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diff --git a/old/67022-0.txt b/old/67022-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c12f06f..0000000 --- a/old/67022-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2384 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lyrics & Legends at Christmas-Tide, by -Clinton Scollard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Lyrics & Legends at Christmas-Tide - -Author: Clinton Scollard - -Release Date: December 28, 2021 [eBook #67022] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - produced from images made available by the HathiTrust - Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS & LEGENDS AT -CHRISTMAS-TIDE *** - - - - - - _Lyrics & Legends of Christmas-Tide_ - - - - - _SECOND EDITION ENLARGED_ - - - - - _Lyrics & Legends - of Christmas-Tide_ - - _CLINTON SCOLLARD_ - - [Illustration: colophon] - - CLINTON, NEW YORK: - GEORGE WILLIAM BROWNING - M DCCCC VI - - - _Copyrighted 1904 by Clinton Scollard_ - - - First Edition, October, 1904 - Second Edition, enlarged, December, 1905 - - - - -CONTENTS - - -A Bell 7 - -Christmas Elves 8 - -The Christmas Angel 9 - -Nazareth Town 11 - -A Christmas Masque 13 - -A Song for Christmas Morning 15 - -The Christmas Minstrels 16 - -Twelfth Night Song 17 - -Yule at Thengelfor 18 - -A Yule-Tide Carol 21 - -Ballad of the Eve of Yule 22 - -The Hanging of the Holly 25 - -The Maid of Bethlehem 26 - -The Christmas Almsman 28 - -The Bells of Christmas 30 - -Christmas Ingle Song 31 - -Neil MacDonald 32 - -The Star of Bethlehem 34 - -Pierol’s Christmas 35 - -Song for the Eve of Yule 37 - -The Three Kings 38 - -The Wise Men 40 - -A Yule Song 42 - -The Christmas Hunter 43 - -A Christmas Song 45 - -A Lover to His Rhyme 46 - -The Christmas Pilgrimage 47 - -The Yule-Log 50 - -Ballad of the Christmas Tryst 51 - -A Knight’s Christmas 55 - -The White Ladye 56 - -The Wizard People 57 - -Holly Song 59 - -Gennesar 60 - -Firelight 61 - -Mother of Pearl 62 - -The Bells of Ardo 63 - -In the Age of the Year 65 - -A Lover’s Christmas 66 - -Ballad of Kirkland Hills 67 - -The Closed Room 69 - -Under the Holly Bough 70 - -Cosette’s Christmas 72 - -Pilgrims 76 - - - - -_Lyrics & Legends of Christmas-Tide_ - - - - -A Bell - - - Had I the power - To cast a bell that should from some grand tower, - At the first Christmas hour, - Out-ring, - And fling - A jubilant message wide, - The forgèd metals should be thus allied;-- - No iron Pride, - But soft Humility and rich-veined Hope - Cleft from a sunny slope, - And there should be - White Charity, - And silvery Love, that knows nor Doubt nor Fear, - To make the peal more clear; - And then, to firmly fix the fine alloy, - There should be Joy! - - - - -Christmas Elves - - - If you walk on Christmas eve, - And the moon doth shine aright, - You will see them weave,-- - Nimble gnome, and fay and sprite,-- - Devious dances in the lustrous lunar light. - - Round and round the holly bole - Will they dart and glide and spring; - And a tripping troll - Will they in a chorus sing; - Threading now in broken, now in linkèd ring. - - _Berry bright, berry bright, - Be the love about your hearth! - Leafy green, leafy green, - Be perennial your mirth! - Sturdy as a holly bole be your footing of the earth!_ - - These white spirits of old Yule, - Happy you who hear their tune! - Joy with you shall rule, - Life for you shall be a boon - Round the year through all the watches of the moon! - - - - -The Christmas Angel - - - In middle heaven a form behold; - Fair-aureoled - Her shapely brow with noon-bright gold; - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - Upon a little cloud she stands, - Within her hands - A tympanum with scarlet bands; - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - Thereon she playeth without fault, - While up the vault - Her voice makes silvery assault-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - Till, blended with her soaring notes, - Adown there floats - An echo from a myriad throats-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - An angel she of God’s own choir, - Whose one desire - Is higher yet to chant, and higher-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - And every year, upon the morn - When Christ was born - Within the manger-bed forlorn-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - ’Tis hers to bid song’s raptures run - From sun to sun, - And list to earth’s low antiphon-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - Would that our praise might swell and rise - Along the skies, - And scale the gates of Paradise-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - Bearing, with more complete accord, - Unto the Lord,-- - Forevermore our watch and ward,-- - _Soli Deo Gloria!_ - - - - -Nazareth Town - - - Nazareth town in Galilee! - Set where the paths lead up from the sea - That like the chords of a mighty lyre - Dirges over the rocks of Tyre, - Mourns where the piers of Sidon shone, - And the battlements cinctured Ascalon. - They have waned as the sunset wanes; - Little more than a name remains; - But more than a name we hold it,--we,-- - Nazareth town in Galilee! - - Nazareth town in Galilee! - Ah, what a golden harmony - The dawn seems, flooding its bright white walls! - And, when the violet twilight falls, - What a vast processional of stars - Pageants over its stilled bazaars! - And when the full moon touches the height - Of Tabor, a torch of brilliant light, - Never was sight more fair to see;-- - Nazareth town in Galilee! - - Nazareth town in Galilee! - Strumming a desert melody, - The Bedouin minstrel trolls in the street; - At the Well of the Virgin the maidens meet; - The cactus-hedges crimson to flower, - And the olives silver hour by hour - As through their branches the south wind steals; - A clear bell peals, and a vulture wheels - Over the crest where the wild crags be;-- - Nazareth town in Galilee! - - Nazareth town in Galilee! - At the sound of the words how memory - Kindles as earth does under the spring, - Till the dead days rise for our visioning; - And out of them one compassionate face - Beams with a more than mortal grace; - Out of them one inspiring voice - Cries in the ears of the world “rejoice!” - And ever a beacon of hope shall be - Nazareth town in Galilee! - - - - -A Christmas Masque - - -FIRST KING - - I am the monarch Melchior, - Mighty