(WITH THE SONNETS TO THE RIVER DUDDON, AND OTHER POEMS IN THIS COLLECTION, 1820).
The minstrels played their Christmas tune To-night beneath my cottage-eaves; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, 5 That overpowered their natural green.
Through hill and valley every breeze Had sunk to rest with folded wings; Keen was the air, but could not freeze, Nor check, the music of the strings; 10 So stout and hardy were the band That scraped the chords with strenuous hand:
And who but listened?--till was paid Respect to every Inmate's claim: The greeting given, the music played, 15 In honor of each household name, Duly pronounced with lusty call, And "Merry Christmas" wished to all!
O Brother! I revere the choice That took thee from thy native hills; 20 And it is given thee to rejoice: Though public care full often tills (Heaven only witness of the toil) A barren and ungrateful soil.
Yet, would that Thou, with me and mine, 25 Hadst heard this never-failing rite; And seen on other faces shine A true revival of the light Which Nature and these rustic Powers, In simple childhood, spread through ours! 30
For pleasure hath not ceased to wait On these expected annual rounds; Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate Call forth the unelaborate sounds, Or they are offered at the door 35 That guards the lowliest of the poor.
How touching, when, at midnight, sweep Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark To hear--and sink again-to sleep Or, at an earlier call, to mark, 40 By blazing fire, the still suspense Of self-complacent innocence;
The mutual nod,--the grave disguise Of hearts with gladness brimming o'er; And some unbidden tears that rise 45 For names once heard, and heard no more; Tears brightened by the serenade For infant in the cradle laid.
Ah! not for emerald fields alone, With ambient streams more pure and bright 50 Than fabled Cytherea's zone Glittering before the Thunderer's sight, Is to my heart of hearts endeared The ground where we were born and reared!
Hail, ancient Manners! sure defence, 55 Where they survive, of wholesome laws; Remnants of love whose modest sense Thus into narrow room withdraws; Hail, Usages of pristine mould, And ye that guard them, Mountains old! 60