CHRISTMAS EVE.

COME, guard this night the Christmas pie,
That the thief, though ne'er so sly,

With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh

To catch it,

From him, who all alone sits there,

Having his eyes still in his ear,

And a deal of nightly fear,

To watch it.

In Herrick's time, the Watchman and Bellman were one and the same. The latter appellation arose, we expect, from its being the practice of these ancient guardians of the night to carry with them a large bell, either for the purpose of summoning assistance when required, or else to enable them the more effectually to disturb the slumbers of those who, snug asleep, cared very little to know how the hours happened to be progressing. Now-a-days the Bellman is quite a Christmas chaThe office is generally usurped by the beadle or parish constable, who constitutes himself Bellman for one day in the year, viz., Boxing Day, in the hope that, by the presentation of some miserable doggerel rhymes to his "worthy masters," the inhabitants of the parish, of which he is so important an officer, he may reap a rich and unmerited reward.

racter.

THE BELL-MAN.

FROM noise of scare-fires* rest ye free,

From murders Benedicite!

From all mischances that may fright

Your pleasing slumbers in the night;

Mercy secure ye all, and keep

The goblin from ye, while ye sleep.

Past one o'clock, and almost two,

My masters all, "Good day to you."

• Alarms of fire.

AN ODE ON THE BIRTH OF OUR SAVIOUR.

IN numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy Birth, Oh Jesu!
Thou pretty Baby, born here,
With sup'rabundant scorn here:
Who for Thy princely port here,
Hadst for Thy place

Of Birth, a base

Out-stable for thy court here.

Instead of neat inclosures

Of interwoven osiers;

Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils, and roses ;

Thy cradle, Kingly Stranger,

As Gospel tells,

Was nothing else

But, here, a homely manger.

But we with silks, not cruells,*
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress Thee;
And as we dispossess Thee

Of clouds, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet Babe, for Thee,

Of ivory,

And plastered round with amber.

The Jews they did disdain Thee,

But we will entertain Thee

With glories to await here

Upon thy princely state here;

• Worsteds.

1

A CHRISTMAS CAROL,

CHORUS.

WHAT Sweeter music can we bring

Than a carol, for to sing

The birth of this our Heavenly King?
Awake the voice! awake the string!
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything,
Awake! the while the active finger
Runs division with the singer.

I.

Dark and dull night, fly hence away,
And give the honour to this day.

That sees December turned to May.

II.

If we may ask the reason, say

The why, and wherefore all things here
Seem like the spring time of the year?

III.

Why does the chilling winter's morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell, like to a mead new shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?

IV.

Come and see

The cause, why things thus fragrant be: "T is He is born, whose quickening birth Gives life and lustre, public mirth,

To Heaven and the under Earth.

CHORUS.

We see Him come, and know Him ours, Who with His sunshine and His showers, Turns all the patient ground to flowers.

I.

The darling of the world is come,

And fit it is we find a room

To welcome Him.

II.

The nobler part

Of all the house here, is the heart.

CHORUS.

Which we will give Him; and bequeath

This holly and this ivy wreath,

To do Him honour who's our King,
And Lord of all this revelling.

TRUE HOSPITALITY.

Although the following poem contains no immediate reference to the Christmas season, still, the pictures which it presents of the hospitality of the period, and the character of the entertainment met with at the table of a country gentleman, of the reign of Charles I., render it peculiarly applicable to that particular season of the year, when open-handed liberality, such as it commemorates, is in the ascendant.

TRUE HOSPITALITY:

A PANEGYRIC TO SIR LEWIS PEMBERTON.

TILL I shall come again, let this suffice,

I send my salt, my sacrifice

To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far
As to thy Genius and thy Larr; *

To the worn threshold, porch, hall, parlour, kitchen,
The fat-fed smoking temple, which in
The wholesome savour of thy mighty chines,
Invites to supper him who dines;

Where laden spits, warped with large ribs of beef,
Not represent, but give relief

To the lank stranger and the sour swain,
Where both may feed and come again.
For no black-bearded vigil from thy door

Beats with a buttoned-staff the poor;
But from thy warm love-hatching gates, each may
Take friendly morsels, and there stay
To sun his thin-clad members, if he likes,
For thou no porter keep'st who strikes.

No comer to thy roof his guest-rite wants;

Or, staying there, is scourged with taunts

Of some rough groom, who, yirked with corns, says, “Sir,
You've dipt too long i' th' vinegar;

And with our broth and bread and bits, Sir friend,

You've fared well, pray make an end;

An elfish spirit.