alike in peace and war. - - -SECOND KING - - I am the sovereign Balthasar; - A myriad fold my liegemen are. - - -THIRD KING - - The royal ruler Jasper, I, - Lord of a spacious empery. - - -FIRST KING - - Yet do I seek a little child,-- - - -SECOND KING - - A tiny nursling undefiled; - - -THIRD KING - - And I am one likewise beguiled. - - -FIRST KING - - To Him whose coming stars foretold,-- - A babe divine in mortal mould,-- - I bear this goodly gift of gold. - - -SECOND KING - - To Him whose life shall ease the sting - Of mankind’s weary travailing, - This fragrant frankincense I bring. - - -THIRD KING - - To Him whose loving words shall stir - To aspirations holier, - My offering is this precious myrrh. - - -ALL - - Piercing the mists of time, we see - The cruel cross, the agony, - And, whelmed with pity, bend the knee. - - Piercing the mists of time, we gaze - Adown the future’s opening ways, - And hear the swelling prayer and praise. - - Piercing the mists of time, we hail - The day when woe and sin shall fail, - And over all His love prevail. - - - - -A Song for Christmas Morning - - - O wear for garment mirth - Upon the soul, - As all the fields of earth - Wear one white stole! - A dream of things long gone - Let sorrow be: - Turn thou thine eyes on dawn, - Thy heart on glee! - - What wonder everywhere - Above, abroad! - The amplitudes of air - Abrim with God. - His presence shining through - The risen sun, - And in the bending blue - His benison. - - Into the gulfs of gloom - Go death and night; - Behold around thee bloom - Glad life and light! - The veil of darkness drawn, - Thy vision free, - Turn thou thy soul on dawn, - Exultingly! - - - - -The Christmas Minstrels - - - Now that the joy-day of the year is nearing, - In that fair sun-land set ’twixt sea and sea, - From hill and mountain dale behold appearing - With jocund strains a minstrel company. - - The reeds that shepherds played in eras olden, - These are the tuneful pipes whereon they blow; - The sky that over-arches is the golden, - The bright Calabrian sky of long ago. - - And since the decades of the saints and sages, - When here to Christ was first raised prayerful praise, - These minstrel men through all the echoing ages - Have heralded the hallowed Christmas days. - - From lonely shrines on steep and stony byways - Their clear wild music up the pathway soars; - It gushes like a fount on traveled highways, - And through the populous piazza pours. - - They cling to their old ways, these simple-hearted - And humble dwellers on the uplands high; - Their notes, an echo of the days departed, - Span gulfs of time, and bring the dead years nigh. - - Long may the cool Calabrian laurel alleys - Hearken the strains, in rarer ether born, - Of minstrels wending down the mountain valleys - To greet the coming of the Christmas morn! - - - - -Twelfth Night Song - - - Heaped be the fagots high, - And the half-burnèd bough - From last year’s revelry - Be litten now! - Brimmed be the posset bowl - For every lusty soul; - And while the maskers rule, - Cry ‘Noel!’ cry ‘Noel!’ down all the halls of Yule! - - O eager viols, thrill! - Pipe, hautboys, clear and sweet! - Work your impetuous will, - Ye restless feet! - For every lip--a glass! - For every lad--a lass! - And, ere the ardors cool, - Cry ‘Noel!’ cry ‘Noel!’ down all the halls of Yule! - - - - -Yule at Thengelfor - - - It was Yule at Thengelfor,-- - The sharp white tide of Yule; - And the mailèd Thanes of War, - Bred in the fiery school - Of the devotees of Thor, - Flung into the council-hall - With sneer and clamorous call - At the calm-browed Thanes of Peace - Who worshiped without cease,-- - Bending in prayer the knee - To the One of Galilee - Who died, as they said, for all. - - Each man stood in his place - That sharp white noon of Yule, - And the War-Thanes hooted “fool,” - And “coward” and “craven knave;” - And they flashed, each one, a glaive - In every Peace-Thane’s face. - But the Peace-Thanes were not cowed, - Smiling their quiet smile - At the flaunts and threats and jeers - Roaring about their ears; - And they held them poised and proud, - Till, after a breathing while, - The tumult died like the sea - Subsiding sullenly - Around the breast of an isle - Set at the last fiord’s verge, - Fronting the western surge. - - Then into the council-hall - Where Peace confronted War,-- - Where Christ confronted Thor,-- - Dauntless, willowy, tall, - Came a maid of Thengelfor,-- - The Princess. Ah, how fair - Was the sunrise sheen of her hair, - More wondrous to behold - Than her coronet of gold! - And she paused between them there, - As white as the Yule was white, - Till a hush fell on the air - Like the hush of the middle night. - And she said, “What stand ye for?” - To the mailèd Thanes of War; - And they shouted shrill, “For Thor, - And the kingdom’s olden might!” - Then she turned her, level-eyed, - To the Peace-Thanes. “Ye?” she cried; - As in one voice they replied, - “For Christ, and the rule of right!” - - “Thor and the war and might!” - Thus she mused for a space; - “Christ and peace and the right!” - And a glory mantled her face. - “Better the right than might, - Ye valiant Thanes of War! - Blood now the Yule is white? - Nay, ’twere a grievous sight!-- - Better the Christ than Thor!” - - And ever and evermore - By the Baltic’s rugged shore, - In the halls of Thengelfor, - Right not might is the rule, - The Christ and not sanguine Thor - At the sharp white tide of Yule! - - - - -A Yule-Tide Carol - - - O lightly lift thy finger, - Thou loving lutanist, - And let around us linger - Thy music’s mellow mist! - Aye, let the strain beat faster - In captivating time, - And mirth shall be our master - Until the midnight chime! - - Noel!--hang high the holly - While leaps the Yule-log’s light; - We’ll drive gray Melancholy - Abroad into the night! - - With silvery touch and tingle, - Like brooks ’twixt sunny swards, - Each soaring voice shall mingle - And marry with the chords; - So shall the liquid laughter - Of mirth and music rule, - Till rings the roof-tree’s rafter - With revelries of Yule. - - Noel!