The Project Gutenberg EBook of In The Yule-Log Glow--Book 3, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: In The Yule-Log Glow--Book 3 Christmas Poems from 'round the World Author: Various Editor: Harrison S. Morris Release Date: February 15, 2007 [EBook #20586] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE YULE-LOG GLOW--BOOK 3 *** Produced by Sam W., Jason Isbell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net IN THE YULE-LOG GLOW CHRISTMAS POEMS FROM 'ROUND THE WORLD "Sic as folk tell ower at a winter ingle" Scott EDITED BY HARRISON S. MORRIS THREE VOLUMES IN ONE. Book III. PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1900. Copyright, 1891, by J. B. Lippincott Company. Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. BETWEEN THE TALE-TELLING. Fancy, if you will, Gentle Reader, that, between the intervals of tale-telling,—the Yule-log still ruddy upon the visages of your fellow-guests from many lands,—fancy that a quiet traveller draws out of his side-pocket a little, well-worn pair of books from which he reads some scrap of verse or some melodious Christmas poem. Fancy, too, that, beneath the inn windows, in the snow outside, an occasional band of the Waits strikes up an ancient carol with voice and horn, begging, when the music is done, admittance to the glowing warmth within doors and a share in the plenteous cakes and ale. Imagine this, if you will, and choose, from the pages to come, whatever of old or new will fit well into the conceit; for not a few carols or legends lie there which have done service under the snow-covered gables or by the crackling wood, and which will help, with their quaint heartiness or simple beauty, to realize the charm of Christmas the world around,— that charm which flows from hearty and generous good-will towards men; which has for its inner light the kindly desire for peace on earth. ILLUSTRATIONS, BOOK III. Ready for the Feast Page 59 The Baron's Hall " 66 A Shepherd " 142 A Vision " 200 CONTENTS OF BOOK III. Legends in Song. page The Hallowed Time 11 On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 12 The First Roman Christmas 23 The Three Damsels 25 King Olaf's Christmas[A] 29 Halbert and Hob 33 Good King Wenceslas 39 The Wise Men of the East 41 Christmas at Sea 46 "Last Christmas was a Year ago"[B] 50 As It Fell Upon A Day. A Christmas "Now" 59 Christmas Eve Customs 63 Merry Souls 64 Christmas in the Olden Time 66 Ceremonies for Christmas 68 Bringing in the Boar's Head 69 The Boar's Head Carol 70 To be Eaten with Mustard 71 Christmas-Day in the Morning 72 [Pg 3] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] Praise of Christmas 73 Winter's Delights 78 A Christmas Catch 79 The Epic 80 The Country Life 89 Christmas Omnipresent 90 An Old English Christmas-Tide 94 Signs of Christmas 97 The Mistletoe 99 Christmas of Old 101 A Plea for a Present 112 A New-Year's Gift Sent to Sir Simeon Steward 114 The New-Year's Gift 116 An Invitation to the Revel 117 A Christmas Ditty 120 At the End of the Feast 121 Twelfth Night; or, King and Queen 123 Ceremonies for Candlemas Eve 125 Another Ceremony 126 The Ceremonies for Candlemas Day 127 Another Ceremony 127 Saint Distaff's Day, the Morrow after Twelfth Day 128 The Shepherds. On Oaten Pipes 131 Pipe-Playing 132 The First Carol 134 In Bethlehem 137 A Carol in the Pastures 139 The Shepherds 141 On Shepherds' Pipes 144 Angel Tidings 145 The News-Bearers 146 Hymn for Christmas-Day 149 A Hymn of the Nativity 150 Sung by the Shepherd 155 From "The Light of the World"[C] 158 It Brings Good Cheer. Old Christmas Returned 179 The Trencherman 184 Ban and Blessing 186 Thrice Welcome! 187 Christmas Provender 188 Glee and Solace 189 On Saint John's Day 191 Christmas Alms 193 Christmas at the Round-Table 195 Lullaby. A Carol at the Manger 199 A Dream Carol 200 The King in the Cradle 202 [Pg 7] [Pg 8] Madonna and Child 205 A Rocking Hymn 209 A Cradle-Song of the Virgin 212 Whispering Palms 214 A Christmas Lullaby 215 The Virgin's Cradle-Hymn 216 The Sovereign 217 By the Cradle-Side 219 The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus 221 A Bedside Ditty 230 Given Back on Christmas Morn 231 A Lulling Song 237 Good-Night 239 FOOTNOTES: By the courtesy of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. By the courtesy of The Century Company. By the courtesy of Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls. Legends in Song. "Tell sweet old tales, Sing songs as we sit bending o'er the hearth, Till the lamp flickers and the memory fails." Frederick Tennyson. THE HALLOWED TIME. Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallowed and so gracious is the time. Shakespeare. ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious form, that light insufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of majesty, [A] [B] [C] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] Wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant-God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host kept watch in squadron bright? See, how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet; O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel-quire, From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. THE HYMN. It was the winter wild, While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him, Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready Harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes an universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around; The idle spear and shield were high up-hung; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need. He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear. The shepherds on the lawn, Or e'er the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal fingers strook; Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took; The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature that heard such sound, Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-faced night array'd; The helmed cherubim, And sworded seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music as, 'tis said, Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, [Pg 16] [Pg 17] Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow, And, with