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

the blessed Virgin,
She's now brought forth a Son.
FOOTNOTES:
[M] Run.
[N] Crow.
[O] Rounds.
THE HOLY WELL.
As it fell out one May morning,
And upon one bright holiday,

Sweet Jesus asked of His dear mother,
If He might go to play.
To play, to play, sweet Jesus shall go,
And to play pray get you gone;

And let me hear of no complaint
At night when you come home.
Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town
As far as the Holy Well,


And there did see as fine children
As any tongue can tell.
He said, God bless you every one,
And your bodies Christ save and
see:
Little children, shall I play with you,
And you shall play with
me?
But they made answer to Him, No:
They were lords' and ladies' sons;

And He, the meanest of them all,
Was but a maiden's child, born in
an ox's stall.
Sweet Jesus turned Him around,
And He neither laughed nor smiled,

But the tears came trickling from His eyes
Like water from the
skies.
Sweet Jesus turned Him about,
To His mother's dear home went He,

And said, I have been in yonder town,
As far as you can see.
I have been down in yonder town
As far as the Holy Well,
There
did I meet as fine children
As any tongue can tell.
I bid God bless them every one,
And their bodies Christ save and see:

Little children, shall I play with you,
And you shall play with me?
But they made answer to me, No:
They were lords' and ladies' sons;

And I, the meanest of them all,
Was but a maiden's child, born in
an ox's stall.
Though you are but a maiden's child,
Born in an ox's stall,
Thou art
the Christ, the King of heaven,
And the Saviour of them all.
Sweet Jesus, go down to yonder town
As far as the Holy Well,
And
take away those sinful 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