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Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume

Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we:
Here we carouse,
Singing, like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.
Life is but short-
When we are gone,
Let them sing on,
Round the old tree.

Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;

Faces we miss,
Pleasant to see.

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!

We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we'll be! Drink every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree!

Drain we the cup.-
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;

Let us forget,

Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone!
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Blue-devil sprite,
Leave us to night,
Round the old tree.

171

ALBERT SMITH.

THE old north breeze through the skeleton trees
Is chanting the year out drearily;

But loud let it blow, for at home we know
That the dry logs crackle cheerily;
And the frozen ground is in fetters bound;
But pile up the wood, we can burn it ;
For Christmas is come, and in every home
To summer our hearts can turn it.
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home;
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come.

And far and near, o'er landscape drear,
From casements brightly streaming,
With cheerful glow on the fallen snow
The ruddy light is gleaming;
The wind may shout as it likes without,

It may bluster, but never can harm us;
For a merrier din shall resound within,

And our Christmas feelings warm us.
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home;
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come.

The flowers are torpid in their beds,

Till spring's first sunbeam sleeping; Not e'en the snowdrops' pointed heads Above the earth are peeping;

OLD CHRISTMAS.

But groves remain on each frosted pane
Of feathery trees and bowers;
And fairer far we 'll maintain they are
Than summer's gaudiest flowers.
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home;
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come.

Let us drink to those eyes we most dearly prize,
We can show how we love them after;
The fire blaze cleaves to the bright holly leaves,
And the mistletoe hangs from the rafter;
We care not for fruit, whilst we here can see
Their scarlet and pearly berries;

For the girls' soft cheeks shall our peaches be,
And their pouting lips our cherries.
Wassail! wassail !

Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home;
Wassail! wassail!

Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come.

OLD CHRISTMAS.

J. BRIDGEMAN.

NCE more the rapid, fleeting year

Has brought old Christmas to the door;

Come, let us treat him with such cheer
As folks were wont in days of yore,
When burgher grave, and belted knight,

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And cottage maid, and lady fair,

Obeyed the old familiar sprite,

And, at his bidding, banished Care

That sullen, surly, melancholy wight.

Let's hang from beams all black with time,

The mistletoe's insidious bough,

'Neath which, as little birds with lime,

Young girls are snared, "they know not how

The horrid thing-they never thought

It half so near-for if they had,

"T is certain they had not been caught

งา

OLD CHRISTMAS.

On that rely-it was too bad,
And not at all behaving as one ought."

Upon the hearth pile up the fire,

And, that it may burn clear and bright,

Cast in it every base desire,

All envy, hatred, vengeance, spite;
Believe me, the event will show

By acting in this way you'll gain

For you will feel a genial glow

Dance through each gladly-swelling vein,
And onwards to your very heart's core go.

Bring, too, the sparkling wassail bowl,

That jolly Christmas holds so dear,
And if you'd have it warm your soul—
The mind as well as body cheer—
Amid the wine and spirit pour

The blessings from some humble roof;

A little charity is sure

To call them forth: in sober truth,

They'll give the draught one matchless flavour more.

And you, fair Sovereign of this isle,

Who love to deck the Christmas tree,

So that the massy, regal pile

Resound with mirth and jollity,

Remember that the stem with new

Strength thrives, if pruned with careful hand;

Then trim your Christmas sapling, too,

And to the poor throughout the land

Send of the shoots thus lopped away a few.

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