Note - For the New Year.

"Make New Mistakes! 
Make glorious, amazing mistakes. 

Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. 

Don't freeze. 

Don't stop. 

Don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, 
whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life."

Neil Gaiman

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;
But we've wandered mony a weary fit
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Robert Burns

Old and New Year Ditties


1

New Year met me somewhat sad:
Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had
Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.

New Year coming on apace
What have you to give me?
Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,
Face me with an honest face;
You shall not deceive me:
Be it good or ill, be it what you will,
It needs shall help me on my road,
My rugged way to heaven, please God.

2

Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,
You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,
Watch with me this last vigil of the year.
Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;
Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;
Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.

Watch with me blessèd spirits, who delight
All through the holy night to walk in white,
Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight.
I know not if they watch with me: I know
They count this eve of resurrection slow,
And cry, “How long?” with urgent utterance strong.

Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness:
Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes;
Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless.
Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night;
To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight:
I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.

3

Passing away, saith the World, passing away:
Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day:
Thy life never continueth in one stay.
Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey
That hath won neither laurel nor bay?
I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:
Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay
On my bosom for aye.
Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away:
With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play;
Hearken what the past doth witness and say:
Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,
A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.
At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day
Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:
Watch thou and pray.
Then I answered: Yea.

Passing away, saith my God, passing away:
Winter passeth after the long delay:
New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,
Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven’s May.
Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray:
Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,
My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.
Then I answered: Yea.


Christina Rossett

New Year’s Chimes


What is the song the stars sing?
(And a million songs are as song of one)
This is the song the stars sing:
(Sweeter song’s none)

One to set, and many to sing,
(And a million songs are as song of one)
One to stand, and many to cling,
The many things, and the one Thing,
The one that runs not, the many that run.

The ever new weaveth the ever old,
(And a million songs are as song of one)
Ever telling the never told;
The silver saith, and the said is gold,
And done ever the never done.

The chase that’s chased is the Lord o’ the chase,
(And a million songs are as song of one)
And the pursued cries on the race;
And the hounds in leash are the hounds that run.

Hidden stars by the shown stars’ sheen:
(And a million suns are but as one)
Colours unseen by the colours seen,
And sounds unheard heard sounds between,
And a night is in the light of the sun.

An ambuscade of lights in night,
(And a million secrets are but as one)
And a night is dark in the sun’s light,
And a world in the world man looks upon.

Hidden stars by the shown stars’ wings,
(And a million cycles are but as one)
And a world with unapparent strings
Knits the stimulant world of things;
Behold, and vision thereof is none.

The world above in the world below,
(And a million worlds are but as one)
And the One in all; as the sun’s strength so
Strives in all strength, glows in all glow
Of the earth that wits not, and man thereon.

Braced in its own fourfold embrace
(And a million strengths are as strength of one)
And round it all God’s arms of grace,
The world, so as the Vision says,
Doth with great lightning-tramples run.

And thunder bruiteth into thunder,
(And a million sounds are as sound of one)
From stellate peak to peak is tossed a voice of wonder,
And the height stoops down to the depths there under,
And sun leans forth to his brother-sun.

And the more ample years unfold
(With a million songs as song of one)
A little new of the ever old
A little told of the never told,
Added act of the never done.

Loud the descant, and low the theme,
(A million songs are as song of one)
And the dream of the world is dream in dream,
But the one Is is, or nought could seem;
And the song runs round to the song begun.

This is the song the stars sing,
(Tonèd all in time)
Tintinnabulous, tuned to ring
A multitudinous-single thing
(Rung all in rhyme).


Francis Thompson

A Song for New Year’s Eve


Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay‚—
   Stay till the good old year,
So long companion of our way,
   Shakes hands, and leaves us here.
      Oh stay, oh stay,
One little hour, and then away.

The year, whose hopes were high and strong,
   Has now no hopes to wake;
Yet one hour more of jest and song
   For his familiar sake.
      Oh stay, oh stay,
One mirthful hour, and then away.

The kindly year, his liberal hands
   Have lavished all his store.
And shall we turn from where he stands,
   Because he gives no more?
      Oh stay, oh stay,
One grateful hour, and then away.

