Chapter III: Part 3

Tell him we now can show him more
Then e'er he showed to mortal sight,
Than he himself e'er saw before,
Which to be seen needs not his light.
Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been,
Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

_Tityrus._

Gloomy night embraced the place
Where the noble Infant lay,
The Babe looked up and showed his face;
In spite of darkness it was day:
It was thy day, Sweet, and did rise
Not from the East, but from thine eyes.
CHORUS.--It was thy day, Sweet, etc.

_Thyrsis._

Winter chid aloud and sent
The angry North to wage his wars;
The North forgot his fierce intent,
And left perfumes instead of scars;
By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers,
Where he meant frost he scattered flowers.
CHORUS.--By those sweet eyes, etc.

_Both._

We saw thee in thy balmy nest,
Bright dawn of our eternal day!
We saw thine eyes break from their East
And chase the trembling shades away;
We saw thee, and we blest the sight,
We saw thee by thine own sweet light.

_Tityrus._

Poor world (said I), what wilt thou do
To entertain this starry stranger?
Is this the best thou canst bestow,
A cold and not too cleanly manger.
Contend, ye powers of heaven and earth,
To fit a bed for this huge birth.
CHORUS.--Contend, ye powers, etc.

_Thyrsis._

Proud world (said I), cease your contest,
And let the mighty Babe alone;
The Phoenix builds the Phoenix nest,
Love's architecture is all one.
The Babe whose birth embraves this morn
Made his own bed ere he was born.
CHORUS.--The Babe whose birth, etc.

_Tityrus._

I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow,
Come hovering o'er the place's head,
Offering their whitest sheets of snow
To furnish the fair Infant's bed:
Forbear (said I), be not too bold;
Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold.
CHORUS.--Forbear (said I), etc.

_Thyrsis._

I saw the obsequious seraphins
Their rosy fleece of fire bestow;
For well they now can spare their wings,
Since heaven itself lies here below:
Well done (said I), but are you sure
Your down so warm will pass for pure.
CHORUS.--Well done (said I), etc.

_Tityrus._

No, no, your king's not yet to seek
Where to repose his royal head;
See, see, how soon his new-bloom'd cheek
Twixt's mother's breasts is gone to bed:
Sweet choice (said I), no way but so,
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow.
CHORUS.--Sweet choice (said I), etc.

_Both._

We saw thee in thy balmy nest,
Bright dawn of our eternal day!
We saw thine eyes break from their East
And chase the trembling shades away;
We saw thee, and we blest the sight,
We saw thee by thine own sweet light.
CHORUS.--We saw thee, etc.

_Full Chorus._

Welcome, all wonder in one sight,
Eternity shut in a span,
Summer in winter, day in night,
Heaven in earth and God in man!
Great little One! whose all-embracing birth
Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth.

Welcome, though not to gold nor silk,
To more than Cæsar's birthright is,
Two Sister Seas of Virgin milk
With many a rarely-tempered kiss,
That breathes at once both Maid and Mother,
Warms in the one and cools in the other.

She sings thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in thy weeping eye;
She spreads the red leaves of thy lips
That in their buds yet blushing lie:
She 'gainst those mother-diamonds tries
The points of her young eagle's eyes.

Welcome, though not to those gay flies
Gilded i' the beams of earthly kings,
Slippery souls in smiling eyes,
But to poor shepherds' homespun things;
Whose wealth's their flock, whose wit to be
Well read in their simplicity.

Yet when young April's husband-showers
Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed,
We'll bring the first-born of her flowers
To kiss thy feet and crown thy head:
To thee, dread Lamb, whose love must keep
The shepherds more than they their sheep.

To thee, meek Majesty! soft King
Of simple graces and sweet loves,
Each of us his lamb will bring,
Each his pair of silver doves,
Till burnt at last in fire of thy fair eyes
Ourselves become our own best sacrifice.

_Richard Crashaw._

SUNG BY THE SHEPHERD.

The New Year is begun,
Good-morrow, my masters all!
The cheerful rising sun
Now shining in this hall,
Brings mirth and joy
To man and boy.
With all that here doth dwell;
Whom Jesus bless
With love's increase,
So all things shall prosper well.

A New-Year's gift I bring
Unto my master here,
Which is a welcome thing
Of mirth and merry cheer.
A New-Year's lamb
Come from thy dam
An hour before daybreak,
Your noted ewe
Doth this bestow,
Good master, for your sake.

And to my dame so kind
This New-Year's gift I bring;
I'll bear an honest mind
Unto her whilst I live.
Your white-woolled sheep
I'll safely keep
From harm of bush or brere,
That garments gay
For your array
May clothe you the next New Year.

And to your children all,
These New-Year's gifts I bring;
And though the price be small,
They're fit for queen or king:
Fair pippins red
Kept in my bed
A-mellowing since last year,
Whose beauty bright
So clear of sight
Their hearts will glad and cheer.

And to your maids and men
I bring both points and pins;
Come bid me welcome then,
The good New Year begins:
And for my love
Let me approve
The friendship of your Maid,
Whose nappy ale,
So good and stale,
Will make my wits afraid.

I dare not with it deal
But in a sober diet:
If I, poor shepherd, steal
A draught to be unquiet,
And lose my way
This New-Year's day
As I go to my fold,
You'll surely think
My love of drink
This following year will hold.

Here stands my bottle and hook,
Good kitchen-maid, draw near,
Thou art an honest cook,
And canst brew ale and beer;
Thy office show,
Before I go,
My bottle and bag come fill,
And for thy sake
I'll merry make
Upon the next green hill.