your ninefold harmony, Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of gold, And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. But wisest Fate says No, This must not yet be so; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep; With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbreak: The aged earth aghast With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for, from this happy day, The Old Dragon, under ground In straighter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] From haunted spring and dale, Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn, The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets, mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbrell'd anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded Infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine; Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling-bands control the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest teemed star Hath fix'd her polished car, Her sleeping Lord, with handmaid lamp attending: [Pg 21] [Pg 22] And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. John Milton. THE FIRST ROMAN CHRISTMAS. It was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars, Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. 'Twas in the calm and silent night! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lonely revel rolling home. Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away In the solemn midnight Centuries ago? Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable-door, Across his path. He passed; for naught Told what was going on within. How keen the stars! his only thought; The air how calm, and cold, and thin! In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. O strange indifference! Low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares; The earth was still, but knew not why; The world was listening unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. It is the calm and solemn night! A thousand bells ring out and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness, charmed, and holy now! The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given; For in that stable lay, new-born, The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. Alfred H. Domett. [Pg 23] [Pg 24] THE THREE DAMSELS. (SUGGESTED BY A DRAWING OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI'S.) Three damsels in the queen's chamber, The queen's mouth was most fair; She spake a word of God's mother As the combs went in her hair. Mary that is of might, Bring us to thy Son's sight. They held the gold combs out from her A span's length off her head; She sang this song of God's mother And of her bearing-bed. Mary most full of grace, Bring us to thy Son's face. When she sat at Joseph's hand, She looked against her side; And either way from the short silk band Her girdle was all wried. Mary that all good may, Bring us to thy Son's way. Mary had three women for her bed, The twain were maidens clean; The first of them had white and red, The third had riven green. Mary that is so sweet, Bring us to thy Son's feet. She had three women for her hair, Two were gloved soft and shod; The third had feet and fingers bare, She was the likest God. Mary that wieldeth land, Bring us to thy Son's hand. She had three women for her ease, The twain were good women; The first two were the two Maries, The third was Magdalen. Mary that perfect is, Bring us to thy Son's kiss. Joseph had three workmen in his stall, To serve him well upon; The first of them were Peter and Paul, The third of them was John. Mary, God's handmaiden, Bring us to thy Son's ken. "If your child be none other man's, But if it be very mine, The bedstead shall be gold two spans, The bed-foot silver fine." Mary that made God mirth, Bring us to thy Son's birth. "If the child be some other man's, And if it be none of mine, The manger shall be straw two spans, Betwixen kine and kine." Mary that made sin cease, [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] Bring us to thy Son's peace. Christ was born upon this wise: It fell on such a night, Neither with sounds of psalteries, Nor with fire for light. Mary that is God's spouse, Bring us to thy Son's house. The star came out upon the east With a great sound and sweet: Kings gave gold to make him feast And myrrh for him to eat. Mary of thy sweet mood, Bring us to thy Son's good. He had two handmaids at his head, One handmaid at his feet; The twain of them were fair and red, The third one was right sweet. Mary that is most wise, Bring us to thy Son's eyes. Amen. Algernon Charles Swinburne. KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS. At Drontheim, Olaf the King Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, As he sat in his banquet hall, Drinking the nut-brown ale, With his bearded Berserks hale And tall. Three days his Yule-tide feasts He held with Bishops and Priests, And his horn filled up to the brim; But the ale was never too strong, Nor the Sagaman's tale too long, For him. O'er his drinking-horn, the sign He made of the cross divine As he drank, and muttered his prayers; But the Berserks evermore Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor Over theirs. The gleams of the fire-light dance Upon helmet and hauberk and lance And laugh in the eyes of the king; And he cries to Halfred the Scald, Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald: "Sing! "Sing me a song divine, With a sword in every line, And this shall be thy reward;" And he loosened the belt at his waist, And in front of the singer placed His sword. "Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] Wherewith at a stroke he hewed The millstone through and through, And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong Were neither so broad nor so long Nor so true." Then the Scald took his harp and sang, And loud through the music rang The sound of that shining word; And the harp-strings a clangor made As if they were struck with the blade Of a sword. And the Berserks round about Broke forth into a shout That made the rafters ring; They smote with their fists on the board, And shouted, "Long live the sword And the King!" But the king said, "O my son, I miss the bright word in one Of thy measures and thy rhymes." And Halfred the Scald replied, "In another 'twas multiplied Three times." Then King Olaf raised the hilt Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, And said, "Do not refuse; Count well the gain and the loss, Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: Choose!" And Halfred the Scald said, "This, In the name of the Lord, I kiss, Who on it was crucified!" And a shout went round the board, "In the name of Christ the Lord Who died!" Then over the waste of snows The noonday sun uprose Through the driving mists revealed, Like the lifting of the Host, By incense-clouds almost Concealed. On the shining wall a vast And shadowy cross was cast From the hilt of the lifted sword, And in foaming cups of ale The Berserks drank "Was-hael! To the Lord!" