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His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf-
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And, laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

THE

THE BUGLE SONG.

splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old and hoary;
The long light shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Oh, hark! oh, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going;
Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing:

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Oh, love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river:

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow forever and forever.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

T

THE INQUIRY.

ELL me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,

And sighed for pity as it answered - "No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play,
Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away,
Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs;
Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies?

The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,

Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer-"No."

And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face,
Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace;
Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not seen some spot,
Where miserable man might find a happier lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,

And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded - "No."

Tell me, my secret soul—oh! tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death?
Is there no happy spot, where mortals may be blessed,
Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest?

Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings, and whispered-"YES, IN

HEAVEN."

X MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT.

I

AM old and blind!

Men point at me as smitten by God's frown; Afflicted and deserted of my kind,

Yet I am not cast down.

I am weak, yet strong;

I murmur not that I no longer see;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father Supreme! to thee.

O merciful One!

+

When men are farthest, then Thou art most near; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear.

Thy glorious face

Is leaning toward me, and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place-
And there is no more night.

On my bended knee,

I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown;
My vision Thou hast dimmed, that I may see
Thyself, Thyself alone.

I have nought to fear;

This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred - here

Can come no evil thing.

Oh! I seem to stand

Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land, Which eye hath never seen.

Visions come and go,

Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.

It is nothing now,

When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes— When airs from Paradise refresh my brow

That earth in darkness lies.

In a purer clime,

My being fills with rapture waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit-strains sublime
Break over me unsought.

Give me now my lyre!

I feel the stirrings of a gift divine;
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire
Lit by no skill of mine.

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Traveller, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone;
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor, on the darkening sea;
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

Warrior, that, from battle won,

Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain,

Weeping on his burial plain;

Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie;
Heaven's first star alike ye see
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

O'

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LD Tubal Cain was a man of might

In the days when the earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear:

And he

sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork! Hurrah for the spear and sword!

Hurrah for the hand that wields them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire;

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his heart's desire.

And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,

And spoils of the forest-tree;

And they sang,

"Hurrah for Tubal Cain,

Who has given us strength anew!

Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart

Ere the setting of the sun;

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done.

He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind-

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