_New Christmas Carols._

FROM "THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD."

AT BETHLEHEM.

So many hills arising, green and gray,
On Earth's large round, and that one hill to say:
"I was his bearing-place!" On Earth's wide breast
So many maids! and she--of all most blest--
Heavily mounting Bethlehem, to be
His Mother!--Holy Maid of Galilee!
Hill, with the olives, and the little town!
If rivers from their crystal founts flow down,
If 'twas the dawn which did day's gold unbar,
Ye were beginnings of the best we are,
The most we see, the highest that we know,
The lifting heavenward of man's life below.
Therefore, though better lips ye shall not lack,
Suffer if one of modern mood steals back--
Weary and wayworn from the desert-road
Of barren thought; from Hope's Dead Sea, which glowed
With Love's fair mirage; from the poet's haunt,
The scholar's lamp, the statesman's scheme, the vaunt,
The failure, of all fond philosophies,--
Back unto Thee, back to thy olive-trees,
Thy people, and thy story, and thy Son,
Mary of Nazareth! So long agone
Bearing us Him who made our christendom,
And came to save the earth, from heav'n, His home.

So many hill-sides, crowned with rugged rocks!
So many simple shepherds keeping flocks
In many moonlit fields! but, only they--
So lone, so long ago, so far away--
On that one winter's night, at Bethlehem,
To have white angels singing lauds for them!
They only--hinds wrapped in the he-goat's skin--
To hear heaven's music, bidding peace begin!
Only for those, of countless watching eyes,
The "Glory of the Lord" glad to arise;
The skies to blaze with gold and silver light
Of seraphs by strong joy flashed into sight;
The wind, for them, with that strange song to swell,--
By too much happiness incredible--
That tender anthem of good times to be,
Then at their dawn--not daylight yet, ah me!
"Peace upon earth! Good-will!" sung to the strings
Of lutes celestial. Nay, if these things
Too blessëd to believe have seemed, or seem,
Not ours the fault, dear angels! Prove the dream
Waking and true! sing once again, and make
Moonlight and starlight sweet for earth's sad sake!
Or, if heaven bids ye lock in silence still
Conquest of peace, and coming of good-will,
Till times to be, then--oh, you placid sheep!
Ah, thrice-blest shepherds! suffer if we creep
Back through the tangled thicket of the years
To graze in your fair flock, to strain our ears
With listening herdsmen, if, perchance, one note
Of such high singing in the fine air float;
If any rock thrills yet with that great strain
We did not hear, and shall not hear, again;
If any olive-leaf at Bethlehem
Lisps still one syllable vouchsafed to them;
If some stream, conscious still--some breeze--be stirred
With echo of th' immortal words ye heard.

What was it that ye heard? the wind of night
Playing in cheating tones, with touches light,
Amid the palm-plumes? or, one stop outblown
Of planetary music, so far flown
Earthwards, that to those innocent ears 'twas brought
Which bent the mighty measure to their thought?
Or, haply, from breast-shaped Beth-Haccarem,
The hill of Herod, some waft sent to them
Of storming drums and trumps, at festival
Held in the Idumæan's purple hall?
Or, it may be, some Aramaic song
Of country lovers, after partings long
Meeting anew, with much "good will" indeed,
Blown by some swain upon his Jordan reed?
Nay, nay! your abbas back ye did not fling,
From each astonished ear, for swains to sing
Their village-verses clear; for sounds well-known
Of wandering breeze, or whispering trees, or tone
Of Herod's trumpets. And ye did not gaze
Heart-startled on the stars (albeit the rays
Of that lone orb shot, sparkling, from the east
Unseen before), for these, largest and least,
Were fold-lamps, lighted nightly: and ye knew
Far differing glory in the night's dark blue
Suddenly lit with rose, and pierced with spike
Of golden spear-beam. Oh, a dream, belike!
Some far-fetched vision, new to peasant's sleep,
Of paradise stripped bare!--But, why thus keep
Secrets for them? This bar, which doth enclose
Better and nobler souls, why burst for those
Who supped on the parched pulse, and lapped the stream,
And each, at the same hour, dreams the same dream!
Or, easier still, they lied! Yet, wherefore, then
"Rise, and go up to Bethlehem," and unpen
To wolf and jackal all their hapless fold
So they might "see these things which had been told
In heaven's own voice"? And heaven, whate'er betide,
Spreads surely somewhere, on death's farther side!

And, truly, if joy's music once hath rung
Prom lips of bands invisible, if any--
(Be they the dead, or of the deathless many)--
Love and serve man, angelical befrienders,
Glad of his weal, and from his woe defenders,--
If such, in heaven, have pity on our tears,
Forever falling with the unmending years,
High cause had they, at Bethlehem, that night,
To lift the curtain of hope's hidden light,
To break decree of silence with love's cry,
Foreseeing how this Babe, born lowlily,
Should--past dispute, since now achieved is this--
Bring earth great gifts of blessing and of bliss;
Date, from that crib, the dynasty of love;
Strip his misusëd thunderbolts from Jove;
Bend to their knee Rome's Cæsars, break the chain
From the slave's neck; set sick hearts free again
Bitterly bound by priests, and scribes, and scrolls;
And heal, with balm of pardon, sinking souls:
Should mercy to her vacant throne restore,
Teach right to kings, and patience to the poor;
Should, from that bearing-cave, outside the khan,
Amid the kneeling cattle, rise, and be
Light of all lands, and splendor of each sea,
The sun-burst of a new morn come to earth,
Not yet, alas! broad day, but day's white birth
Which promiseth; and blesseth, promising.
These from that night! What cause of wondering
If that one silence of all silences
Brake into music? if, for hopes like these
Angels, who love us, sang that song, and show
Of time's far purpose made the "great light" glow?