--hang high the holly, - And twine the ivy-tod; - My merries, we’ll be jolly, - And spurn care like a clod! - - - - -Ballad of the Eve of Yule - - - It was hard on the tide of Yule, - And the wind bit shrewd and sharp, - Churning the river pool, - And turning the deep-wood boughs, - That were wont to droop and drowse, - To the moaning strings of a harp. - - A snow-threat gloomed the sky, - And with iterant, raucous caw - A bevy of rooks went by, - Each a seeming thing - Of evil, ominous wing - Flapping adown the flaw. - - Then night fell over the fen, - And he mused, still stumbling on, - “Out of the world of men - Into the shades I go!” - And he grimly laughed, when lo, - A light on his pathway shone! - - “Mine enemy’s tower!” he said, - As the beacon beckoned him. “Well, - Succor were likely as bread - To be had from a shard or stone, - Or meat from a wolf-gnawed bone, - Or hope in the heart of hell!” - - Yet he steered him sheer on the flare, - With a “Here or there, ’tis one! - A corpse in the morning air, - Frozen as rigid as steel, - Or a form on gibbet or wheel,-- - What matters it how ’tis done!” - - He clanged a summons clear, - Keeping his grip on hate; - And he wavered not to hear - A word from a tongue abhorred,-- - Then back swung the outer ward, - And his enemy stood in the gate. - - Eyes upon burning eyes - Hung, as when war-fires rule - Under the angry skies; - Then, ere the wrath-flame died, - “Welcome!” his enemy cried, - “For this is the eve of Yule.” - - Into the banquet-hall - He was bid as a chosen guest; - And there before them all - Did his enemy give him meat, - And bread of the finest wheat, - And golden wine of the best. - - Then was he brought to a room - Where rugs were soft on the floor, - And a fire made fair the gloom; - And, warned with a stern behest - Of the sacred rights of a guest, - A guard was set at the door. - - Through the black night-watches long - Did he wait on sleep, but when - Came the peal of the matin song - No slumber had kissed his brow; - So he girded himself, for now - The sunlight lay on the fen. - - Then once more did his foe - Proffer him drink and food; - Forth to the court below - Did his enemy lead the way, - Where, as one for a fray, - Chafing, a charger stood. - - “Hate!--it is burned into shame; - Scorn!--of myself is the scorn; - Blame!--I confess to the blame; - Vengeance is thine!” he said, - And with averted head - He rode out into the morn. - - - - -The Hanging of the Holly - - - The holly is for happiness; - Hang it, hang it high, - When the holy morn we bless - Shows its rose along the sky! - - The holly is for heartsome cheer; - Hang it, hang it high, - While the glory of the year - Lights the heights of all the sky! - - The holly is for home-side mirth; - Hang it, hang it high, - Till the dearest day of earth - Fades in shades along the sky! - - - - -The Maid of Bethlehem - - - It was a maid of Bethlehem;-- - As fair as spring was she - When first lifts up its fragile cup - The rathe anemone. - - It was a man of Bethlehem;-- - As dark of heart was he - As is night’s Stygian shadow cast - Upon the lone Dead Sea. - - He fawned where’er she set her foot, - He followed her like fate; - And when she sealed his lips with scorn, - He held a tryst with hate. - - And then, as venom through the veins, - Through Bethlehem there ran - A whispered malice in the air - That spread from man to man. - - “And shall this living lie endure?” - In rising rage, they said; - “The purging fire shall work a cure - Upon her sinful head!” - - It was the maid of Bethlehem, - In all her stainless grace, - They seized before the House of God - Within the market-place. - - It was the man of Bethlehem - Who led the throng elate - That bore her out with mocking shout - Beyond the city gate. - - Around her heaped they fagots high, - And touched the pile with flame; - “Behold!” they cried, “the wanton witch! - She expiates her shame!” - - “O sinless One of Calvary,” - Then did they hear her say, - “Prove Thou my blameless innocence - On this, Thy natal day!” - - Lo, as she spake, each fiery tongue - Leaped on her foe of foes, - The while from charred and smoking boughs - Burst rose on crimson rose! - - It was the man of Bethlehem - Who died in agony; - It was the maid of Bethlehem - Who went unharmed and free. - - - - -The Christmas Almsman - - - It was a Christmas almsman - Came to a palace door; - The flambeaux flared, the music blared, - And gleamed the waxen floor. - - “Out on thee, for a vagrant!” - A pompous porter cried; - Quick, get thee gone ere goads be drawn - To scourge thy tattered hide!” - - The mirth roared to the rafter, - With plenty groaned the board, - Yet naught they gave that almsman gaunt - Save flaunting fleer and ribald taunt, - Despite his bare and bitter want, - From all their Yule-tide hoard! - - It was a Christmas almsman - Unto a hovel came; - The walls so grim were drear and dim - With one pale candle flame. - - Yet spake the kindly hoveler - Who saw the beggar’s face: - “You’re welcome here, though lean our cheer; - Enter, and bide a space!” - - He shambled in; he crouched him down; - He ate their meagre fare; - And lo, they found, when he had sped, - A scrip of gold and jewels red! - _The hoveler had housed and fed - An angel unaware!_ - - - - -The Bells of Christmas - - - “Pilgrim, you of the loosened lachet, - What do you hear as you roam and roam?” - “Master, I list to the bells of Christmas, - The bells of Christmas, calling me home! - - “They call and call, and I fain would hasten - Back to the warmth of the old roof-tree, - To the plentiful board and the merry faces, - And the twilight prayer at the mother’s knee!” - - “Pilgrim, you of the loosened lachet, - Why, then, still do you roam and roam?” - “Master, ’twas but a dream they conjured, - The bells of Christmas, calling me home. - - “’Twas but a vision out of the distance, - Happy and holy and sweet, forsooth! - ’Twas but a vision out of the distance, - Out of the long lost vale of Youth!” - - “Pilgrim, you of the loosened lachet, - All of us have our dreams like thee, - And back are borne by the bells of Christmas - To the twilight prayer at the mother’s knee!” - - - - -Christmas Ingle Song - - - Now once more the year has run - (Sun succeeding sceptred sun) - To the time of hallowed birth, - To the holiest tide of earth; - Out with sadness! out with sin! - Let us hail the Christ-Child in! - - While we lift our thanks for thrift, - Praise the giver and the gift, - With the holly, berried bright, - Druid ivy sprays unite!