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Mistletoe. 
“ On Christmas-eve the bells were rung, 
On Christmas-eve the mass was sung ; 
That only night in all the year 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice near. 
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green : 
Forth to the woods did merry men go, 
To gather in the mistletoe. 
Then opened wide the baron’s hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all.” 
In these less demonstrative days we are apt to forget many 
of the good old customs of our forefathers’ times; many of 
them are only to be met with in tales of eld, or flitting through 
poets’ rhymes. Of all seasons, Christmas is the one now kept 
up gleefully in the happy homes of Old England ; and of all 
her ancient customs, the one that appears least likely to be 
forgotten is that very pleasant one of kissing under the 
mistletoe-bough. Long may it last in all its jollity ! 
Of all our living poets none has shown more pleasure in 
depicting Christmas life in Britain than Eliza Cook, and in 
the following song she tells far better in poetry than can be 
told in prose what should take place “Under the Mistletoe:” 
“ Under the mistletoe, pearly and green, 
Meet the kind lips of the young and the old ; 
Under the mistletoe hearts may be seen 
Glowing as though they had never been cold. 
Under the mistletoe, peace and goodwill 
Mingle the spirits that long have been twain ; 
Leaves of the olive-branch twine with it still, 
While breathings of hope fill the loud carol strain. 
Yet why should this holy and festival mirth 
In the reign of old Christmas-tide only be found ? 
Hang up love’s mistletoe over the earth, 
And let us kiss under it all the year round! 
** Hang up the mistletoe over the land 
Where the poor dark man is spurn’d by the white; 
Hang it wherever Oppression’s strong hand 
Wrings from the helpless humanity’s right; 
Hang it on high where the starving lip sobs. 
And the patrician one tumeth in scorn; 
Let it be met where the purple steel robs 
Child of its father, and field of its corn. 
Hail it with joy in our yule-lighted mirth, 
But let it not fade with the festival sound ; 
Hang up love’s mistletoe over the earth, 
And let us kiss under it all the year round ! r 