Wherefore, let whosoever will drink dry
His cup of faith; and think that, verily,
Not in a vision, no way otherwise
Than those poor shepherds told, there did arise
This portent. Being amidst their sheep and goats,
Lapped careless in their pasture-keeping coats,
Blind as their drowsy beasts to what drew nigh,
(Such the lulled ear, and such th' unbusied eye
Which ofttimes hears and sees hid things!) there spread
The "Glory of the Lord" around each head:
Broke, be it deemed, o'er hill and over hollow,
On the inner seeing, the sense concealed, unknown,
Of those plain hinds--glad, humble, and alone--
Flooding their minds, filling their hearts; around,
Above, below, disclosing grove and ground,
The rocks, the hill, the town, the solitude,
The wondering flocks,--agaze with grass half-chewed,--
The palm-crowns, and the path to Bethlehem,
As sight angelic spies. And, came to them
The "Angel of the Lord," visible, sure,
Known for the angel by his presence pure
Whereon was written love, and peace, and grace,
With beauty passing mortal mien and face.

So when the Angels were no more to see,
Re-entering those gates of space,--whose key
Love keeps on that side, and on this side death--
Each shepherd to the other whispering saith,
Lest he should miss some lingering symphonies
Of that departing music, "Let us rise
And go even now to Bethlehem, and spy
This which is come to pass, shewed graciously
By the Lord's angels." Therewith hasted they
By olive-yards, and old walls mossed and gray
Where, in close chinks, the lizard and the snake,
Thinking the sunlight come, stirred, half-awake:
Across the terraced levels of the vines,
Under the pillared palms, along the lines
Of lance-leaved oleanders, scented sweet,
Through the pomegranate-gardens sped their feet;
Over the causeway, up the slope, they spring,
Breast the steep path, with steps not slackening;
Past David's well, past the town-wall they ran,
Unto the House of Chimham, to the khan,
Where mark them peering in, the posts between,
Questioning--all out of breath--if birth hath been
This night, in any guest-room, high or low?
The drowsy porter at the gate saith, "No!"--
Shooting the bars; while the packed camels shake
Their bells to listen, and the sleepers wake,
And to their feet the ponderous steers slow rise,
Lifting from trampled fodder large mild eyes;--
"Nay! Brothers! no such thing! yet there is gone
Yonder, one nigh her time, a gentle one!
With him that seemed her spouse--of Galilee;
They toiled at sundown to our doors--but, see!
No nook was here! Seek at the cave instead;
We shook some barley-straw to make their bed."

Then to the cave they wended, and there spied
That which was more, if truth be testified,
Than all the pomp seen thro' proud Herod's porch
Ablaze with brass, and silk, and scented torch,
High on Beth-Haccarem; more to behold,
If men had known, than all the glory told
Of splendid Cæsar in his marbled home
On the white Isle; or audience-hall at Rome
With trembling princes thronged. A clay lamp swings
By twisted camel-cords, from blackened rings,
Shewing with flickering gleams, a Child new-born
Wrapped in a cloth, laid where the beasts at morn
Will champ their bean-straw: in the lamp-ray dim
A fresh-made Mother by Him, fostering Him
With face and mien to worship, speaking naught;
Close at hand Joseph, and the ass, hath brought
That precious twofold burden to the gate;
With goats, sheep, oxen, driven to shelter late:
No mightier sight! Yet all sufficeth it--
If we will deem things be beyond our wit--
To prove heaven's music true, and show heaven's way,
How, not by famous kings, nor with array
Of brazen letters on the boastful stone,
But "by the mouth of babes," quiet, alone,
Little beginnings planning for large ends,
With other purpose than fond man attends,
Wisdom and love, in secret fellowship
Guide our world's wandering with a finger-tip;
And how, that night, as these did darkly see,
They sealed the first scrolls of earth's history,
And opened what shall run till death be dead.

Which babe they reverenced, bending low the head,
First of all worshippers; and told the things
Done in the plain, and played on angel's strings.
Then those around wondered and worshipped, too,
And Mary heard--but wondered not--anew
Hiding this in her heart, the heart which beat
With blood of Jesus Christ, holy and sweet.

Also, not marvelling, albeit they heard,
Stood certain by--those three swart ones--appeared
From climes unknown; yet, surely, on high quest
Of what that star proclaimed, bright on the breast
First of the Ram, afterwards glittering thence
Into the watery Trigon, where, intense,
It lit the Crab, and burned the Fishes pale.
Three Signiors, owning many a costly bale;
Three travelled masters, by their bearing lords
Of lands and slaves. The Indian silk affords,
With many a folded braid of white and gold,
Shade to their brows; rich goat-hair shawls did fold
Their gowns of flow'r'd white muslin, midway tied;
And ruby, turkis, emerald--stones of pride--
Blazed on their thumb-rings; and a pearl gleamed white
In every ear; and silver belts, clasped tight,
Held ink-box, reeds, and knives, in scabbards gemmed;
Curled shoes of goat-skin dyed, with seed-pearls hemmed,
Shod their brown feet; hair shorn; lids low, to think--
Eyes deep and wistful, as of those who drink
Waters of hidden wisdom, night and day,
And live twain lives, conforming as they may,
In diligence, and due observances
To ways of men; yet, not at one with these;
But ever straining past the things that seem
To that which is--the truth behind the dream.
Three princely wanderers of the Asian blood
Perchance, by Indus dwellers; or some flood,
That feeds her from Himâla's icy dome;
Or, haply, to those Syrian palm-trees come
From Gunga's banks, or mounts of Malabar
Which lift the Deccan to its sun, and far--
Rampart-like--fringe the blue Arabian Sea.
True followers of the Buddh they seemed to be,
The better arm and shoulder showing bare
With each; and on the neck of each, draped fair
A scarf of saffron, patched; and, 'twixt the eyes,
In saffron stamped, the Name of mysteries
OM; and the Swastika, with secrets rife
How man may 'scape the dire deceits of life.