-- - Long they both have sacred been; - Let us hail the Christ-Child in! - - And the back-log,--let it be - From some ancient forest tree - Great of girth, that flames may roar - Up the chimney high and hoar, - Thus to swell our merry din; - Let us hail the Christ-Child in! - - Far into the night with song - Let us the old rites prolong! - Cry, “Noel! noel! noel!” - Until peals the midnight bell! - If we peace and love would win, - Let us hail the Christ-Child in! - - - - -Neil MacDonald - - - “Whither away, O Neil MacDonald? - Whither away so fleet hie ye?” - “I have a tryst to keep, my mother, - Under the boughs of the holly tree!” - - “Go ye not, O Neil MacDonald! - Go ye not, prithee! prithee!” - “I must keep the tryst, my mother, - Under the boughs of the holly tree!” - - Into the night leaps Neil MacDonald; - Every man has a weird to dree; - He will dree his weird this Yule-tide - Under the boughs of the holly tree. - - In the north the pale auroras - Flash and waver spectrally; - But the purple shadows slumber - Under the boughs of the holly tree. - - Over the burn bounds Neil MacDonald; - Through the bracken plunges he; - He has won to the purple shadows - Under the boughs of the holly tree. - - “O my love!” cries Neil MacDonald; - “O my love! my love!” cries she; - And their lips are met together - Under the boughs of the holly tree. - - Bitter the frost upon the moor-side, - Bitter the frost, but what recks he, - With his arms about Fiorna - Under the boughs of the holly tree! - - “What is that I hear, beloved? - What is that dark shape I see?” - “You but dream, my Neil MacDonald, - Under the boughs of the holly tree.” - - “He dreams not, your Neil MacDonald, - Sister, false as the falsest be!” - Hark!--the clan-call of MacGregor - Under the boughs of the holly tree! - - Hark!--the clan-call of MacGregor!-- - Every man has a weird to dree! - He has dreed his, Neil MacDonald, - Under the boughs of the holly tree. - - - - -The Star of Bethlehem - - - Out of the past’s black night - There shines one star - Whose light - Is more than countless constellations are. - - High in the east it gleams;-- - This radiant star - Whose beams - Are more to man than all the planets are. - - Still be thy light displayed, - O Bethlehem star, - Nor fade - Until the circling systems no more are! - - - - -Pierol’s Christmas - - - Into the hall on the night of Yule - Capered the jester, blithe Pierol, - Crying merrily, “Gifts for a fool!” - Sooth, right well did he play the role, - Though the wolf of bitterness gnawed his soul! - - Proud his birth as the proudest there,-- - Count or baron or haughty knight, - But poverty was his sorry share,-- - A lonely tower on a barren height - (And a wit as bright as his purse was light). - - So under the motley he hid his name; - Under the motley he hid his heart; - But he could not hide nor he could not tame - His leaping spirit that would out-start, - Nor his face,--Endymion’s counterpart. - - “Gifts for a fool!” Troth, they loved him well,-- - Loved his beauty and blithesomeness, - Loved his quips and lyric spell - Of the songs he sang with so gay a stress, - And his head thrown back like a hawk in jess! - - So they tossed him,--this one a golden chain, - That one a bracelet, another a ring; - Till out of all of that feasting train - There was only a maid who had failed to fling - Some bauble to him,--some costly thing. - - And she,--how fair like the thorn in May - She seemed as she sat in her stainless guise!-- - As he paused in his pirouetting gay, - Caught to heart the look in his fearless eyes - That were fixed upon her in yearning wise; - - And raising a hand,--ne’er was shapelier - By prince or paladin won, I wis, - In the shock of the lists, or the silken stir - Of the courts of Love who is queen of bliss!-- - She cast him the honeyed boon of a kiss. - - “Gifts--for a--fool!” far, fainter the cry - Drooped in the distance to quaver and shift, - A moment to linger, and then to die. - Of all that meed of a jester’s thrift - Which to Pierol was the dearest gift? - - - - -Song for the Eve of Yule - - - Here’s a fig for Melancholy, - Now the year is at the Yule! - Welcome Fun and welcome Folly! - Welcome anything that’s jolly! - What say you, sweet Mistress Molly, - Shall not Love and Laughter rule? - - Come and close about the ingle - While the caverned chimney roars! - Song and merriment shall mingle - Till the very rafters tingle; - Then shall sound the jangle-jingle - Of the sleigh-bells at the doors! - - Out upon all frowning faces! - Out upon the ghost of Gloom! - In with games and glees and graces! - Loose (for once) smug Custom’s traces; - Put old Momus through his paces! - Give the merry maskers room! - - Aye, a fig for Melancholy! - Garland Love, let Laughter rule! - Hail to Fun and hail to Folly! - Hail the jovial and the jolly! - Shall we not, sweet Mistress Molly, - Now the year is at the Yule! - - - - -The Three Kings - - - Came those monarchs, grave and hoar, - With their gifts, a goodly store, - Gold and frankincense and myrrh, - On that holy night of yore,-- - - Ator, Sator, Sarasin, - In their hallowed purpose kin, - Following the guiding star, - Each a sacred goal to win. - - Did they bear their offerings, - Such a wealth of precious things, - Unto one of princely place, - Sprung, like them, from earthly kings? - - Nay, but to an infant born - In a lowly spot forlorn - Yet around whose glorious face - Shone a halo like the morn! - - For a spirit unto each - Spake in no uncertain speech, - Saying, “In a manger lies - One who God to man shall teach; - One who shall the night o’erthrow, - Bearing heaven with Him below,-- - Love that triumphs over hate, - Peace and joy that conquer woe.” - - So those monarchs, men of fame, - Bowed before Him, blessed His name, - Laid their offerings at His feet, - Passed as swiftly as they came. - - Stretch the years, a checkered chart, - Since they played their deathless part, - Yet to-day may we, like them, - Giving, hold the Christ at heart. - - - - -The Wise Men - - - The Wise Men wander across the wold, - (O the Star in the sky!) - Bearing their goodly gifts of gold. - (How the low wind whispereth by! - Whispereth - Of birth, not death, - With joy in its lifted cry!) - - The Wise Men come unto Bethlehem; - (O the Star in the sky!) - A star is the beacon that guideth them. - (How the soft wind hasteneth by! - Hasteneth - The while it saith, - “O the Light of the World is nigh!”) - - The Wise Men kneel at the infant’s feet, - (O the Star in the sky!) - And the loving mother smileth sweet. - (While the wind it hurrieth by,-- - Hurrieth - As it gladly saith, - “O the Hope of the World is high!”) - - The Wise Men rise, and they go their ways; - (O the Star in the sky!) - And all this happened in the ancient days. - (But the wind still gladdeneth by,-- - Gladdeneth - At the death of Death, - That Life hath the victory!) - - - - -A Yule Song - - - Who cries ’tis folly to wreathe the bright holly? - Who is it scoffs at the mistletoe bough? - Marry, then, out on him! marry, then, flout on him! - If there’s a time to be jolly, ’tis now! - - Berry-tide, cherry-tide, each is a merry tide, - And there’s charm in the nutting, I vow! - But none surpasses,--how say you, my lasses?