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Alas, quoth he, but newly born,
NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP. BEHOLD a silly, tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
Alas! a piteous sight.
This little Pilgriin bed;
In crib to shroud his head.
First what he is inquire:
In depth of dirty mire.
Nor beasts that by him feed; Weigh not his mother's poor attire,
Nor Joseph's simple weed. This stable is a Prince's court,
The crib his chair of state; The beasts are parcel of his pomp,
The wooden dish his plate.
My faultless breast the furnace is;
For which, as now on fire I am,
THE CHRISTMAS CAROL.
The persons in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from
heaven: This pomp is praised there. With joy approach, 0 Christian
wight! Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp, Which he from heaven doth bring.
THE minstrels played their Christ
mas tune To-night beneath my cottage-eaves; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with
leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, That overpowered their natural
green. Through hill and valley every breeze Had sunk to rest with folded wings: Keen was the air, but could not
freeze, Nor check, the music of the strings; So stout and hardy were the band That scraped the chords with stren
THE BURNING BABE.
As I in hoary winter's night Stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was by sudden heat Which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye
And who but listened ? — till was
paid Respect to every inmate's claim: The greeting given, the music
played, In honor of each household name, Duly pronounced with lusty call, And “Merry Christmas " wished to
How touching, when, at midnight,
sweep Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark, To hear, and sink again to sleep! Or, at an earlier call, to mark, By blazing fire, the still suspense Of self-complacent innocence;
Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the
times: Ring out, ring out my mournful
rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in.
The mutual nod, – the grave dis
guise Of hearts with gladness brimming
o'er; And some unbidden tears that rise For names once heard, and heard no
more; Tears brightened by the serenade For infant in the cradle laid.
Ring out false pride in place and
blood, The civic slander and the spite: Ring in the love of truth and
right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of
gold; Ring out the thousand wars of
old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the
land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Hail, ancient Manners ! sure defence, Where they survive, of wholesome
laws; Remnants of love whose modest
sense Thus into narrow room withdraws; Hail, Usages of pristine mould, And ye that guard them, Mountains old!
" Pallas. - See yonder souls set far within the shade,
Who in Elysian bowers the blessed seats do keep,
And went away from earth, as if but tamed with sleep.
BEN JONSON: Golden Age Restored
ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN
Then falls the power into the mighty
hands Of Nature, of the spirit giant-born, Who listens only to himself, knows
nothing Of stipulations, duties, reverences, And, like the emancipated force of
fire, Unmastered scorches, ere it reaches
them, Their fine-spun webs. COLERIDGE's Translation of “Wal
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered
saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine moun
tains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so
pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped
stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their
groans Who were thy sheep, and in their
ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese
that rolled Mother with infant down the
rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and
they To Heaven. Their martyred blood
and ashes sow O’er all the Italian fields, where
still doth sway The triple tyrant; that from these
may grow A hundred-fold, who, having
learned thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
Who is the honest man? He that doth still and strongly good
pursue; To God, his neighbor, and himself,
most true. Whom neither force nor fawning
can Unpin, or wrench from giving all
Whose honesty is not So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind Can blow away, or glittering look it
blind. Who rides his sure and even trot, While the world now rides by, now
At the approach Of extreme peril, when a hollow
image Is found a hollow image and no
Who, when great trials come, Nor seeks, nor shuns them, but
doth calmly stay, Till he the thing and the example weigh.