These three stood by, as who would entrance make;
And heard the shepherd's tale; and, hearing, spake
Strange Indian words one to another; then sent
Command. Their serving-men, obedient,
Cast loose from off the camels, kneeling nigh,
Nettings and mats, and made the fastenings fly
From belly-band, and crupper-rope, and tail;
And broke the knots, and let each dusty bale
Slide from the saddle-horns, and give to see
Long-hoarded treasure of great jewelry,
And fragrant secrets of the Indian grove,
And splendors of the Indian looms, inwove
With gold and silver flowers: "for, now," said they,
"Our eyes have seen this thing sought day by day;
By the all-conscious, silent sky well-known,
And, specially, of yon white star fore-shown
Which, bursting magically on the sight,
Beckoned us from our homes, shining aright,
The silver beacon to this holy hill:
Mark if it sparkles not, aware and still,
Over the place: The astral houses, see!
Spake truth: Our feet were guided faithfully.
'Tis the Star-Child, who was to rise, and wear
A crown than Suleiman's more royal and rare,
'King of the Jews!' Grant an approach to us
Who crave to worship Him."

Now, it fell thus
That these first to Jerusalem had passed,
And sojourned there, observing feast and fast
In the thronged city; oft of townsmen seen
In market and bazaar; and, by their mien
Noted for lordliest of all strangers there,
Much whispered of, in sooth, as who saw clear
Shadows of times to come, and secrets bright
Writ in the jewelled cipher of the night.
So that the voice of this to Herod went
Feastful and fearful; ever ill-content
Mid plots and perils; girt with singing boys,
And dancing girls of Tyre, and armored noise
Of Cæsar's legionaries. Long and near,
In audience hall, each dusky wayfarer
Questioned he of their knowledge, and the star,
What message flashed it? Whether near or far
Would rise this portent of a Babe to reign
King of the Jews, and bring a crown again
To weeping Zion, and cast forth from them
The Roman scourge? And if at Bethlehem,
As, with one voice, priests, elders, scribes aver,
Then, let them thither wend, and spy the stir,
And find this Babe, and come anew to him,
Declaring where the wonder. "'Twas his whim"
Quotha "to be of fashion with the stars,
(Weary, like them, of gazing upon wars)
To shine upon this suckling, bending knee
Save unto Cæsar uncrooked latterly."

Thence came it those three stood at entering
Before the door; and their rich gifts did bring,
Red gold from the Indian rocks, cunningly beat
To plate and chalice, with old fables sweet
Of Buddh's compassion, and dark Mara's powers
Round the brims glittering; and a riot of flowers
Done on the gold, with gold script to proclaim
The Noble Truths, and Threefold mystic Name
OM, and the Swastika, and how man wins
Blessed Nirvana's rest, being quit of sins,
And, day and night, reciting, "Oh, the Gem!
Upon the Lotus! Oh, the Lotus-stem!"
Also, more precious than much gold, they poured
Rare spices forth, unknitting cord on cord;
And, one by one, unwinding cloths, as though
The merchantmen had sought to shut in so
The breath of those distillings: in such kind
As when Nile's black embalming slaves would bind
Sindon o'er sindon, cere-cloth, cinglets, bands
Roll after roll, on head, breast, feet, and hands,
Round some dead king, whose cold and withered palm
Had dropped the sceptre; drenched with musk and balm,
And natron, and what keeps from perishing;
So they might save--after long wandering--
The body for the spirit, and hold fast
Life's likeness, till the dead man lived at last.
Thus, from their coats involved of leaves and silk,
Slowly they freed the odorous thorn-tree's milk,
The gray myrrh, and the cassia, and the spice,
Filling the wind with frankincense past price,
With hearts of blossoms from a hundred glens
And essence of a thousand rose-gardens,
Till the night's gloom like a royal curtain hung
Jewelled with stars, and rich with fragrance flung
Athwart the arch; and, in the cavern there
The air around was as the breathing-air
Of a queen's chamber, when she comes to bed,
And all that glad earth owns gives goodlihead.

Witness them entering,--these three from afar--
Who knew the skies, and had the strange white star
To light their nightly lamp, thro' deserts wide
Of Bactria, and the Persic wastes, and tide
Of Tigris and Euphrates; past the snow
Of Ararat, and where the sand-winds blow
O'er Ituræa; and the crimson peaks
Of Moab, and the fierce, bright, barren reeks
From Asphaltities; to this hill--to thee
Bethlehem-Ephrata! Witness these three
Gaze, hand in hand, with faces grave and mild,
Where, 'mid the gear and goats, Mother and Child
Make state and splendor for their eyes. Then lay
Each stranger on the earth, in the Indian way,
Paying the "eight prostrations;" and was heard
Saying softly, in the Indian tongue, that word
Wherewith a Prince is honored. Humbly ran,
On this, the people of their caravan
And fetch the gold, and--laid on gold--the spice,
Frankincense, myrrh: and next, with reverence nice,
Foreheads in dust, they spread the precious things
At Mary's feet, and worship Him who clings
To Mary's bosom drinking soft life so
Who shall be life and light to all below.
"For, now we see," say they, departing: "plain
The star's word comes to pass! The Buddh again
Appeareth, or some Bôddhisat of might
Arising for the west, who shall set right,
And serve and reconcile; and, maybe, teach
Knowledge to those who know. We, brothers, each,
Have heard yon shepherds babbling: if the sky
Speaketh with such, heaven's mercy is drawn nigh!
Well did we counsel, journeying to this place!
Yon hour-old Babe, milking that breast of grace,
The world will praise and worship, well-content."