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. HALBERT AND HOB. Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den, In a wild part of North England, there lived once two wild men, Inhabiting one homestead, neither a hovel nor hut, [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] Time out of mind their birthright: father and son, these,— but,— Such a son, such a father! Most wildness by degrees Softens away: yet, last of their line, the wildest and worst were these. Criminals, then? Why, no: they did not murder and rob; But give them a word, they returned a blow,—old Halbert as young Hob: Harsh and fierce of word, rough and savage of deed, Hated or feared the more—who knows?—the genuine wild-beast breed. Thus were they found by the few sparse folk of the country-side; But how fared each with other? E'en beasts couch, hide by hide. In a growling, grudged agreement: so father son lay curled The closelier up in their den because the last of their kind in the world. Still, beast irks beast on occasion. One Christmas night of snow, Came father and son to words—such words! more cruel because the blow To crown each word was wanting, while taunt matched gibe, and curse Competed with oath in wager, like pastime in hell,—nay, worse: For pastime turned to earnest, as up there sprang at last The son at the throat of the father, seized him, and held him fast. "Out of this house you go!"—there followed a hideous oath— "This oven where now we bake, too hot to hold us both! If there's snow outside, there's coolness: out with you, bide a spell In the drift, and save the sexton the charge of a parish shell!" Now, the old trunk was tough, was solid as stump of oak Untouched at the core by a thousand years: much less had its seventy broke One whipcord nerve in the muscly mass from neck to shoulder-blade Of the mountainous man, whereon his child's rash hand like a feather weighed. Nevertheless at once did the mammoth shut his eyes, Drop chin to breast, drop hands to sides, stand stiffened, —arms and thighs All of a piece—struck mute, much as a sentry stands, Patient to take the enemy's fire: his captain so commands. Whereat the son's wrath flew to fury at such sheer scorn Of his puny strength by the giant eld thus acting the babe new-born: And "Neither will this turn serve!" yelled he. "Out with you! Trundle, log! If you cannot tramp and trudge like a man, try all-fours like a dog!" Still the old man stood mute. So, logwise,—down to floor [Pg 34] [Pg 35] Pulled from his fireside place, dragged on from hearth to door,— Was he pushed, a very log, staircase along, until A certain turn in the steps was reached, a yard from the house-door sill. Then the father opened his eyes,—each spark of their rage extinct,— Temples, late black, dead-blanched, right-hand with left- hand linked,— He faced his son submissive; when slow the accents came, They were strangely mild though his son's rash hand on his neck lay all the same. "Halbert, on such a night of a Christmas long ago, For such a cause, with such a gesture, did I drag—so— My father down thus far: but, softening here, I heard A voice in my heart, and stopped: you wait for an outer word. "For your own sake, not mine, soften you too! Untrod Leave this last step we reach, nor brave the finger of God! I dared not pass its lifting: I did well. I nor blame Nor praise you. I stopped here: Halbert, do you the same!" Straightway the son relaxed his hold of the father's throat. They mounted, side by side, to the room again: no note Took either of each, no sign made each to either: last As first, in absolute silence, their Christmas-night they passed. At dawn, the father sate on, dead, in the selfsame place, With an outburst blackening still the old bad fighting-face: But the son crouched all a-tremble like any lamb new- yeaned. When he went to the burial, some one's staff he borrowed,—tottered and leaned. But his lips were loose, not locked,—kept muttering, mumbling. "There! At his cursing and swearing!" the youngsters cried; but the elders thought, "In prayer." A boy threw stones; he picked them up and stored them in his vest; So tottered, muttered, mumbled he, till he died, perhaps found rest. "Is there a reason in nature for these hard hearts?" O Lear, That a reason out of nature must turn them soft, seems clear! Robert Browning. 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, [Pg 36] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] [Pg 39] Tho' the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gathering 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 them thither." Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together Thro' 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, good my 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. Translated from the Latin, by J. M. Neale. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. Three kings went riding from the East Through fine weather and wet; "And whither shall we ride," they said, "Where we ha' not ridden yet?" "And whither shall we ride," they said, "To find the hidden thing That times the course of all our stars And all our auguring?" They were the Wise Men of the East, And none so wise as they; "Alas!" the King of Persia cried, "And must ye ride away? "Yet since ye go a-riding, sirs, I pray ye, ride for me, And carry me my golden gifts To the King o' Galilee. [Pg 40] [Pg 41]