Days brightly came and calmly went,
   While yet he was our guest;
How cheerfully the week was spent!
   How sweet the seventh day’s rest!
      Oh stay, oh stay,
One golden hour, and then away.

Dear friends were with us, some who sleep
   Beneath the coffin-lid:
What pleasant memories we keep
   Of all they said and did!
      Oh stay, oh stay,
One tender hour, and then away.

Even while we sing, he smiles his last,
   And leaves our sphere behind.
The good old year is with the past;
   Oh be the new as kind!
      Oh stay, oh stay,
One parting strain, and then away.

William Cullen Bryant

About The Oliphaunt

Grey as a mouse,
Big as a house,
Nose like a snake,
I make the earth shake,
As I tramp through the grass;
Trees crack as I pass.
With horns in my mouth
I walk in the South,
Flapping big ears.
Beyond count of years
I stump round and round,
Never lie on the ground,
Not even to die.
Oliphaunt am I,
Biggest of all,
Huge, old, and tall.
If ever you'd met me
You wouldn't forget me.
If you never do,
You won't think I'm true;
But old Oliphaunt am I,
And I never lie.
 
J.R.R.Tolkien

Call-to-Arms of the Rohirrim


Riders of Théoden

Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.

Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!

Forth Eorlingas!

Curse of the Ghost from Barrow-downs

Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone:
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.

In the black wind the stars shall die,
and still on gold here let them lie,
till the dark lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land.



J.R.R. Tolkien

Tom Bombadil's Song

 
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.
green were his girdle and his breeches all of leather;
he wore in his tall hat a swan-wing feather.
He lived up under Hill, where the Withywindle
ran from a grassy well down into the dingle.

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom's going home home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.
When the night-shadows fall, then the door will open,
Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.
Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!
Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.
Hey now! merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!

J.R.R. Tolkien

Galadriel's Song of Eldamar

 
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.

There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
Yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.

Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?

An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nail elyë hiryva. Namárië!

Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind,
long years numberless as the wings of trees!
The long years have passed like swift draughts
of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,
beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars
tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.
Who now shall refill the cup for me?

For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars,
from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,
and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;
and out of a grey country darkness lies
on the foaming waves between us, and mist
covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever.

Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!
Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.
Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!

 J.R.R. Tolkien

Song of Durin's Awakening

The world world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shown forever far and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was bladed and bound was hilt;
The delver mined the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale
And metel wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in horde.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.


JRR Tolkien

 From the Day-Book of a Forgotten Prince
 

    MY FATHER us happy or we should be poor.
    His gateway is wide, and the folk of the moor
    Come singing so gaily right up to the door.

    We live in a castle that's dingy and old;
    The casements are broken, the corridors cold,
    The larder is empty, the cook is a scold.

    But father can dance, and his singing is loud.
    From meadow and highway there's always a crowd
    That gathers to hear him, and this makes him proud.

    He roars out a song in a voice that is sweet--
    Of grandeur that's gone, rare viands to eat,
    And treasure that used to be laid at his feet.

    He picks up his phone, faded, wrinkled and torn,
    Though banded in ermine, moth-eaten and worn,
    And held at the throat by a twisted old thorn.

    He leaps in the air with a rickety grace,
    And a kingly old smile illumines his face,
    While he fondles his beard and stares off into space.

    The villagers laugh, then look quickly away,
    And some of them kneel in the orchard to pray.
    I often hear whispers: "The old king is fey."

    But after they're gone, we shall find, if you please,
    White loaves and a pigeon, and honey and cheese,
    And wine that we drink while I sit on his knees.

    And, while he sups, he will feed me and tell
    Of Mother, whom men used to call "The Gazelle,"
    And of glorious times before the curse fell.

    And then he will fall, half-asleep, to the floor;
    The rafters will echo his quivering snore. . . .
    I go to find cook through the slack oaken door.

    My father is happy or we should be poor.
    His gateway is wide, and the folk of the moor
    Come singing so gaily right up to the door.