Then, fearing Herod, to their homes they went
Musing along the road. But he alway
Angered and troubled, bade his soldiers slay
Whatever man-child sucked in Bethlehem.
Lord! had'st Thou been all God, as pleaseth them
Who poorly see Thy godlike self, and take
True glory from Thee for false glory's sake:
Co-equal power, as these--too bold--blaspheme,
Ruler of what Thou camest to redeem;
Not Babe Divine, feeling with touch of silk
For fountains of a mortal Mother's milk
With sweet mouth buried in the warm feast thus,
And dear heart growing great to beat for us,
And soft feet waiting till the way was spread
Whereby what was true God in Thee should tread
Triumphant over woe and death to bliss,--
Thou, from Thy cradle would'st have stayed in this
Those butchers! With one angel's swift decree,
Out of the silver cohorts lackeying Thee,
Thou had'st thrust down the bitter prince who killed
Thine innocents! Would'st Thou not? Was't not willed?
Alas! "Peace and good-will" in agony
Found first fruits! Rama heard that woful cry
Of Rachel weeping for the children; lone,
Uncomforted, because her babes are gone.
Herod the King! hast thou heard Rachel's wail
Where restitution is? Did aught avail
Somewhere? at last? past life? after long stress
Of heavy shame to bring forgetfulness?
If such grace be, no hopeless sin is wrought;
Thy bloody blade missed what its vile edge sought;
Mother, and Child, and Joseph--safe from thee--
Journey to Egypt, while the eastern Three
Wind homewards, lightened of their spice and gold;
And those great days, that were to be, unfold
In the fair fields beside the shining sea
Which rolls, 'mid palms and rocks, in Galilee.

_Sir Edwin Arnold._

_It Brings Good Cheer._

"You may talk of Country Christmasses,
Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues;
Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris; the carcasses of three fat
wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock!"

_Massinger._

OLD CHRISTMAS RETURNED.

All you that to feasting and mirth are inclined,
Come, here is good news for to pleasure your mind;
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse.
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

A long time together he hath been forgot,
They scarce could afford to hang on the pot;
Such miserly sneaking in England hath been,
As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen;
But now he's returned, you shall have in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled,
And all hospitality hath been so dead;
No mirth at our festivals late did appear,
They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer;
But now you shall have for the ease of your grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The butler and baker, they now may be glad,
The times they are mended, though they have been bad;
The brewer, he likewise may be of good cheer,
He shall have good trading for ale and strong beer;
All trades shall be jolly, and have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The holly and ivy about the walls wind,
And show that we ought to our neighbors be kind,
Inviting each other for pastime and sport,
And where we best fare, there we most do resort;
We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The cooks shall be busied by day and by night,
In roasting and boiling, for taste and delight;
Their senses in liquor that's nappy they'll steep,
Though they be afforded to have little sleep;
They still are employed for to dress us in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Although the cold weather doth hunger provoke,
'Tis a comfort to see how the chimneys do smoke;
Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine,
For all that are willing or ready to dine:
Then haste to the kitchen for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

All travellers, as they do pass on their way,
At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay,
Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest,
Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest;
Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Now Mock-beggar-hall it no more shall stand empty,
But all shall be furnisht with freedom and plenty;
The hoarding old misers, who us'd to preserve
The gold in their coffers, and see the poor starve,
Must now spread their tables, and give them in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The court, and the city, and country are glad,
Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad;
Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly,
And hundreds be losers by cogging a die,
Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Those that have no coin at the cards for to play,
May sit by the fire and pass time away,
And drink of their moisture contented and free,
"My honest, good fellow, come, here is to thee!"
And when they are hungry, fall to their relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along,
Each room in the house to the music shall throng,
Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass,
And each country swain trip about with his lass;
Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

The cooks and the scullion, who toil in their frocks,
Their hopes do depend upon their Christmas-box;
There is very few that do live on the earth
But enjoy at this time either profit or mirth;
Yea, those that are charged to find all relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Then well may we welcome Old Christmas to town,
Who brings us good cheer and good liquor so brown;
To pass the cold winter away with delight,
We feast it all day, and we frolic all night;
Both hunger and cold we keep out with relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

Then let all curmudgeons who dote on their wealth,
And value their treasure much more than their health,
Go hang themselves up, if they will be so kind;
Old Christmas with them but small welcome shall find;
They will not afford to themselves without grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.

_Evans' Old Ballads._

THE TRENCHERMAN.

My master and dame, I well perceive,
Are purposed to be merry to-night,
And willingly hath given me leave
To combat with a Christmas Knight.
Sir Pig, I see, comes prancing in
And bids me draw if that I dare;
I care not for his valor a pin,
For Jack of him will have a share.

