CHRISTMAS MINSTRELSY.

HE Minstrels play'd their Christmas 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 overpower'd 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 strenuous hand!

And who but listen'd?-till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim :
The greeting given, the music play'd,

In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And " merry Christmas" wish'd to all!

O brother! I revere the choice

That took thee from thy native hills;

And it is given thee to rejoice:

Though public care full often tills

(Heaven only witness of the toil) A barren and ungrateful soil.

Yet, would that Thou, with me and mine,
Hadst heard this never-failing rite;

And seen on other faces shine

A true revival of the light

Which Nature and these rustic powers,
In simple childhood, spread through ours!

For pleasure hath not ceased to wait

On these expected annual rounds;
Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate
Call forth the unelaborate sounds,

Or they are offer'd at the door
That guards the lowliest of the poor.

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.

The mutual nod,-the grave disguise

Of hearts with gladness brimming o'er;

And some unbidden tears that rise

For names once heard, and heard no more;

Tears brighten'd by the serenade

For infant in the cradle laid.

Ah! not for emerald fields alone,

With ambient streams more pure and bright

Than fabled Cytherea's zone

Glittering before the Thunderer's sight,

Is to my heart of hearts endear'd

The ground where we were born and rear'd!

SILENT and cool, now freshening breezes blow
Where groves of chestnut crown yon shadowy steep,
And all around the tears of evening weep
For closing day, whose vast orb, westering slow,
Flings o'er the embattled clouds a mellower glow;
While pens of folded herds, and murmuring deep,
And falling rills, such gentle cadence keep,
As e'en might soothe the weary heart of woe.
Yet what to me is eve, what evening airs,
Or falling rills, or ocean's murmuring sound,
While sad and comfortless I seek in vain
Her who in absence turns my joy to cares,
And, as I cast my listless glances round,
Makes varied scenery but varied pain?

Camoens

PROGRESS OF EVENING.

ROM yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed : First through the deep, and warm, and secret glens,

Through the pale-glimmering, privet-scented

lane,

And through those alders by the river-side :
Now the soft dust impedes her, which the sheep
Have hollow'd out beneath their hawthorn

shade.

But ah! look yonder! see a misty tide

Rise up the hill, lay low the frowning grove,

Enwrap the gay, white mansion, sap its sides,
Until they sink and melt away like chalk.
Now it comes down against our village tower,
Covers its base, floats o'er its arches, tears.
The clinging ivy from the battlements-
Mingles in broad embrace the obdurate stone-
All one vast ocean! and goes swelling on,
Slow and silent, dim and deepening waves.

Landor.

NIGHT SONG.

THE moon is up in splendour,

And golden stars attend her;

The heavens are calm and bright;

Trees cast a deepening shadow,

And slowly off the meadow

A mist is rising silver-white.