        Jean Starr Untermeyer

Quote:

 For Miss Poppy The Dog

“In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag.”
 

W.H. Auden

Note:

A very Merry Christmas to all of you out there, even the Sassenach amoung you. May God's blessing follow you and yours.

Now mind - Hogmanay is just a week away.

The Honourable Dugual Blackthorn-Badger;

The Imperious Teddybear Zouaves, The Queen's Own Pig Irregulars, The Fearsome First Fencibles, The First Dragon Dragoon Guards,The Minders, The Watchers, The Rinosasuaris Resplendent Redoubatables and all the 

Taylor's including Miss Poppy The Dog.

                  

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

                  A Visit from St. Nicholas

    'TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house
    Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
    The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
    In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

    The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
    While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads;
    And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
    Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap—
    When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
    I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter:
    Away to the window I flew like a flash,
    Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
    The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
    Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below.

    When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
    But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
    With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
    I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

    More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
    And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
    "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! now, Vixen!
    On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blixen—
    To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
    Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

    As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
    When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
    So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
    With the sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas too.

    And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
    The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

    As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
    Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

    He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
    And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;
    A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
    And he look'd like a pedlar just opening his pack.

    His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
    His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
    His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
    And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

    The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
    And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
    He had a broad face and a little round belly
    That shook, when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly.

    He was chubby and plump; a right jolly old elf;
    And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
    A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
    Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

    He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
    And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jirk,
    And laying his finger aside of his nose,
    And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
    He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
    And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
    But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight,
    "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"



Clement Clarke Moore

At Last, I'm ready for Christmas

Last Boxing Day the wife went out the "White Sales" for to see,
In trunk-load lots bought half-price paper and tinsel for the tree.
I packed it up for use this year in a box I marked so plain.
That stuff would sure be handy now, but it's never been seen again!

At last I'm ready for Christmas, I've even finished the tree,
At last I'm ready for Christmas, like I thought I'd never be!

With my feet propped up by a good hot fire and a matching inside glow;
At last I'm ready for Christmas, with nearly two hours to go!

We swore this year we'd start off early, no need to rush around;
The intention was to start in August when the prices still were down!

But it was dentist-this and new bike-that and the money melts away;
So I had to wait for Christmas bonus and did it all yesterday!

We must be fools, just look at that pile, you can hardly see the tree!
We said this year we'd keep things simple, then did our usual spree.
But it feels so good when the kids go nuts! It's worth the toil and strain.
These kids are only this young once and they'll never be so again.

Stan Rogers

Nativity

Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb,
Now leaves His well-belov'd imprisonment,
There He hath made Himself to His intent
Weak enough, now into the world to come;
But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room?
Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient,
Stars and wise men will travel to prevent
The effect of Herod's jealous general doom.
Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eyes, how He
Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie?
Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high,
That would have need to be pitied by thee?
Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go,
With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.


John Donne

Marmion - A Christmas Poem


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.


Sir Walter Scott

Good King Wenceslas


Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath'ring winter fuel

"Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear him thither."
Page and monarch forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather

"Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing

Hark the herald angels sing

Hark the herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled"
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
"Christ is born in Bethlehem"
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"
   
Christ by highest heav'n adored
Christ the everlasting Lord!
Late in time behold Him come
Offspring of a Virgin's womb
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
Hail the incarnate Deity
Pleased as man with man to dwell
Jesus, our Emmanuel
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"

Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris'n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"
 

Oh Come, All Ye Faithful

O come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him,

Born the King of angels;
O come, let us adore him,
O come, let us adore him,
O Come, let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

Sing, choirs of angels,
Sing in exultation,
Sing, all ye citizens of heaven above;
Glory to God
In the highest;

See how the shepherds,
Summoned to his cradle,
Leaving their flocks, draw nigh to gaze;
We too will thither
Bend our joyful footsteps;

Child, for us sinners
Poor and in the manger,
We would embrace thee, with love and awe;
Who would not live thee,
Loving us so dearly? 