-- - The time for up-hanging the mistletoe bough! - - Reason,--away with it! Men have grown gray with it, - Pondering why and considering how; - We have no part in it,--nay, and no heart in it!-- - Under the droop of the mistletoe bough! - - So, lads, your choices all! Lift, maids, your voices all! - Love levels prince with the man at the plough. - We’ll make our boast of it, we’ll make our toast of it,-- - Ne’er may it wither, the mistletoe bough! - - - - -The Christmas Hunter - - - With blare of horn and holloa, - Who is it forth doth fare? - It is the Christmas Hunter - Who rides adown the air. - - Upon his wild steed, Sleipnir, - He storms across the sky; - And like the moan of ocean - His vanguard surges by. - - They are the Judas-hearted,-- - They are the souls of them - That spurned God’s own anointed, - The Man of Bethlehem. - - For them nor peace nor joyance - At this high tide of Yule, - Since they are doomed to follow - The Hunter’s iron rule. - - Rage fills his veins with riot - When peals the Christmas mirth, - For memory bears him backward - When he had power on earth. - - So mad he whirls his minions - Behind him fast and far, - Without or pause or pity, - From star to utmost star. - - The once almighty Odin - Whom Christ hurled from his height, - He is the Christmas Hunter - Who roams the voids of night. - - - - -A Christmas Song - - - O’er the wastes the crows are calling-- - _Caw! Caw!_ - In the hedges of the haw, - Sparrows with their merry clatter - Cheep and chatter,-- - _Naught’s the matter! - Marry, marry! naught’s the matter!_ - Then it’s ho! heigh-ho! - All the waking world’s aglow! - And the mirthful bells of Christmas - Ring across the snow! - - Down the garden Colin’s calling-- - _Mollie! Mollie!_ - In the thickets of the holly - Choruses the hidden starling, - Saucy darling! - _You’re behind her! - Kiss her, kiss her, when you find her!_ - Then it’s ho! heigh-ho! - Who’s for worry, who’s for woe, - When the wooing bells of Christmas - Ring across the snow? - - - - -A Lover to His Rhyme - - - Go seek her out, my rhyme, - Her of the cruel heart, - And with your softest chime, - And with your blandest art, - Plead that this merry time - May see her frowns depart. - - And whisper, ah, so low!-- - (And mark ye if she sigh!) - That sprays of mistletoe - Are plucked to hang on high, - That holly berries glow, - That Christmas-tide is nigh. - - And if ye win one smile, - O speed ye hither swift! - From eyes cast down the while - The aching gloom will lift, - And in the orchard aisle - Will flower the frozen drift. - - More I that ray will prize - Than pearls of orient birth; - ’Twill set the wintry skies - A-dazzle over earth; - And love, in lilied guise, - Will light the Christmas hearth. - - - - -The Christmas Pilgrimage - -(Bethlehem) - - - What means this waiting throng? - Whence have these weary, way-worn wanderers come? - Why rises, in strange tongues, the expectant hum, - Like that tense under-song - The joyful Jordan voices in the spring - Till Hermon hearkens, leaning grandly down, - And wearing still his shimmering snowy crown? - Soon will these murmuring lips with ardor sing, - And soon these lifted faces, wan or brown, - Glow into worship that is rapturing. - Back will be thrown the consecrated door, - And then these feet, from many a distant shore, - Be privileged to press the hallowed floor. - - Why have they come,--the hardy mountaineer - From Lebanon’s cedars and their checkered shade? - The merchant and the snowy-mantled maid - Who hold great Nilus dear? - Why have they come,--the men with restless eyes - And pallid cheeks that tell of norland skies? - Why have they come,--the Latin and the Greek? - Do pilgrims thus this sanctuary seek - Because ’twas here - For year on fiery year - The red earth drank - The deluged blood of Paynim and of Frank? - Or do they surge to see - The antique symmetry - Of springing arch and carven pillar fine, - In this old holy house of Constantine? - - Ah, no! ah, no! To them the memory - Of war is not, and monarchs play no part - In any thought that stirs an eager heart. - They have no eyes to see - A single graceful groining. What care they - If here, upon a bygone Christmas-day, - The King-crusader, Baldwin, took his crown! - Or what to them the saint of blest renown - In yonder sepulchre, now crumbling clay! - Their patient feet one precious spot would press, - Their yearning eyes would lovingly caress - The time-dulled silver star - Sunk deep within the pavement, footfall-worn: - “_Here, of the Virgin Mary, Christ was born_,” - They read, these pilgrims who have plodded far. - They read and pass and ponder. Few can see - The tiny chapel and the dim-lit shrine, - And feel no thrill, despite the mummery, - Of something more divine - Within the breast than ever pulsed before. - Then let us pilgrims be - Upon this sacred day we all adore! - Although our mortal feet touch not the floor, - Although our mortal eyes may not behold, - Our spirits may take flight, - And with immortal sight - Stand where the prayerful wise-men stood of old - In ecstasy of adoration, when - They saw the Savior of the sons of men. - - - - -The Yule-Log - - - Hale the Yule-log in! - Heap the fagots high! - With a merry din - Rouse old Revelry! - Cry “Noel! Noel!” - Till the rafters ring, - And the gleeful bell - Peals its answering! - - Brim the Christmas cup - From the wassail-bowl, - Now the flame leaps up - With its ruddy soul! - In the glowing blaze - How the dancers spin! - Deftest in the