Ballads | Page 2

length, the feast was ended, Grand'ther Baldwin bent his head,
And, amid the solemn silence, with a reverent voice, he said:--
"Now unto God, the Gracious One, we thanks and homage pay,
Who
guardeth us, and guideth us, and loveth us always!
"He scatters blessings in our paths, He giveth us increase, He crowns us
with His kindnesses, and granteth us His peace.
"Unto himself, our wandering feet, we pray that He may draw, And
may we strive, with faithful hearts, to keep His holy law!"
His simple words in silence died: a moment's hush. And then From all
the listening hearts there rose a solemn-voiced Amen !
ST. NICHOLAS.
In the far-off Polar seas,
Far beyond the Hebrides,
Where the
icebergs, towering high,
Seem to pierce the wintry sky,
And the
fur-clad Esquimaux
Glides in sledges o'er the snow,
Dwells St.
Nick, the merry wight,
Patron saint of Christmas night.
Solid walls of massive ice,
Bearing many a quaint device,
Flanked
by graceful turrets twain,
Clear as clearest porcelain,
Bearing at a

lofty height
Christ's pure cross in simple white,
Carven with
surpassing art
From an iceberg's crystal heart.
Here St. Nick, in royal state,
Dwells, until December late
Clips the
days at either end,
And the nights at each extend;
Then, with his
attendant sprites,
Scours the earth on wintry nights,
Bringing home,
in well-filled hands,
Children's gifts from many lands.
Here are whistles, tops and toys,
Meant to gladden little boys;

Skates and sleds that soon will glide
O'er the ice or steep hill-side.

Here are dolls with flaxen curls,
Sure to charm the little girls;

Christmas books, with pictures gay,
For this welcome holiday.
In the court the reindeer wait;
Filled the sledge with costly freight.

As the first faint shadow falls,
Promptly from his icy halls
Steps St.
Nick, and grasps the rein:
And afar, in measured time,
Sounds the
sleigh-bells' silver chime.
Like an arrow from the bow
Speed the reindeer o'er the snow.

Onward! Now the loaded sleigh
Skirts the shores of Hudson's Bay.

Onward, till the stunted tree
Gains a loftier majesty,
And the
curling smoke-wreaths rise
Under less inclement skies.
Built upon a hill-side steep
Lies a city wrapt in sleep.
Up and down
the lonely street
Sleepy watchmen pace their beat.
Little heeds them
Santa Claus;
Not for him are human laws.
With a leap he leaves the
ground,
Scales the chimney at a bound.
Five small stockings hang below;
Five small stockings in a row.

From his pocket blithe St. Nick
Fills the waiting stockings quick;

Some with sweetmeats, some with toys,
Gifts for girls, and gifts for
boys,
Mounts the chimney like a bird,
And the bells are once more
heard.
Santa Claus! Good Christmas saint,
In whose heart no selfish taint

Findeth place, some homes there be
Where no stockings wait for thee,

Homes where sad young faces wear
Painful marks of Want and
Care,
And the Christmas morning brings
No fair hope of better
things.
Can you not some crumbs bestow
On these Children steeped in woe;

Steal a single look of care
Which their sad young faces wear;

From your overflowing store
Give to them whose hearts are sore?

No sad eyes should greet the morn
When the infant Christ was born.
BARBARA'S COURTSHIP.
'Tis just three months and eke a day,
Since in the meadows, raking
hay,
On looking up I chanced to see
The manor's lord, young
Arnold Lee,
With a loose hand on the rein,
Riding slowly down the
lane.
As I gazed with earnest look
On his face as on a book,
As if
conscious of the gaze,
Suddenly he turned the rays
Of his brilliant
eyes on me.
Then I looked down hastily,
While my heart, like
caged bird,
Fluttered till it might be heard.
Foolish, foolish Barbara!
We had never met before,
He had been so long away,
Visiting some
foreign shore,
I have heard my father say.
What in truth was he to
me,
Rich and handsome Arnold Lee?
Fate had placed us far apart;

Why, then, did my restless heart
Flutter when his careless glance

Fell on me by merest chance?
Foolish, foolish Barbara!
There are faces--are there not?-
That can never be forgot.
Looks
that seen but once impress
With peculiar vividness.
So it was with
Arnold Lee.
Why it was I cannot say
That, through all the livelong
day
He seemed ever near to me.
While I raked, as in a dream,

Now the same place o'er and o'er,
Till my little sister chid,
And

with full eyes opened wide,
Much in wonder, gently cried,
"Why,
what ails thee, Barbara?"
I am in the fields again;
'Tis a pleasant day in June,
All the
songsters are in tune,
Pouring out their matin hymn.
All at once a
conscious thrill
Led me, half against my will,
To look up. Abashed
I see
His dark eyes full fixed on me.
What he said I do not know,

But his voice was soft and low,
As he spoke in careless chat,
Now
of this and now of that,
While the murmurous waves of sound

Wafted me a bliss profound.
Foolish, foolish Barbara!
Am I waking? Scarce I know
If I wake or if I dream,
So unreal all
things seem;
Yet I could not well forego
This sweet dream, if
dream it be,
That has brought such joy to me.
He has told me that
he loves me,-
He in rank so far above me;
And when I, with cheeks
aglow,
Told him that it was not