Yea, Lord, we greet thee,
Born this happy morning;
Jesus, to thee be glory given;
Word of the Father,
Now in flesh appearing;

The First Noel

The first Noel the angel did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields as they lay, keeping their sheep,
On a cold winter's night that was so deep.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel.

They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the east beyond them far,
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued both day and night.

And by the light of that same star
Three wise men came from country far;
To seek for a king was their intent,
And to follow the star wherever it went.

This star drew nigh to the northwest,
O'er Bethlehem it took it rest,
And there it did both stop and stay
Right over the place where Jesus lay.

Then entered in those wise men three
Full reverently upon their knee,
And offered there in his presence
Their gold, and myrrh, and frankincense

Then let us all with one accord
Sing praises to our heavenly Lord;
That hath made heaven and earth of naught,
And with his blood mankind hath bought.

Oh Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy
Pray to the blessed Child,
Where misery cries out to thee,
Son of the mother mild;
Where charity stands watching
And faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks,
And Christmas comes once more.
O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

In Bethlehem, in Israel,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

"Fear not then," said the Angel,
"Let nothing you affright,
This day is born a Saviour
Of a pure Virgin bright,
To free all those who trust in Him
From Satan's power and might."
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm and wind:
And went to Bethlehem straightway
The Son of God to find.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

And when they came to Bethlehem
Where our dear Saviour lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay;
His Mother Mary kneeling down,
Unto the Lord did pray.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All other doth deface.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

The Huron Carol


Have courage, you who are humans; Jesus, he is born
Behold, the spirit who had us as prisoners has fled
Do not listen to it, as it corrupts the spirits of our minds
Jesus, he is born

They are spirits, sky people, coming with a message for us
They are coming to say, "Rejoice"
Marie, she has just given birth. Rejoice"
Jesus, he is born


Three have left for such, those who are elders
Tichion, a star that has just appeared on the horizon leads them there
 He will seize the path, he who leads them there
 Jesus, he is born

As they arrived there, where he was born, Jesus
the star was at the point of stopping, not far past it
Having found someone for them, he says, "Come here!"
Jesus, he is born

Behold, they have arrived there and have seen Jesus,
They praised (made a name) many times, saying "Hurrah, he is good in nature"
They greeted him with reverence (greased his scalp many times), saying 'Hurray'
Jesus, he is born

"We will give to him praise for his name,
Let us show reverence for him as he comes to be compassionate to us.
It is providential that you love us and wish, 'I should adopt them.'"
Jesus, he is born.



In The Huron

Es-ten-nia-lon de tson-ou-e
Jesous a-ha-ton-hia,
On-naou-a-te-ou-a d'o-ki
N'on-ouan-da-skoua-en-tak;
En-non-chien skou-a-tri-ho-tat,
N'on-ou-an-di-lon-ra-cha-tha,
Jesous a-ha-ton-hia,
Jesous a-ha-ton-hi-a  

St. Jean de Brebeuf

White Christmas

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten,
and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow


I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

Once in Royal Davids city
 

Once in royal Davids city,
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her Baby,
In a manger for His bed:
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ, her little Child.
   
He came down to earth from heaven,
Who is God and Lord of all,
And His shelter was a stable,
And His cradle was a stall:
With the poor, and mean, and lowly,
Lived on earth our Saviour holy.

For He is our childhood's pattern;
Day by day, like us, He grew;
He was little, weak, and helpless,
Tears and smiles, like us He knew;
And He cares when we are sad,
And he shares when we are glad.

And our eyes at last shall see Him,
Through His own redeeming love;
For that Child so dear and gentle,
Is our Lord in heaven above:
And He leads His children on,
To the place where He is gone.

Joy to the World

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing.

Joy to the world, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.

Isaac Watts

A Christmas Carol poem

I

The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung,
A Mother's song the Virgin-Mother sung.

II

They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng.
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother's song,
Blest Angels heralded the Savior's birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.

III

She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed:
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.

IV

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,
Didst thou ne'er love to hear of fame and glory?

V

And is not War a youthful king,
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail
Their friends, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.

VI

Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And wherefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the aged father's tears his child!

