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RICHARD HEBER, Esq.
EAP on more wood!—the wind is chill,
And dancing round the blazing pile,
And well our Christian sires of old
The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge ball-table's oaken face, Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man; Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garbed ranger tell, How, when, and where, the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar; While round the merry wassel bowl, Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl. There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by Plumb-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; Nor failed old Scotland to produce, At such high-tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry masquers in, And carols roared with blithesome din; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery; White shirts supplied the masquerade,
nd smutted cheeks the visors made; But, 0! what masquers richly dight. Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Still linger in our northern clime
* “Blood is warmer than water,"-a proverb meant to visdicate our family predilections.
In these dear halls, where welcome kind Be with fair liberty combined; Where cordial friendship gives the hand, And flies constraint the magic wand Of the fair dame that rules the land. Little we heed the tempest drear, While music, mirth, and social cheer, Speed on their wings the passing year. And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, When not a leaf is on the bough. Tweed loves them well, and turns again, As loath to leave the sweet domain; And holds his mirror to her face, And clips her with a close embrace: Gladly as he, we seek the dome, And as reluctant turn us home. How just, that, at this time of glee, My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee! For many a merry hour we've known, And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease, And leave these classic tomes in peace! Of Roman and of Grecian lore, Sure mortal brain can hold no more. These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, Were“ pretty fellows in their day,” But time and tide o'er all prevailOn Christmas eve a Christmas tale
* “ Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir-a very pretty fellow in his day." Old Bachelor,