On his armèd leaf reposes The berries tinged like roses; While grim old Winter dozes. hen drink to the holly berry, Above all cold affections, Like pleasant recollections, While the falling shrine it doth entwine We read in ancient story, How the Druids in their glory Marched forth of old, with hooks of gold, To forests dim and hoary; The giant oak ascended, Then from its branches rended The mistletoe, long long ago, By maidens fair attended. Then drink, &c. Each thorpe and grange surrounding, Aroused the cook, that her fire might smoke Ere the early cock was sounding. THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY. For all the land was merry, And rang with "Hey down derry," THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY. ELIZA COOK. THE holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay- For it helps to drive stern winter away, With his garment so sombre and long ; When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly, That hangs over peasant and king; While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glitt'ring boughs, To the Christmas holly we 'll sing. The gale may whistle, the frost may come The woods may be bare, and warblers dumb, In the revel and light of princely halls The bright holly branch is found; And its shadow falls on the lowliest walls, While the brimming horn goes round. Then drink to the holly, &c. The ivy lives long, but its home must be I sing the holly, and who can breathe Aught of that that is not good? Then sing to the holly, &c. THE MISTLETOE. (From "Fraser's Magazine," 1835.) Of all the nights within the year, That's the night to lovers dear, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! When blushing lips, that smile at folly, Kiss, and banish melancholy. Oh, oh, the mistletoe! Ice was glittering on the farm, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! Woman's heart was beating warm, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! And woman's eyes, when frost is near, Roger Rood the fiddle played, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! THE MISTLETOE. Mary at his elbow stayed, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! And, oh! we saw by each fond look, Much he tuned and much he sung, Mary still about him hung, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! Till, taking courage, he advanced, And struck a jig; then how we danced! Oh, oh, the mistletoe! Mary tripped with panting breath, Till the magic bough beneath, Then she feigned undone her shoe, Then the kissing time begun, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! Men looked shy, and lasses fun, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! But honest men, whom girls believe, Throughout the year would sigh and grieve, Oh, oh, the mistletoe! 189 BARRY CORNWALL. WHEN winter nights grow long, And winds without blow cold, We sit in a ring round the warm wood fire, And listen to stories old! And we try to look grave (as maids should be), The poets have laurels, and why not we? How pleasant, when night falls down, And hides the wintry sun, To see them come in to the blazing fire, Whilst many bring in, with a laugh or rhyme, It tells (like a tongue) that the times are jolly! Sometimes-(in our grave house Observe, this happeneth not;) But at times the evergreen laurel boughs, And the holly are all forgot, And then-what then? why, the men laugh low, Oh, brave is the laurel! and brave is the holly, Ah, nobody knows, nor ever shall know, |