maze, - Nimble Harlequin! - - Grim Snapdragon comes - With his mimic ire, - And his feast of plums - Smothered in the fire. - O the days of mirth, - And the nights akin! - Heap the Christmas hearth; - Hale the Yule-log in! - - - - -Ballad of the Christmas Tryst - - - “It’s hey! my merry huntsman, - With hound and hawk and horn, - Where hie ye to the hunting - This crispy Christmas morn?” - - “It’s ho! mine ancient gossip, - To Wildmere wood I go, - To seek beneath the boughs of Yule - The roebuck and the roe.” - - “It’s ha! my merry huntsman, - A cunning tongue have ye; - With deer ye keep no Christmas tryst - Beneath the greenwood-tree.” - - “It’s hist! mine ancient gossip, - I prithee, speak me low, - Lest they that love me not should hear - To Wildmere wood I go.” - - “It’s list! my merry huntsman, - They wot thy coming well, - And wait thee where the pathway dips - To cross the birken dell.” - - “It’s good! mine ancient gossip, - How many may there be - Betwixt me and my Christmas tryst - Beneath the greenwood-tree?” - - “It’s hark! my merry huntsman, - There’s Bernard of the Bow, - Sir Egbert of the Crooked Arm, - And Giles of Clariveaux; - - “There’s Giles, my merry huntsman, - The wiliest of men, - Brother in blood, though black his heart, - To one whose name ye ken.” - - “Gramercy! ancient gossip, - And shall these stay my foot? - Then may the House of Hardigrave - Be withered to the root!” - - He gave his page his hound in leash, - His hawk and eke his horn, - And gaily did he onward ride - Beneath the Christmas morn. - - And now the birken dell was won, - And now the shallow ford, - And now he heard the scabbard ring - Its answer to the sword. - - And forth from out the coppice deep - Rode Bernard of the Bow, - Sir Egbert of the Crooked Arm, - And Giles of Clariveaux. - - Small parley was there then, God wot, - But bickering of steel, - And down clashed Bernard of the Bow - Beneath his charger’s heel. - - And Egbert of the Crooked Arm - Reeled sidewise as he knew - The sharp bite of a falchion’s point - His stricken harness through. - - Then clear rang out the huntsman’s shout, - Right merrily cried he, - “God’s with the son of Hardigrave - Who loves _La Belle Marie_!” - - Oh, deep cursed Giles of Clariveaux - To hear his sister’s name, - While ’neath his vizor burned his eyes - Like orbs of evil flame! - - “Have at thee, Hardigrave!” he hissed, - “This riding thou shalt rue!” - And round them like a fiery mist - The spiteful sparks outflew. - - ’Twas parry, cut and countercut, - And fiercer-faced the while - Grew treacherous Giles of Clariveaux - To mark the huntsman’s smile. - - And seeing he was sore beset, - That urgent grew his need, - He aimed a caitiff’s coward blow - To maim his foeman’s steed. - - But vain that cruel, craven thrust, - For whiles he strove to rein - The shoulder of his sword-arm - Was riven half in twain. - - * * * * * - - O starling in the thicket, see - Where, eyes with love aglow, - Adown the forest pathway goes - The rose of Clariveaux! - - And hearken, O ye holly boughs! - And, O ye larches, list! - It is the song of one who rides - To keep his Christmas tryst. - - - - -A Knight’s Christmas - - - I hear the shrilling hautboys sound, - The thrilling drums take up the din, - And through the doorway’s gaping bound - A lusty, mincing manikin - Bears, garlanded, the boar’s head in. - - The great bells clamor in the tower - Their jubilation. Down the hall - Mirth bursts into a brilliant flower - Of quip and toast and madrigal; - “Noel! Noel! Noel!” cry all. - - And yet joy seems a thing foredone - Forevermore in every place - Beneath the red rays of the sun;-- - What is Christ’s mass that wrought man grace - Without the favor of love’s face! - - - - -The White Ladye - - - “The flax upon your distaff - Is yellow as your hair, - But why, on Christmas even, - Thus spin you, maiden fair? - - “The joy-bells in the steeples - Are ringing clear and wide; - O stop the whirring spindle, - And put the flax aside!” - - “Nay, but I may not, master, - Although I weary be, - Lest through the open shutter - Should peer the White Ladye; - - “And find my treadle idle, - My flax in tangled fold, - And on the merry morrow - Forget her gift of gold. - - “For to the slothful virgin - She causeth sorrowing, - But to the thrifty maiden - A blessing she doth bring!” - - A soft touch at the shutter,-- - A face divine to see! - It is the fairy spinner, - It is the White Ladye! - - - - -The Wizard People - - - Adown the ways of winter, - Above the vasts of snow, - With woven flame their sandals shod, - Through airy wastes by paths untrod, - The wizard people go. - - By day their feats are hidden, - But night beholds their mirth, - When in the abysses of the air - Their sorceries they flaunt and flare - Above a wondering earth. - - In vain the hilltops hearken, - Their lips no sound reveal; - But ever on, from arc to arc, - Across the spangled depths of dark - Their pennons whirl and wheel. - - Why come they? Who can answer? - Whence go they? Who can tell? - Flaming and fading down the night, - A mystery, a dream-delight, - A splendor and a spell! - - Such are the wizard people, - The brethren of the pole; - And though man long has sought to gain - Their secret, suns shall wax and wane - Ere he shall read their soul! - - - - -Holly Song - - - Care is but a broken bubble, - Trill the carol, troll the catch! - Sooth we’ll cry, “A truce to trouble!” - Mirth and mistletoe shall match! - - _Happy folly! we’ll be jolly!_ - _Who’d be melancholy now?_ - _With a “Hey, the holly! ho, the holly!”_ - _Polly hangs the holly bough._ - - Laughter lurking in the eye, sir, - Pleasure foots it frisk and free; - He who frowns or looks awry, sir, - Faith, a witless wight is he! - - _Merry folly! what a volley_ - _Greets the hanging of the bough!_ - _With a “Hey, the holly! ho, the holly!”_ - _Who’d be melancholy now?