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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 listened all, in grim delight,
While Scalds yelld 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 rolled, 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 haild, with uncontrolld 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 he tore, And all the baiting of the boar. The wassail 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 failed old Scotland to produce, At such high-tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry masquers in, And carols roard 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 oh, what masquers 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.

Still linger in our northern clime
Some remnants of the good old time;
And still, within our valleys here,
We hold the kindred title dear;
Even when perchance its far-fetch'd claim
To southern ears sounds empty name;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.
And thus my Christmas still I hold
Where my great-grandsire came of old,
With amber beard, and flaxen hair,
And reverend apostolic air,
The feast and holy-tide to share,
And mix sobriety with wine,
And honest mirth with thoughts divine.

If absent from home at these happy seasons, we dream of it only the more ardently.

THE DREAM OF HOME. Who has not felt how sadly sweet

The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet,

When far o'er sea or land we roam ?

Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall,

To greener shores our bark may come;
But far more bright, more dear than all,

That dream of home, that dream of home.
Ask of the sailor youth when far

His light bark bounds o'er ocean's foam, What charms him most when evening's star

Smiles o’er the wave? To dream of home.
Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves

At that sweet hour around him come;
His heart's best joy, where'er he roves,
That dream of home, that dream of home.

MOORE. The New Year brings with it to many devout minds new and rapturous hopes of a golden age approaching on the earth, as promised at our Saviour's birth in

THE ANGELS' SONG.
It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth

To touch their harps of gold:
Peace to earth, goodwill to men,

From heaven's all-gracious King:
The world in solemn stillness lay

To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven sky they come

With peaceful wings unfurld,
And still their heavenly music floats

O’er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains

They bend on heavenly wing,
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds

The blessed angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife

The world has suffer'd long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rollid

Two thousand years of wrong ;
And men at war with men hear not

The love-song which they bring :
Oh! hush the noise, ye men at strife,

And hear the angels sing !

And ye, beneath life's crushing load

Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;
Look now! for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing:
Oh! rest beside the weary road,

And hear the angels sing !

For lo! the days are hastening on,

By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years

Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth

Its ancient splendours Aling,
And the whole world send back the song

Which now the angels sing.

That lamented poet, Miss Adelaide. Proctor, las left precious counsel for us all in

A THOUGHT FOR THE NEW YEAR.
One by one the sands are flowing,

One by one the moments fall,
Some are coming, some are going :

Do not strive to grasp them all !

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