THE TWO VILLAGES. All around it the forest trees Of soaring hawk and screaming crow ; Over the river, under the hill, There I see in the cloudy night Twinkling stars of household light, Fires that gleam from the smithy's door, And in the roads no grasses grow, For the wheels that hasten to and fro. In that village on the hill Never is sound of smithy or mill; The houses are thatched with grass and flowers; Never a clock to tell the hours; The marble doors are always shut; You cannot enter in hall or hut; Never again to sow or reap, In that village under the hill, 225 226 CHRISTMAS. And, weeping and sighing, wants to go ROSE TERRY. CHRISTMAS. LIFT up your heads, ye gates! swing wide Forth let the Filial Godhead ride On wings of cherubim up-borne. Nor dare, thou flushed and flattered East, On mountain tops bright heralds stand And publish over sea and land The certain tidings glad and sweet. He comes! The sky is all on fire, ABRAHAM COLES |