XIV.

CHRISTMAS DAY.

Was it a fancy, bred of vagrant guess,
Or well-remember'd fact, that He was born
When half the world was wintry and forlorn,
In Nature's utmost season of distress?
And did the simple earth indeed confess
Its destitution and its craving need,
Wearing the white and penitential weed,
Meet symbol of judicial barrenness?
So be it; for in truth 'tis ever so,

That when the winter of the soul is bare,
The seed of heaven at first begins to grow,

Peeping abroad in desert of despair.

Full many a floweret, good, and sweet, and fair, Is kindly wrapp'd in coverlet of snow.

XV.

ON A CALM DAY TOWARDS THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

THERE never was an hour of purer peace!
Methinks old Time, in mere mortality,
Gives up the ghost, contented not to be,
And all the pulses of great Nature cease.
Whate'er betokens hope, life, or increase,
The gladsome expectation, or the dread
Of chance and change upon to-morrow fed,
Await the expiration of their lease

In dumb dull apathy. Not on the tree
Stirs the brown leaf; or, if detached, it drop,
So very slow it wavers to the ground

One might suppose that central gravity,
Prime law of nature, were about to stop :
Ne'er died a year with spirit so profound.

Dec. 1835.

XVI.

DECEMBER, 1838.

THE poor old year upon

its deathbed lies;

Old trees lift up their branches manifold,
Spiry and stern, inveterately old;

Their bare and patient poverty defies

The fickle humour of inconstant skies.

All chill and distant, the great monarch Sun
Beholds the last days of his minion.

What is 't to him how soon the old year dies?
Yet some things are, but lowly things and small,
That wait upon the old year to the last;
Some wee birds pipe a feeble madrigal,
Thrilling kind memories of the summer past;
Some duteous flowers put on their best array
To do meet honour to their lord's decay.

A NEW-YEAR'S day!

XVII.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

Time was that I was glad

When the new year was usher'd into life
With midnight fiddle, morning drum and fife.
I wonder❜d then how any could be sad
Because another year had gone to add

One figure to the date of human strife.

And yet I knew that sin and pain were rife,

That age would fain be cold, that youth was mad ;

All this I knew, yet, knowing, ne'er believed ;

And now I know it, and believe it too :
But yet I am not of all grace bereaved;
I wish the hope that hath myself deceived
May, like the happy year, itself renew,
And be at least to one dear maiden true.