VII

A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow's toil had won;
Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

VIII

Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I'm poor and of low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! The Prince of Peace is born!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A Christmas Carol

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

G.K.Chesterton

The Oxen


Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so’

Thomas Hardy

Silent Night


Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

   
Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Saviour is born
Christ, the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth "

STAND UP FOR JUDAS


The Romans were the masters when Jesus walked the land
In Judea and in Galilee they ruled with an iron hand
And the poor were sick with hunger and the rich were clothed in splendour
And the rebels whipped and crucified hung rotting as a warning
And Jesus knew the answer
Said, Give to Caesar what is Caesar's, said, Love your enemies
But Judas was a Zealot and he wanted to be free
Resist, he said, The Romans' tyranny

Chorus:
So stand up, stand up for Judas and the cause that Judas served
It was Jesus who betrayed the poor with his word


Jesus was a conjuror, miracles were his game
And he fed the hungry thousands and they glorified his name
He cured the lame and the lepers, he calmed the wind and the weather
And the wretched flocked to touch him so their troubles would be taken
And Jesus knew the answer
All you who labour, all you who suffer only believe in me
But Judas sought a world where no one starved or begged for bread
The poor are always with us, Jesus said

Chorus

Now Jesus brought division where none had been before
Not the slaves against their masters but the poor against the poor
Set son to rise up against father, and brother to fight against brother
For he that is not with me is against me, was his teaching
Said Jesus, I am the answer
You unbelievers shall burn forever, shall die in your sins
Not sheep and goats, said Judas, But together we may dare
Shake off the chains of misery we share

Chorus

Jesus stood upon the mountain with a distance in his eyes
I am the way, the life, he cried, The light that never dies
So renounce all earthly treasures and pray to your heavenly father
And he pacified the hopeless with the hope of life eternal
Said Jesus, I am the answer
And you who hunger only remember your reward's in Heaven
So Jesus preached the other world but Judas wanted this
And he betrayed his master with a kiss

Chorus

By sword and gun and crucifix Christ's gospel has been spread
And 2000 cruel years have shown the way that Jesus led
The heretics burned and tortured, and the butchering, bloody crusaders
The bombs and rockets sanctified that rain down death from heaven
They followed Jesus, they knew the answer
All non-believers must be believers or else be broken
So put no trust in Saviours, Judas said, For everyone
Must be to his or her own self - a son.

Leon Rosselson

O Black and Unknown Bards

    O BLACK and unknown bards of long ago,
    How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
    How, in your darkness, did you come to know
    The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
    Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
    Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,
    Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise
    Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?

    Heart of what slave poured out such melody
    As "Steal Away to Jesus"? On its strains
    His spirit must have nightly floated free,
    Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
    Who heard great "Jordan roll"? Whose starward eye
    Saw chariot "Swing low"? And who was he
    That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
    "Nobody Knows de Trouble I See"?

    What merely living clod, what captive thing,
    Could up toward God through all its darkness grope,
    And find within its deadened heart to sing
    These songs of sorrow, love, and faith, and hope?
    How did it catch that subtle undertone,
    That note of music heard not with the ears?
    How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown,
    Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears?

    Not that great German master in his dream
    Of harmonies that thundered amongst the stars
    At the creation, ever heard a theme
    Nobler than "Go Down, Moses." Mark its bars,
    How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir
    The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung
    Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were
    That helped make history when Time was young.

    There is a wide, wide wonder in it all,
    That from degraded rest and servile toil
    The fiery spirit of the seer should call
    These simple children of the sun and soil.
    O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed,
    You--you alone, of all the long, long line
    Of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed,
    Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.

    You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;
    No chant of bloody war, no exulting paean
    Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings
    You touched in chord with music empyrean.
    You sang far better than you knew; the songs
    That for your listeners' hungry hearts sufficed
    Still live--but more than this to you belongs;
    You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ.

        James Weldon Johnson

The Young Warrior

    MOTHER, shed no mournful tears,
    But gird me on my sword;
    And give no utterance to thy fears,
    But bless me with thy word.