_ - - - - -Gennesar - - - Bright ’neath the Syrian sun, dim ’neath the Syrian star, - Thus lieth Galilee’s sea, sapphirine lake Gennesar; - - Girdled by mountains that range purple and proud to their crests, - Bearing the burden of dreams,--glamour of eld,--on their breasts. - - Just one white glint of a sail dotting the brooding expanse; - Beaches that sparkle and gleam, ripples that darkle and dance; - - Grandeur and beauty and peace welded year-long into one, - Under the Syrian star, under the Syrian sun! - - And over all and through all memories sweet of His name - Kindling the past with their light, touching the future with flame! - - - - -Firelight - - - Whene’er at evening on the pictured wall - I watch the flickering firelight rise and fall, - From out the shifting shadow-vistas come - The forms of those who marched to martyrdom,-- - Unflinching souls no agony could tame, - A martyr wraith for every tongue of flame! - - - - -Mother-of-Pearl - - - Mother-of-pearl out of Bethlehem, - Irradiant with all rainbow lights,-- - Shimmering, shifting opal whites, - The June-time rose’s palest fire, - The sunset’s most translucent gold,-- - Delicate as a precious gem - Shaped for a lover’s heart’s desire, - Glowing as morn, yet virgin cold! - - Mother-of-pearl out of Bethlehem, - Thus I read you, bending above - Your sheen, more fair than the breast of a dove;-- - The white is the Mother without a stain; - And the blended hues, the fire and the gold, - They stand for Him who for diadem - Had a crown of thorns, and was basely slain,-- - The Son of God clad in mortal mould! - - - - -The Bells of Ardo - - - By wide gray orchards girdled, - And cloistered deep in vines, - Remote stood ancient Ardo - Amid the Apennines. - - Below her banded belfries - That loomed above the land - For weeks gaunt Plague and Famine - Had walked with linkèd hand. - - Until, when neared the Yule-tide, - On pale lips swooned the prayer, - And only sounds of wailing - Swept down the bitter air. - - No heart had any ringer - To sound the joyful bells; - The soaring campanile - Pealed naught but burial knells. - - So when the Christmas sunlight - Scattered the chill white haze - The sorely scourgèd people - Were smitten with amaze - - Hearing from San Stefano,-- - A spire and shrine forlorn,-- - A glorious jubilate - Salute the startled morn. - - Fast flocked the folk, and wonder - Swelled high that dawning hour, - For unseen hands were swinging - The bells within the tower. - - And ’twixt their rhythmic chiming, - Word upon precious word, - A vibrant voice of promise - In solemn wise was heard; - - “This day,” it cried, “my people, - The cruel curse shall cease, - And there shall fall upon you - My benison of peace!” - - When failed the silvery bell-notes - Till arch and aisle were still, - ’Twas found that all in Ardo - Were healed of every ill. - - And now, as Christmas morning - Breaks over street and square - The bells of San Stefano - Ring out upon the air; - - And still the gathered people - Lift praise with glad accord - Unto the One almighty - That was their fathers’ Lord. - - - - -In the Age of the Year - - - Is it the wizard wind - That has shriveled the quince’s rind? - Sooth, we know it was he - Who shook the leaves from the tree - And danced them out of breath - Till they wizened away in death! - Strange and subtile powers - Have rule of these ashen hours, - Binding the stricken sphere - In this, the age of the year. - - Through the crispèd grass and the husk - Rustle the feet of the Dusk; - And the only song we know - Is the back-log’s murmur low. - Then come, and sit with me - By the side of Memory - And Love, with the bluet skies - In her spring-reverting eyes, - And there shall be vernal cheer - In this, the age of the year! - - - - -A Lover’s Christmas - - - Fade the last embers in the year’s chill urn; - Ah, love, how red the holly berries burn! - - A shroud of ermine hides the meadow ways; - Ah, love, how green are still the ivy sprays! - - Black are the boughs against a sky of gray; - Ah, love, how golden is the Yule-log’s ray! - - Behind the wood the sad wind plainteth long; - Ah, love, the mirth within the mummer’s song! - - In garth and orchard naught but gloom and dearth; - Ah, love, the joy about the Christmas hearth! - - Winter’s white woe, its bitter sting and smart-- - Ah, love, the love aye vernal, in the heart! - - - - -Ballad of Kirkland Hills - - - The grand old hills of Kirkland - Stood up against the morn, - As o’er a rutty road there strode - A pilgrim lean and lorn. - - The wood-crowned hills of Kirkland, - They notched the wan blue sky, - As toward that plodding pilgrim came - A horseman urging by. - - “I prithee, weary pilgrim, - Now whither dost thou roam?” - “I seek a gabled farmstead set - Amid these hills of home; - - “I seek an ancient rooftree set - Amid these uplands white.” - “God give thee luck,” the horseman cried, - “Before this Christmas night!” - - The kindly hills of Kirkland, - They saw, when broad noon shone - Above the fair Oriska vale, - This pilgrim toiling on. - - The hemlocks preened their night-dark plumes - As up and up he clomb; - The same old rook-calls welcomed him - Back to the hills of home. - - High on the hills of Kirkland - Where hale the north-wind roared, - O gay were they that grouped about - The heapèd Christmas board! - - And yet the brooding mother, - With smiles she hid the tear - For one whose lips she had not kissed - This many a lonely year; - - For one whose wander-lust had led - His roving spirit far, - Until she dreamed he slept beneath - The clear Alaskan star. - - Hark, at the door a summons! - A step upon the sill! - O mother-eyes abrim with joy, - And mother-heart athrill! - - And O ye hills of Kirkland, - In wintry white and gray, - A gladder sight ye never saw - On any Christmas day! - - - - -The Closed Room - - - In the marvelous house of life - Each year is a closèd room; - It is filled with peace and strife, - It is packed with glow and gloom. - - There are hopes in the hues of dream, - There are cares in their grim array, - There are pleasures that glint and gleam, - And sorrows in drugget gray. - - For some, with his infinite grace, - Love waits when the portal jars; - For some, with his sphinx-like face, - Death stands when the door unbars. - - Some back from the threshold shrink, - As loath from the past to part; - But the most plunge over the brink - With never a fear at heart. - - Then silent closes the door - At the sound of the last old chime, - And the key--Forevermore-- - Is turned by the keeper--Time! - - - - -Under the Holly Bough - - - When the hale year laughed in the prime of May, - And each path was a lure to the truant eye, - When the south-wind sang: “Come away! Come away!” - (Ah, but the blue of a vernal sky!) - When the vireo’s voice was a lyric