O Brother! I revere the choice That took thee from thy native hills; And it is given thee to rejoice: Though public care full often tills (Heaven only witness of the toil) A barren and ungrateful soil.

Yet would that thou, with me and mine, Hadst heard this never-failing rite; And seen on other faces shine A true revival of the light Which nature, and these rustic powers, In simple childhood, spread through ours!

For pleasure hath not ceased to wait On these expected annual rounds, Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate Call forth the unelaborate sounds, Or they are offered at the door That guard the lowliest of the poor.

How touching, when at midnight sweep Snow-m.u.f.fled winds, and all is dark, To hear--and sink again in sleep!

Or at an earlier call, to mark, By blazing fire, the still suspense Of self-complacent innocence;

The mutual nod--the grave disguise Of hearts with gladness br.i.m.m.i.n.g o'er, And some unhidden tears that rise For names once heard, and heard no more; Tears brightened by the serenade For infant in the cradle laid!

Ah! not for emerald fields alone, With ambient streams more pure and bright Than fabled Cytherea's zone Glittering before the Thunderer's sight, Is to my heart of hearts endeared, The ground where we were born and reared!

Hail, ancient manners! sure defence, Where they survive, of wholesome laws: Remnants of love whose modest sense Thus into narrow room withdraws; Hail, usages of pristine mould, And ye that guard them, Mountains old!

Bear with me, Brother! quench the thought That slights this pa.s.sion or condemns; If thee fond fancy ever brought From the proud margin of the Thames, And Lambeth's venerable towers, To humble streams and greener bowers.

Yes, they can make, who fail to find Short leisure even in busiest days, Moments to cast a look behind, And profit by those kindly rays That through the clouds do sometimes steal, And all the far-off past reveal.

Hence, while the imperial city's din Beats frequent on thy satiate ear, A pleased attention I may win To agitations less severe, That neither overwhelm nor cloy, But fill the hollow vale with joy!

_William Wordsworth._

THE OLD, OLD STORY.

Listen, Lordings, unto me, a tale I will you tell, Which, as on this night of glee, in David's town befell.

Joseph came from Nazareth, with Mary that sweet maid; Weary were they, nigh to death; and for a lodging pray'd.

Sing high, sing high, sing low, sing low, Sing high, sing low, sing to and fro, Go tell it out with speed, Cry out and shout all round about, That Christ is born indeed.

In the inn they found no room; a scanty bed they made: Soon a Babe from Mary's womb was in the manger laid.

Forth He came as light through gla.s.s: He came to save us all, In the stable ox and a.s.s before their Maker fall.

Sing high, sing low, etc.

Shepherds lay afield that night, to keep the silly sheep, Hosts of angels in their sight came down from heaven's high steep.

Tidings! tidings! unto you: to you a Child is born, Purer than the drops of dew, and brighter than the morn.

Sing high, sing low, etc.

Onward then the angels sped, the shepherds onward went, G.o.d was in His manger bed, in worship low they bent.

In the morning see ye mind, my masters one and all, At the altar Him to find who lay within the stall.

Sing high, sing low, etc.

_H. R. Bramley._

A CHRISTMAS BALLAD.

Outlanders, whence come ye last?

_The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ Through what green sea and great have ye past?

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

From far away, O masters mine, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ We come to bear you goodly wine: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

From far away we come to you, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ To tell of great tidings strange and true: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

News, news of the Trinity, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ And Mary and Joseph from over the sea: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

For as we wandered far and wide, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ What hope do ye deem there should us betide?

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

Under a bent when the night was deep, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ There lay three shepherds tending their sheep: _Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"O ye shepherds, what have ye seen, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ To slay your sorrow and heal your teen?"

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"In an ox-stall this night we saw, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ A Babe and a maid without a flaw.

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"There was an old man there beside, _The snow in the street and the wind, on the door._ His hair was white, and his hood was wide.

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"And as we gazed this thing upon, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ Those twain knelt down to the Little One.

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

"And a marvellous song we straight did hear, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ That slew our sorrow and healed our care."

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

News of a fair and a marvellous thing, _The snow in the street and the wind on the door._ Nowell, nowell, nowell, we sing!

_Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor._

_William Morris._

A FRENCH NOeL.

(TRANSLATED FROM GUI BARoZAI.)

I hear along our street Pa.s.s the minstrel throngs; Hark! they play so sweet, On their hautboys, Christmas songs!

Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!