The moon on the east oriel shone By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand In many a freakish knot had twined; Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, And trampled the Apostate's pride. SIR WALTER SCOTT. CHRISTMAS IN OLDEN TIME. HEAP on more wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer: Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane At Iol more deep the mead did drain; High on the beach his galleys drew, And feasted all his pirate crew; Then in his low and pine-built hall, Where shields and axes decked the wall, They gorged upon the half-dressed steer; Caroused in seas of sable beer; While round, in brutal jest, were thrown The half-gnawed rib and marrow-bone, Or listened all, in grim delight, While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. Then forth in frenzy would they hie, While wildly loose their red locks fly, And dancing round the blazing pile They make such barbarous mirth the while, As best might to the mind recall The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. And well our Christian sires of old On Christmas eve the bells were rung: Then opened wide the baron's hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony doffed his pride; The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose; The lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of "post and pair." All hailed with uncontrolled delight And general voice the happy night That to the cottage, as the crown, Brought tidings of salvation down. The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall table's oaken face, Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord ; Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man; Then the grim boar's head frowned on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garbed ranger tell How, when, and where the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar. The wassail round, in good brown bowls, Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls, There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie, Nor failed old Scotland to produce At such high tide, her savory goose. Then came the merry maskers in ; And carols roared with blithesome din, If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery; White skirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made; But, oh what maskers, richly dight, Can boast of bosoms half so light? England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. "T was Christmas broached the mightiest ale! 'T was Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year. SIR WALTER SCOTT. DIVINA COMMEDIA. I. OFT have I seen, at some cathedral door, Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er ; And leave my burden at this minster gate, To inarticulate murmurs dies away, II. How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers! This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers! And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers! What exultations trampling on despair, What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, III. I enter, and I see thee in the gloom Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs Proclaim the elevation of the Host! V. O star of morning and of liberty! O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines The voices of the mountains and the pines, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. EARTII has not anything to show more fair; The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, And strive to make my steps keep pace with Open unto the fields, and to the sky, |