cry, - ’Twas the bloom o’ the apple beckoned us; now - When we meet, my sweet, for the trysting, why, - ’Tis under the green of the holly bough! - - When the meadows swooned in the dazzling day, - And the hilltops seemed in a dream to lie, - When shrill was the locust’s roundelay, - (Ah, but the glow of a summer sky!) - When the stream-song sank to a rippling sigh, - ’Twas the pleach o’ the elm-leaves beckoned us; now - When we meet, my sweet, for the trysting, why, - ’Tis under the green of the holly bough! - - When the woodland gleamed like a prismy ray, - And the distance drowsed in a golden dye, - When vineyard and orchard aisles were gay - (Ah, but the depths of an autumn sky!) - With stains like a web of Tyrian ply, - ’Twas the flame o’ the maple beckoned us; now - When we meet, my sweet, for the trysting, why, - ’Tis under the green of the holly bough! - - -ENVOY - - - Spring, summer and autumn have all sped by, - (Ah, but the chill of a winter sky!) - Yet love still calls to the tryst, and now - ’Tis under the green of the holly bough! - - - - -Cosette’s Christmas - - - Cosette they called her; Cosette, that was all; - Fragile she was and flower-like, slim and tall - For her eleven years, wherein her heart - Had known but little save the world’s sharp smart. - Never her ear had heard a mother’s croon; - Never for her, about the break of June, - Had been outstretched a father’s shielding hand - To guide her woodward through the smiling land. - The streets oppressed her with their cruel roar; - The birds she saw above her dart and soar, - Theirs was the life she longed for, not to be - Mewed within walls that were a gloom to see, - And stung with taunts from a virago tongue - That aged her spirit yearning to be young. - Foundling,--a fate that brooked of no appeal - Was hers by some inexorable seal. - - Backward and forward oft she went and came - From the grim spot, that was but home in name, - On casual errandry. It chanced one day, - As she passed swiftly on her timid way, - (’Twas near the season of the Christ-child’s birth, - The happy tide of peace and love on earth) - A heedless hand struck from her feeble grasp - The glass she strove so carefully to clasp, - And she beheld it, with a plaintive cry, - Shattered before her on the pavement lie. - The throng swept by, and caught her in its swirl; - There was no lip to soothe the sobbing girl, - No kindliness to aid her. A great fear - Clutched at her breast; she knew the stabbing jeer, - The pitiless blows that waited her when she - Told the ill outcome of her errandry. - Then through her brain there flashed a sudden word - That in the hive-like purlieus she had heard, - And filled her mind with sunshine. No affright - Touched her with chill at thought of death’s dim night, - For she recalled how once the preacher said - That in white lily-gardens walk the dead. - So in she stole at the accustomed door, - Sought out a room upon the lower floor - Wherein the porter, sullen-visaged, slept; - Toward a remembered drawer on tiptoe crept, - Plucked, undetected, thence a shining thing, - And gained again the street in triumphing. - A ringing shot, a little piteous moan, - And a child’s blood encrimsoning the stone! - When Cosette oped her heavy-lidded eyes, - Wonder assailed her, and a great surmise. - Was this the lily-land of her delight? - It shone so bare, and yet so very white! - Long stainless walls and little cots in rows, - And one whose smile invited to repose; - She drowsed, her mind still dwelling on that face, - And dreamed she’d found the angels’ sleeping-place. - And when, next day, they told her where she lay, - A tiny tear-drop found its mournful way - Adown the death-like pallor of her cheek; - She closed her eyes and sighed, but did not speak. - - Dawn followed dawn, and still the little one - Went not to that dim bourn beyond the sun, - But ever seemed about to pass thereto; - Nearer and nearer now the Yule-tide drew, - And to the hospital one morn there strayed - A kindly man who made the news his trade, - And learned the piteous story of the maid. - “Cosette,” he said, with a strange catch of tone, - His sight grown dim, remembering his own, - “Have you no wish?” and she, with him at ease, - Cried,--“Two red roses and an orange, please!” - - _Just two red roses and an orange!_ So - He wrote next day that all the town might know; - Then Christmas morning broke above the snow. - The morn of Christmas broke; bell spoke to bell - The loving message of “good-will” to tell; - The postmen bustled on their burdened round; - And happy greetings rang with cordial sound. - Then, at the hospital, a summons came, - Another and another, and the name - The answering nurse with every message met - Was still “Cosette,” and evermore “Cosette,” - For all had read the story of the child. - Roses upon her bed were strewn and piled, - And breathed their June about her everywhere, - Gleamed on the table, glistened on the chair, - From the soft loveliness of the pale tea-rose - To the deep splendor of the Jacqueminots. - And oranges! forsooth, it was as though - The palm-set lands where the long trade-winds blow, - Fair Florida and the Lucayan shores, - Had here unbosomed their most precious stores! - Both rich and poor had sought to ease the smart - Of her whose tale had touched the city’s heart. - And she--Cosette--through kindness’ golden dower, - Smiled upon life, and mended from that hour. - - - - -Pilgrims - - - Their path who shall unravel, - Their purpose who unroll? - From out the past they travel, - The future is their goal. - - Theirs are the forward faces, - The spring’s Arcadian airs; - The old eternal graces - Of youngling Time are theirs. - - Or gold the sky or ashen, - There broods within their breast - The sleepless pilgrim passion, - The sweet divine unrest. - - They neither flag nor falter, - They tarry not nor tire; - Their aim they will not alter - Although a king desire. - - They fear nor frost nor fever, - Nor fire nor famine they; - They follow Fate, the weaver, - For ever and a day. - - Now tell their eyes the story - Of more than mortal tears, - Now gleam with starry glory, - The passing pilgrim Years. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICS & LEGENDS AT -CHRISTMAS-TIDE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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