In The Yule-Log Glow, Vol. IV | Page 5

souls,?And dip them deep in hell.
Nay, nay, sweet Jesus said,?Nay, nay, that may not be;?For there are too many sinful souls?Crying out for the help of me.
THE HOLLY AND THE IVY.
The Holly and the Ivy,?Now both are full well grown;?Of all the trees that spring in wood,?The holly bears the crown.?The holly bears a blossom?As white as a lily flow'r;?And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ?To be our sweet Saviour.
The holly bears a berry?As red as any blood,?And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ?To do poor sinners good.?The holly bears a prickle?As sharp as any thorn,?And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ?On Christmas Day in the morn.
The holly bears a bark?As bitter as any gall,?And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ?For to redeem us all.?The holly and the ivy?Now are both well grown;?Of all the trees that are in the wood,?The holly bears the crown.
THE CONTEST OF THE VINES.
Nay, ivy, nay,?It shall not be, I wis;?Let holly have the mastery,?As the manner is.
Holly stand in the hall,?Fair to behold;?Ivy stand without the door,?She is full sore a-cold.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Holly and his merry men?They dancen and they sing;?Ivy and her maidens?They weepen and they wring.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Ivy hath a kybe,[P]?She caught it with the cold;?So mot they all have ae,[Q]?That with ivy hold.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Holly hath berries?As red as any rose,?The forester and the hunters?Keep them from the does.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Ivy hath berries?As black as any sloe;?There come the owl?And eat him as she go.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Holly hath birdés?A full fair flock,?The nightingale, the popinjay,?The gentle laverock.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
Good ivy,?What birdés hast thou??None but the howlet?That krey[R] "How, how."
Nay, ivy, nay,?It shall not be, I wis;?Let holly have the mastery,?As the manner is.
FOOTNOTES:
[P] Chapped skin.
[Q] So may all have.
[R] Cries.
ANE SANG OF THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.
A SCOTCH CAROL.
I come from hevin to tell?The best nowellis that ever befell;?To you this tythinges trew I bring,?And I will of them say and sing:
This day to yow is borne ane childe?Of Marie meike and Virgine mylde,?That blessit barne, bining and kynde,?Sall yow rejoyce baith heart and mynd.
My saull and lyfe, stand up and see?Quha lyes in ane cribe of tree,?Quhat babe is that, so gude and faire??It is Christ, God's sonne and aire.
O God, that made all creature,?How art Thow becum so pure,?That on the hay and stray will lye?Amang the asses, oxin, and kye!
O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,?Prepare Thy creddill in my spreit,?And I sall rocke Thee in my hert,?And never mair from Thee depart.
But I sall praise Thee evermoir?With sangs sweit unto Thy gloir,?The knees of my hert sall I bow,?And sing that right Balululow.
CHRISTMAS MINSTRELSY.
The minstrels played 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 overpowered 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 listened?--till was paid?Respect to every inmate's claim,?The greeting given, the music played?In honor of each household name,?Duly pronounced with lusty call,?And a merry Christmas wished 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 offered at the door?That guard the lowliest of the poor.
How touching, when at midnight sweep?Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark,?To hear--and sink again in 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 unhidden tears that rise?For names once heard, and heard no more;?Tears brightened 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 endeared,?The ground where we were born and reared!
Hail, ancient manners! sure defence,?Where they survive, of wholesome laws:?Remnants of love whose modest sense?Thus into narrow room withdraws;?Hail, usages of pristine mould,?And ye that guard them, Mountains old!
Bear with me, Brother! quench the thought?That slights this passion or condemns;?If thee fond fancy ever brought?From the proud margin of the Thames,?And Lambeth's venerable towers,?To humble streams and greener bowers.
Yes, they can make, who fail to find?Short leisure even in busiest days,?Moments to cast a look behind,?And profit by those kindly rays?That through the clouds do sometimes steal,?And