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Alas, quoth he, but newly born,
In fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their

Or feel the fire, but I.

NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP. BEHOLD a silly, tender Babe,

In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies;

Alas! a piteous sight.
The inns are full; no man will yield

This little Pilgriin bed;
But forced he is with silly beasts

In crib to shroud his head.
Despise him not for lying there;

First what he is inquire:
An Orient pearl is often found

In depth of dirty mire.
Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish,

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;
The fuel wounding thorns;
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke,
The ashes shames and scorns.
The fuel justice layeth on,
And mercy blows the coals;
The metal in this furnace wrought
Are men's defiled souls

For which, as now on fire I am,
To work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath,
To wash them in my blood.
With this he vanished out of sight,
And swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I called unto mind
That it was Christmas Day.



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

uous hand!


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
To view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright,
Did in the air appear;
Who, scorched with excessive heat,
Such floods of tears did shed,
As though his floods should quench

his flames;
Which with his tears were bred:

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!


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" Pallas. - See yonder souls set far within the shade,

Who in Elysian bowers the blessed seats do keep,
That for their living good now semi-gods are made,

And went away from earth, as if but tamed with sleep.
These we must join to wake; for these are of the strain
That Justice dare defend, and will the Age sustain."

BEN JONSON: Golden Age Restored




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

their due.

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

lags behind.


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.

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