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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
The fittest time for
festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the
savage Dane
At Iol more deep the
mead did drain;
High on the beach his
galleys drew,
And feasted all his
pirate crew;
Then in his low and
pine-built hall
Where shields and axes
deck’d the wall
They gorged upon the
half-dress’d steer;
Caroused in seas of
sable beer;
While round, in brutal
jest, were thrown
The half-gnaw’d rib, and
marrow-bone:
Or listen’d all, in grim
delight,
While Scalds yell’d out
the joys of fight.
Then forth, in frenzy,
would they hie,
While wildly loose their
red locks fly,
And dancing round the
blazing pile,
They make such barbarous
mirth the while,
As best might to the
mind recall
The boisterous joys of
Odin’s hall.
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.
The damsel donn’d her
kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress’d
with holly green;
Forth to the wood did
merry-men go,
To gather in the
mistletoe.
Then open’d wide the
Baron’s hall
To vassal, tenant, serf
and all;
Power laid his rod of
rule aside
And Ceremony doff’d his
pride.
The heir, with roses in
his shoes,
That night might village
partner choose;
The Lord, underogating,
share
The vulgar game of ‘post
and pair’.
All hail’d, with
uncontroll’d delight,
And general voice, the
happy night,
That to the cottage, as
the crown,
Brought tidings of
salvation down.
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,
Bore then upon its
massive board
No mark to part the
squire and lord.
Then was brought in the
lusty brawn,
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 to tore,
And all the baiting of
the boar.
The wassel round, in
good brown bowls,
Garnish’d with ribbons,
blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin
reek'd; hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and
Christmas pie;
Nor fail’d old Scotland
to produce,
At such high tide, her
savoury goose.
Then came the merry
makers in,
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
Traces of ancient
mystery;
White shirts supplied
the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the
visors made;
But, O! what maskers,
richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half
so light!
England was merry
England, when
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.
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