Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Here let us sport, Evenings we knew, Faces we miss, 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.- Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone! 171 ALBERT SMITH. THE old north breeze through the skeleton trees But loud let it blow, for at home we know Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home; Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come. And far and near, o'er landscape drear, It may bluster, but never can harm us; And our Christmas feelings warm us. Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home; 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 Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home; Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come. Let us drink to those eyes we most dearly prize, For the girls' soft cheeks shall our peaches be, Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home; 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 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, 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; By acting in this way you'll gain For you will feel a genial glow Dance through each gladly-swelling vein, Bring, too, the sparkling wassail bowl, That jolly Christmas holds so dear, 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. |