    The lines are drawn! The fight is on!
    A cause is to be won!
    Mother, look not so white and wan;
    Give Godspeed to thy son.

    Now let thine eyes my way pursue
    Where'er my footsteps fare;
    And when they lead beyond thy view,
    Send after me a prayer.

    But pray not to defend from harm,
    Nor danger to dispel;
    Pray, rather, that with steadfast arm
    I fight the battle well.

    Pray, mother of mine, that I always keep
    My heart and purpose strong,
    My sword unsullied and ready to leap
    Unsheathed against the wrong.


        James Weldon Johnson

Craigo Woods

    CRAIGO Woods, wi' the splash o' the cauld rain beatin'
        I' the back end o' the year,
    When the clouds hang laigh wi' the weicht o' their load o' greetin'
        And the autumn wind's asteer;
    Ye may stand like gaists, ye may fa' i' the blast that's cleft ye
        To rot i' the chilly dew,
    But when will I mind on aucht since the day I left ye
        Like I mind on you--on you?

    Craigo Woods, i' the licht o' September sleepin'
        And the saft mist o' the morn,
    When the hairst climbs to yer feet, an' the sound o' reapin'
        Comes up frae the stookit corn,
    And the braw reid puddock-stules are like jewels blinkin'
        And the bramble happs ye baith,
    O what do I see, i' the lang nicht, lyin' an' thinkin'
        As I see yer wraith--yer wraith?

    There's a road to a far-aff land, an' the land is yonder
        Whaur a' men's hopes are set;
    We dinna ken foo lang we maun hae to wander,
        But we'll a' win to it yet;
    An' gin there's woods o' fir an' the licht atween them,
        I winna speir its name,
    But I'll lay me doon by the puddock-stules when I've seen them,
        An' I'll cry "I'm hame--I'm hame!"

        Violet Jacob

 Vain Gratuities

    NEVER was there a man much uglier
    In eyes of other women, or more grim:
    "The Lord has filled her chalice to the brim,
    So let us pray she's a philosopher,"
    They said; and there was more they said of her--
    Deeming it, after twenty years with him,
    No wonder that she kept her figure slim
    And always made you think of lavender.

    But she, demure as ever, and as fair,
    Almost, as they remembered her before
    She found him, would have laughed had she been there,
    And all they said would have been heard no more
    Than foam that washes on an island shore
    Where there are none to listen or to care.

        Edwin Arlington Robinson

 De Profundis

    OH why is heaven built so far,
        Oh why is earth set so remote?
    I cannot reach the nearest star
        That hangs afloat.

    I would not care to reach the moon,
        One round monotonous of change;
    Yet even she repeats her tune
        Beyond my range.

    I never watch the scatter'd fire
        Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
    But all my heart is one desire,
        And all in vain:

    For I am bound with fleshly bands,
        Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
    I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
        And catch at hope.

        Christina Rossetti

 Cassandra

    I HEARD one who said: "Verily,
        What word have I for children here?
    Your Dollar is your only Word,
        The wrath of it your only fear.

    "You build it altars tall enough
        To make you see but you are blind;
    You cannot leave it long enough
        To look before you or behind.

    "When Reason beckons you to pause,
        You laugh and say that you know best;
    But what it is you know, you keep
        As dark as ingots in a chest.

    "You laugh and answer, 'We are young;
        Oh, leave us now, and let us grow:'
    Not asking how much more of this
        Will Time endure or Fate bestow.

    "Because a few complacent years
        Have made your peril of your pride,
    Think you that you are to go on
        Forever pampered and untried?

    "What lost eclipse of history,
        What bivouac of the marching stars,
    Has given the sign for you to see
        Milleniums and last great wars?

    "What unrecorded overthrow
        Of all the world has ever known,
    Or ever been, has made itself
        So plain to you, and you alone?

    "Your Dollar, Dove, and Eagle make
        A Trinity that even you
    Rate higher than you rate yourselves;
        It pays, it flatters, and it's new.

    "And though your very flesh and blood
        Be what the Eagle eats and drinks,
    You'll praise him for the best of birds,
        Not knowing what the eagle thinks.