My lady goose among the rest
Upon the table takes her place,
And piping-hot bids do my best,
And bravely looks me in the face;
For pigs and geese are gallant cheer,
God bless my master and dame therefore!
I trust before the next New Year
To eat my part of half a score.

I likewise see good minced-pie
Here standing swaggering on the table;
The lofty walls so large and high
I'll level down if I be able;
For they be furnished with good plums,
And spiced well with pepper and salt,
Every prune as big as both my thumbs
To drive down bravely the juice of malt.

Fill me some of your Christmas beer,
Your pepper sets my mouth on heat,
And Jack's a-dry with your good cheer,
Give me some good ale to my meat.
And then again my stomach I'll show,
For good roast-beef here stoutly stands;
I'll make it stoop before I go,
Or I'll be no man of my hands.

And for the plenty of this house
God keep it thus well-stored alway;
Come, butler, fill me a good carouse,
And so we'll end our Christmas day.

_New Christmas Carols._

BAN AND BLESSING.

Now Christmas comes, 'tis fit that we
Should feast and sing and merry be,
Keep open house, let fiddlers play;
A fig for cold, sing care away!
And may they who thereat repine,
On brown bread and on small beer dine.
Make fires with logs, let the cooks sweat
With boiling and with roasting meat;
Let ovens be heat for fresh supplies
Of puddings, pasties, and minced-pies.
And whilst that Christmas doth abide
Let butt'ry-door stand open wide.
Hang up those churls that will not feast
Or with good fellows be a guest,
And hang up those would take away
The observation of that day;
O may they never minced-pies eat,
Plum-pudding, roast-beef, nor such meat.
But blest be they, awake and sleep,
Who at that time a good house keep;
May never want come nigh their door,
Who at that time relieve the poor;
Be plenty always in their house
Of beef, veal, lamb, pork, mutton, souse.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

THRICE WELCOME!

Now thrice welcome, Christmas,
Which brings us good cheer,
Minced-pies and plum porridge,
Good ale and strong beer;
With pig, goose, and capon,
The best that may be,
So well doth the weather
And our stomachs agree.

Observe how the chimneys
Do smoke all about;
The cooks are providing
For dinner, no doubt;
But those on whose tables
No victuals appear,
O may they keep Lent
All the rest of the year.

With holly and ivy
So green and so gay,
We deck up our houses
As fresh as the day;
With bay and rosemary
And laurel complete;
And every one now
Is a king in conceit.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

CHRISTMAS PROVENDER.

Provide for Christmas ere that it do come,
To feast thy neighbor good cheer to have some;
Good bread and drink, a fire in the hall,
Brawn, pudding, souse, and good mustard withal.
Beef, mutton, pork, and shred pies of the best,
Pig, veal, goose, capon, and turkey well drest;
Apples and nuts to throw about the hall,
That boys and girls may scramble for them all.
Sing jolly carols, make the fiddlers play,
Let scrupulous fanatics keep away;
For oftentimes seen no arranter knave
Than some who do counterfeit most to be grave.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

GLEE AND SOLACE.

With merry glee and solace
This second day of Christmas
Now comes in bravely to my master's house,
Where plenty of good cheer I see,
With that which most contenteth me,
As brawn and bacon, powdered beef, and souse.

For the love of Stephen,
That blessed saint of heaven,
Which stonéd was for Jesus Christ his sake,
Let us all, both more and less,
Cast away all heaviness,
And in a sober manner merry make.

He was a man belovéd,
And his faith approvéd
By suffering death on this holy day,
Where he with gentle patience
And a constant sufferance,
Hath taught us all to heaven the ready way.

So let our mirth be civil,
That not one thought of evil
May take possession of our hearts at all,
So shall we love and favor get
Of them that kindly thus do set
Their bounties here so freely in this hall.

Of delicates so dainty,
I see now here is plenty
Upon this table ready here prepared;
Then let us now give thanks to those
That all things friendly thus bestows,
Esteeming not this world that is so hard.

For of the same my master
Hath made me here a taster;
The Lord above requite him for the same!
And so to all within this house
I will drink a full carouse,
With leave of my good master and my dame.

And the Lord be praised
My stomach is well eased,
My bones at quiet may go take their rest;
Good fortune surely follow me
To bring me thus so luckily
To eat and drink so freely of the best.

_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1661._

ON SAINT JOHN'S DAY.

In honor of Saint John we thus
Do keep good Christmas cheer;
And he that comes to dine with us,
I think he need not spare.
The butcher he hath killed good beef,
The caterer brings it in;
But Christmas pies are still the chief,
If that I durst begin.

Our bacon-hogs are full and fat
To make us brawn and souse;
Full well may I rejoice thereat
To see them in the house.
But yet the minced-pie it is
That sets my teeth on water;
Good mistress, let me have a bit,
For I do long thereafter.

And I will fetch you water in
To brew and bake withal,
Your love and favor still to win
When as you please to call.
Then grant me, dame, your love and leave
To taste your pie-meat here;
It is the best, in my conceit,
Of all your Christmas-cheer.

The cloves, and mace, and gallant plums
That here on heaps do lie,
And prunes as big as both my thumbs,
Enticeth much mine eye.
Oh, let me eat my belly-full
Of your good Christmas-pie;
Except thereat I have a pull,
I think I sure shall die.

Good master, stand my loving friend,
For Christmas-time is short,
And when it comes unto an end
I may no longer sport;
Then while it doth continue here,
Let me such labor find
To eat my fill of that good cheer
That best doth please my mind.

Then I shall thank my dame therefore,
That gives her kind consent
That Jack, your boy, with others more,
May have this Christmas spent
In pleasant mirth and merry glee,
As young men most delight;
For that's the only sport for me,
And so God give you all good-night.

