.

A summer-green hung everywhere,
For Christmas came but once a year.

His jaded steed the armèd knight
Reined up before the abbey gate;

By all assisted to alight,

From humble monk, to abbot great.