74 HENKY KIKKE WHITE S POEMS. 



The pale-eyed moon is mounted high, 

 And from the alehouse drunken Ned 

 Had reeled — then hasten all to bed. 

 The mistress sees that lazy Kate 

 The happing-coal on hitchen grate 

 Has laid — while master goes throughout, 

 Sees shutters fast, the mastiff out, 

 The candles safe, the hearths all clear, 

 And nought from thieves or fire to fear ; 

 Then both to bed together creep, 

 And join the general troop of sleep. 



CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1804. 



Yet once more, and once more, awake, raj harp, 

 From silence and neglect — one lofty strain ; 

 Lofty, yet wilder than the winds of Heaven, 

 And speaking mysteries, more than v/ords can tell, 

 I ask of thee ; for I, with hymnings high, 

 Would join the dirge of the departing year. 



Yet with no wintry garland from the woods, 

 Wrought of the leafless branch, or ivy sere, 

 Wreathe I thy tresses, dark December ! now ; 

 Me higher quarrel calls, v.'ith loudest song, 

 And fearful joy, to celebrate the day 

 Of the Redeemer. — Near two thousand suns 

 Have set their seals upon the rolling lapse 

 Of generations, since the dayspring first 

 Beamed from on high ! — Now to the mighty mass 

 Of that increasing aggregate, we add 

 One unit more. Space, in comparison, 

 How small, yet marked with how much misery ; 

 Wars, famines, and the fury, Pestilence, 

 Over the nations hanging her dread scourge ; 

 The oppressed, too, in silent bitterness, 

 Weeping their sufferance ; and the arm of wrong 

 Forcing the scant}'- portion from the weak, 