    "The power is yours, but not the sight;
        You see not upon what you tread;
    You have the ages for your guide,
        But not the wisdom to be led.

    "Think you to tread forever down
        The merciless old verities?
    And are you never to have eyes
        To see the world for what it is?

    "Are you to pay for what you have
        With all you are?"--No other word
    We caught, but with a laughing crowd
        Moved on. None heeded, and few heard.

        Edwin Arlington Robinson

Note:

"All that's necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for enough good men to stand back and do nothing.”

 Edmond Burke

The Two Glasses

    THERE sat two glasses, filled to the brim,
    On a rich man's table, rim to rim.
    One was ruddy and red as blood,
    And one was clear as the crystal flood.

    Said the glass of wine to his paler brother,
    "Let us tell tales of the past to each other;
    I can tell of banquet, and revel, and mirth,
    Where I was a king, for I ruled in might;
    For the proudest and grandest souls on earth
    Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.
    From the heads of kings I have torn the crown;
    From the heights of fame I have hurled men down.
    I have blasted many an honored name;
    I have taken virtue and given shame;
    I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste,
    That has made his future a barren waste.
    Far greater than any king am I,
    Or than any army beneath the sky.
    I have made the arm of the driver fail,
    And sent the train from the iron rail.
    I have made good ships go down at sea,
    And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me.
    Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall;
    Ho, ho! pale brother," said the wine,
    "Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"

    Said the water-glass: "I cannot boast
    Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host,
    But I can tell of hearts that were sad
    By my crystal drops made bright and glad;
    Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I have laved;
    Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved.
    I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain,
    Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain.
    I have burst my cloud-fetters, and dropped from the sky,
    And everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye;
    I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain;
    I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain.
    I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,
    That ground out the flower, and turned at my will.
    I can tell of manhood debased by you,
    That I have uplifted and crowned anew;
    I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;
    I gladden the heart of man and maid;
    I set the wine-chained captive free,
    And all are better for knowing me."

    These are the tales they told each other,
    The glass of wine and its paler brother,
    As they sat together, filled to the brim,
    On a rich man's table, rim to rim.

        Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 The Siege of Belgrade

    AN Austrian army, awfully arrayed,
    Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade.
    Cossack commanders cannonading come,
    Dealing destruction's devastating doom.
    Every endeavor engineers essay,
    For fame, for fortune fighting - furious fray!
    Generals 'gainst generals grapple - gracious God!
    How honors Heaven heroic hardihood!
    Infuriate, indiscrminate in ill,
    Kindred kill kinsmen, kinsmen kindred kill.
    Labor low levels longest, lofiest lines;
    Men march 'mid mounds, 'mid moles, ' mid murderous mines;
    Now noxious, noisey numbers nothing, naught
    Of outward obstacles, opposing ought;
    Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed,
    Quite quaking, quickly "Quarter! Quarter!" quest.
    Reason returns, religious right redounds,
    Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds.
    Truce to thee, Turkey! Triumph to thy train,
    Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine!
    Vanish vain victory! vanish, victory vain!
    Why wish we warfare? Wherefore welcome were
    Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xavier?
    Yield, yield, ye youths! ye yeomen, yield your yell!
    Zeus', Zarpater's, Zoroaster's zeal,
    Attracting all, arms against acts appeal!

        Alaric Alexander Watts

On King Arthur's Round Table at Winchester

    WHERE Venta's Norman castle still uprears
    Its rafter'd hall, that o'er the grassy foss,
    And scatter'd flinty fragments clad in moss,
    On yonder steep in naked state appears;
    High-hung remains, the pride of war-like years,
    Old Arthur's board: on the capacious round
    Some British pen has sketch'd the names renown'd,
    In marks obscure, of his immortal peers.
    Though join'd by magic skill, with many a rhyme,
    The Druid frame, unhonour'd, falls a prey
    To the slow vengeance of the wizard Time,
    And fade the British characters away;
    Yet Spenser's page, that chants in verse sublime
    Those chiefs, shall live, unconscious of decay.

        Thomas Warton