ΤΟ RICHARD HEBER, Esq. Mertoun-House, Christmas. 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 deem'd the new-born year Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane Then, in his low and pine-built hall, Where shields and axes deck'd the wall, They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; While round, in brutal jest, were thrown While scalds yell'd out the joys of fight. And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honour to the holy night: On Christmas eve the bells were rung; On Christmas eve the mass was sung; That only night, in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. Then open'd wide the Baron's hall Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony doff'd her pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner chuse ; The lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of " post and pair." All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight, And general voice, the happy night, The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney.wide; The huge hall-table's oaken face, Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, No marks to part the squire and lord. By old blue-coated serving man; Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell, How, when, and where, the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, The wassel round, in good brown bowls, At such high tide, her savoury goose. And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see White shirts supplied the masquerade, Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale; 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year. Still linger, in our northern clime, Some remnants of the good old time; And still, within our valleys here, We hold the kindred title dear, Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim To southern ear sounds empty name; |