_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1661._

CHRISTMAS ALMS.

Now that the time is come wherein
Our Saviour Christ was born,
The larders full of beef and pork,
The garners filled with corn;
As God hath plenty to thee sent,
Take comfort of thy labors,
And let it never thee repent
To feast thy needy neighbors.

Let fires in every chimney be
That people they may warm them;
Tables with dishes covered,--
Good victuals will not harm them.
With mutton, veal, beef, pig, and pork,
Well furnish every board;
Plum-pudding, furmety, and what
Thy stock will them afford.

No niggard of thy liquor be,
Let it go round thy table;
People may freely drink, but not
So long as they are able.
Good customs they may be abused,
Which makes rich men to slack us;
This feast is to relieve the poor,
And not to drunken Bacchus.

This, if thou doest,
'Twill credit raise thee;
God will thee bless,
And neighbors praise thee.

_Poor Robin's Almanac._

CHRISTMAS AT THE ROUND TABLE.

The great King Arthur made a royal feast,
And held his Royal Christmas at Carlisle,
And thither came the vassals, most and least,
From every corner of the British Isle;
And all were entertained, both man and beast,
According to their rank, in proper style;
The steeds were fed and littered in the stable,
The ladies and the knights sat down to table.

The bill of fare (as you may well suppose)
Was suited to those plentiful old times,
Before our modern luxuries arose,
With truffles, and ragouts, and various crimes;
And, therefore, from the original in prose
I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes:
They served up salmon, venison and wild boars
By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores.

Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,
Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine;
Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard,
Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and, in fine.
Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies, and custard,
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,
With mead, and ale, and cider of our own;
For porter, punch, and negus were not known.

All sorts of people there were seen together,
All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses;
The fool with fox's tail and peacock feather,
Pilgrims, and penitents, and grave burgesses;
The country people with their coats of leather,
Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes,
Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers, and yeomen,
Damsels, and waiting-maids, and waiting-women.

_John Hookham Frere._

_Lullaby._

"Sleep, my little one,
Sleep, my pretty one,
Sleep."

_Tennyson._

A CAROL AT THE MANGER.

Lully, lulla, thow littel tine child;
By, by, lully, lullay, thow littell tyne child;
By, by, lully, lullay.

O sisters too! how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This pore yongling, for whom we do sing
By, by, lully, lullay.

Herod the King, in his raging,
Chargid he hath this day
His men of might, in his owne sight,
All yonge children to slay.

That wo is me, pore child for the!
And ever morne and day,
For the parting nether say nor singe
By, by, lully, lullay.

_Coventry Mysteries._

A DREAM CAROL.

Ah, my dear Son, said Mary, ah, my dear,
Kiss thy mother, Jesu, with a laughing cheer!

This endnes[G] night I saw a sight
All in my sleep,
Mary, that May, she sung lullay
And sore did weep;
To keep, she sought, full fast about
Her Son from cold.
Joseph said, Wife, my joy, my life,
Say what ye would.
Nothing, my spouse, is in this house
Unto my pay;[H]
My Son a king, that made all thing,
Lieth in hay.
Ah, my dear Son! etc.

My mother dear, amend your cheer
And now be still;
Thus for to lie it is soothly
My Father's will.
Derision, great passion,
Infinitely,
As it is found many a wound
Suffer shall I;
On Calvary that is so high
There shall I be,
Man to restore, nailéd full sore
Upon a tree.
Ah, my dear Son! etc.

_Sandy's Christmas Carols._

FOOTNOTES:

[G] Last.

[H] Content.

THE KING IN THE CRADLE.

My sweet little baby, what meanest thou to cry?
Be still, my blesséd babe, though cause thou hast to mourn,
Whose blood most innocent to shed the cruel king hath sworn;
And lo, alas! behold what slaughter he doth make,
Shedding the blood of infants all, sweet Saviour, for thy sake.
A King, a King is born, they say, which King this king would kill:
O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will!
Lulla, la lulla, lulla lullaby.

Three kings this King of kings to see are come from far,
To each unknown, with offerings great, by guiding of a star;
And shepherds heard the song, which angels bright did sing,
Giving all glory unto God for coming of this King,
Which must be made away--King Herod would him kill;
O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will?
Lulla, etc.

Lo, lo, my little babe, be still, lament no more;
From fury thou shalt step aside, help have we still in store:
We heavenly warning have some other soil to seek;
From death must fly the Lord of life, as lamb both mild and meek:
Thus must my babe obey the king that would him kill;
O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will!
Lulla, etc.

But thou shalt live and reign, as sibyls hath foresaid,
As all the prophets prophesy, whose mother, yet a maid
And perfect virgin pure, with her breasts shall upbreed
Both God and man that all hath made, the son of heavenly seed:
Whom caitives none can 'tray, whom tyrants none can kill:
O joy and joyful happy day when wretches want their will!
Lulla, etc.

_Byrd's Psalmes, Sonets, etc., A.D. 1588._

MADONNA AND CHILD.

This endris night[I]
I saw a sight,
A star as bright as day;
And ever among
A maiden sung,
Lullay, by by, lullay.

This lovely lady sat and sang, and to her child she said,--
"My son, my brother, my father dear, why liest thou thus in hayd?[J]
My sweet bird,
Thus it is betide
Though thou be king veray;
But, nevertheless,
I will not cease
To sing, by by, lullay."

