If we had snow, it could have been
taken in the back fields out at the
old homestead, now planted in pines.
the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas
merry still.
"Sir Walter Scott"
(The Lay of the Last Minstrel)
Makes room to give him welcome now,
E'en want will dry its tears in mirth,
And crown him with a holly bough;
Though tramping 'neath a winter sky,
O'er snowy paths and rimy stiles,
The housewife sets her spinning by
To bid him welcome with her smiles.
Each house is swept the day before,
And windows stuck with evergreens,
The snow is besom'd from the door,
And comfort the crowns the cottage scenes.
Gilt holly, with its thorny pricks,
And yew and box, with berries small,
These deck the unused candlesticks,
And pictures hanging by the wall.
Neighbors resume their annual cheer,
Wishing, with smiles and spirits high,
Glad Christmas and a happy year
To every morning passer-by;
Milkmaids their Christmas journeys go,
Accompanied with favour'd swain;
And children pace the crumpling snow,
To taste their granny's cake again.
The shepherd, now no more afraid,
Since custom doth the chance bestow,
Starts up to kiss the giggling maid
Beneath the branch of mistletoe
That 'neath each cottage beam is seen,
With pearl-like berries shining gay;
The shadow still of what hath been,
Which fashion yearly fades away.
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In the midst of winter's cold
Shone the stars from heaven high
Like bright lamps of purest gold.
Stately trees trimmed silver-white
From the rage of winter storms
Glistened in the starry night
In majestic, eerie form.
All about there was a glow
Steeped in solemness profound;
'Twas a beauty deep and grave
That this winter walker found.
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