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Now-again-the lofty joy-notes thunder in tu
Now-again-the low-toned chiding of the melancholy dirge.
And the voices in that chiding wail the early-summoned band
That was with us in the spring time, now is in the Spirit-land;
Wail for those whom distant regions saw delivered to their rest,
Garnered in the restless ocean-folded to earth's throbless breast.
No, we greet no roysterer's Christmas; this the dying year hath brought
Sobered, if not sicklied over, with the paler cast of thought;
Rather greet him as we welcome home a treasured friend of yore,
Coming to a board where some he loved will meet his glance no more.
Yet no mourning, no dejection. Hopes are high and hearts are strong!
Fill the wine-cup, speak the homage, pledge the health, and raise the song!
It were shame upon our mission did we pass the goblet by,
Closing such a year with sadness-silent tongue, and drooping eye.
Raise the wine-cup! Though it chanceth we have fallen on stormy days;
Strike no sunshine's golden arrows through the cloud and through the haze?
Is it nought that in the battle Freedom's sacred ensigns flame
Blazoned on our honoured banners, and our war cry is her name ?
Shout! Not now for deeds of heroes,-not for England's old renown;
Not because her lion-children rend the fiercest foeman down;
Not for legions wildly flying, and their standards reft and torn,
Gentler thoughts befit the morning when the Prince of Peace was born.
Gentler!-aye, and grander, prouder! Lightly let no word be said.
What is Peace, if not the cause why England's sword is bare and red?
What she holds her chiefest glory,-what her lifeblood shall defend;
What she claims and wins, if needed, for the friends who call her friend.
Therefore let us raise the wine-cup, mindful of the day we keep :
At the health that we will challenge, every true warm heart shall leap.
Never nobler toast was proffered since at Yule the wine went round
Be it with full cup accepted, and with ringing plaudits crowned.
"Health to those who bear our banner- to the noble and the brave
Honour to each Christian soldier who has found a hero's grave;
May our champions, home among us, ere the summer-roses glow,
Tell where Europe's Twin-Avengers dealt their last and fatal blow!"
The Wolf and the Bog.
A PROWLING Wolf, whose shaggy skin
Once met a mastiff dog astray;
Sir Wolf, in famish'd plight,
But then he first must fight;
His carcass snug and tight.
So, then, in civil conversation,
The wolf express'd his admiration
Are shabby wretches, lean and gaunt,
With such a pack, of course, it follows,
On equal terms our princely fare."
Has one to do ?"
Inquires the wolf. "Light work indeed,"
A gall'd spot on the mastiff's neck. "What's that?" he cries. "O nothing but a speck."
"A speck!" "Ay, ay; 'tis not enough to pain me, Perhaps the collar's mark by which they chain
"Chain you, you say! Run you not, then
The Fisherman's Wife.
SHE listens ""Tis the wind," she cries:
Not long was Anna wed; her mate,
The wind is high, and where is he?
"Oh, who would love, oh, who would wed A wandering fisherman, to be
A wretched lonely wife, and dread
Each breath that blows when he's at sea!"
Not long was Anna wed, one pledge
Of tender love her bosom bore:
The storm comes down, the billows rage;