The child then spake; in his talking he to his mother said,--
"I bekid[K] am king, in crib though I be laid;
For angels bright
Down to me light,
Thou knowest it is no nay,
And of that sight
Thou mayest be light
To sing, by by, lullay."

"Now, sweet Son, since thou art king, why art thou laid in stall?
Why not thou ordain thy bedding in some great kingès hall?
Methinketh it is right
That king or knight
Should be in good array;
And them among
It were no wrong
To sing, by by, lullay."

"Mary, mother, I am thy child, though I be laid in stall,
Lords and dukes shall worship me and so shall kingès all.
Ye shall well see
That kingès three
Shall come on the twelfth day;
For this behest
Give me thy breast
And sing, by by, lullay."

"Now tell me, sweet Son, I thee pray, thou art my love and dear,
How should I keep thee to thy pay[L] and make thee glad of cheer?
For all thy will
I would fulfil
Thou weet'st full well in fay,
And for all this
I will thee kiss,
And sing, by by, lullay."

"My dear mother, when time it be, take thou me up aloft,
And set me upon thy knee and handle me full soft.
And in thy arm
Thou wilt me warm,
And keep me night and day;
If I weep
And may not sleep
Thou sing, by by, lullay."

"Now, sweet Son, since it is so, all things are at thy will,
I pray thee grant to me a boon if it be right and skill,
That child or man,
That will or can,
Be merry upon my day;
To bliss them bring,
And I shall sing,
Lullay, by by, lullay."

FOOTNOTES:

[I] Endris night: last night.

[J] Hay.

[K] Nevertheless.

[L] Peace.

A ROCKING HYMN.

Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What things to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy Father dear;
His holy Spouse thy Mother, too.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a king,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear,
For whosoever thee offends,
By thy protector threatened are,
And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes he took delight:
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in his sight.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was he,
And Strength-in-Weakness then was laid
Upon his Virgin-Mother's knee,
That power to thee might be conveyed.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need
He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when he was born,
Had not so much for outward ease;
By him such dressings were not worn,
Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen lay and asses fed;
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that he did then sustain
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee,
And by his torments and his pain
Thy rest and ease secured be.
My baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast (yet more), to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

_George Wither._

A CRADLE-SONG OF THE VIRGIN.

The Virgin stills the crying
Of Jesus, sleepless lying;
And singing for his pleasure,
Thus calls upon her treasure,
"My darling, do not weep, my Jesu, sleep!"

O lamb, my love inviting,
O star, my soul delighting,
O flower of mine own bearing,
O jewel past comparing!
My darling, etc.

My Child, of might indwelling,
My sweet, all sweets excelling,
Of bliss the fountain flowing,
The dayspring ever glowing
My darling, etc.

My joy, my exultation,
My spirit's consolation;
My son, my spouse, my brother,
O listen to thy mother!
My darling, etc.

Say, would'st thou heavenly sweetness,
Or love of answering meetness?
Or is fit music wanting?
Ho! angels, raise your chanting!
My darling, etc.

_Translated from the Latin by Rev. H. R. Bramley._

WHISPERING PALMS.

Holy angels and blest,
Through these Palms as ye sweep,
Hold their branches at rest,
For my Babe is asleep.

And ye, Bethlehem palm-trees,
As stormy winds rush
In tempest and fury
Your angry noise hush;--
Move gently, move gently,
Restrain your wild sweep;
Hold your branches at rest--
My Babe is asleep.

_Lope de Vega._

A CHRISTMAS LULLABY.

Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings;
Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings:
Sleep, baby, sleep!

With swathes of scented hay thy bed
By Mary's hand at eve was spread.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

At midnight came the shepherds, they
Whom seraphs wakened by the way.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

And three kings from the East afar
Ere dawn came, guided by thy star.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

They brought thee gifts of gold and gems,
Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

But thou who liest slumbering there,
Art King of kings, earth, ocean, air.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing:
Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

_John Addington Symonds._

THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN.

Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet
Quæ tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!
Si non dormis, Mater plorat
Inter fila cantans orat,
Blande, veni, somnule.

_Translation._

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:
Mother sits beside thee smiling;
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!
If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
Singing as her wheel she turneth:
Come soft slumber, balmily!

_Samuel Taylor Coleridge._

THE SOVEREIGN.

Upon my lap my sovereign sits
And sucks upon my breast;
Meantime his love maintains my life
And gives my sense her rest.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

When thou hast taken thy repast,
Repose, my babe, on me;
So may thy mother and thy nurse
Thy cradle also be.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

I grieve that duty doth not work
All that my wishing would,
Because I would not be to thee
But in the best I should.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

Yet as I am, and as I may
I must and will be thine,
Though all too little for thyself
Vouchsafing to be mine.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

_Martin Peerson, A.D. 1620._

BY THE CRADLE-SIDE.

Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!

Sweet sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!

Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile
All the livelong night beguile.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile!

Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay and wept for me:

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When he was an infant small;
Thou his image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are his own smiles:
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

_William Blake._

THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS.

But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her babe to rest.

_Milton._

I.

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One!
My flesh, my Lord!--what name? I do not know
A name that seemeth not too high or low,
Too far from me or heaven.
My Jesus, that is best! that word being given
By the majestic angel whose command
Was softly as a man's beseeching said,
When I and all the earth appeared to stand
In the great overflow
Of light celestial from his wings and head.
Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

II.

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed
And speechless Being--art Thou come for saving?
The palm that grows beside our door is bowed
By treadings of the low wind from the south,
A restless shadow through the chamber waving:
Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;
But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth,
Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.
Art come for saving, O my weary One?

III.