Where, creaming o'er the pitcher's rim, Mirth full of joy as summer bees Sits there its pleasures to impart, And children, 'tween their parents' knees, Sing scraps of carols off by heart. And some, to view the winter weathers, 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, 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, How blest around the cottage hearth, On presents which thy coming found, The welcome sight of little toys, The Christmas gift of cousins round. CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR. 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, And far and wide their music flung: They still proclaim to every ear, 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; 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 came but once a year. The hall was then with holly crowned, 'Twas on the wild-deer's antlers placed ; It hemmed the battered armour round, And every ancient trophy graced. It decked the boar's head, tusked and grim, A summer-green hung everywhere, His jaded steed the armed knight Reined up before the abbey gate; By all assisted to alight, From humble monk, to abbot great. They placed his lance behind the door, His armour on the rush-strewn floor; CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR. And then brought out the best of cheer, The maiden then, in quaint attire, Loosed from her head the silken hood, The crackling monarch of the wood. While music sounded loud and clear; What, though upon his hoary head, Have fallen many a winter's snow, As 't was a thousand years ago. Are ever standing ready there, No marvel Christmas lives so long, He never knew but merry hours, While every voice cried "Welcome here," But what care we for days of old, The knights whose arms have turned to rust, 1 Their grim boars' heads, and pasties cold, Their castles crumbled into dust? Never did sweeter faces go, Blushing beneath the mistletoe, Than are to-night assembled here, For those old times are dead and gone, And those who hailed them passed away, Yet still there lingers many a one, To welcome in old Christmas Day. The poor will many a care forget, But, as they each enjoy their cheer, And still around these good old times We hang like friends full loth to part, We listen to the simple rhymes Which somehow sink into the heart, |