And usages, whose due return invites
A stir of mind too natural to deceive;
Giving the memory help when she could weave
A crown for Hope!—I dread the boasted
lights
That all too often are but fiery blights,
Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.
Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort
bring.
The counter Spirit found in some gay
church
Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch
In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,
Merry and loud, and safe from prying
search.
Strains offered only to the genial spring.
SO, NOW IS COME OUR JOYFULST
FEAST
So, now is come our joyfulst feast.
Let every man be jolly;
Each room with ivy leaves is drest.
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine;
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine.
And let us all be merry.
