Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/178

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MARMION.
The wassel round, in good brown bowls,65Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls.There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard byPlum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie:Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce,At such high tide, her savoury goose.70Then came the merry maskers in,And carols roar'd with blithesome din;If unmelodious was the song,It was a hearty note, and strong.Who lists may in their mumming see75Traces of ancient mystery;White shirts supplied the masquerade,And smutted cheeks the visors made;But, O! what maskers, richly dight,Can boast of bosoms half so light!80England was merry England, whenOld Christmas brought his sports again.'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;A Christmas gambol oft could cheer85The poor man's heart through half the year.
 Still linger, in our northern clime,Some remnants of the good old time;And still, within our valleys here,We hold the kindred title dear,90Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claimTo Southron ear sounds empty name;For course of blood, our proverbs deem,Is warmer than the mountain-stream.And thus, my Christmas still I hold95Where my great-grandsire came of old,With amber beard, and flaxen hair,And reverend apostolic air—The feast and holy-tide to share,And mix sobriety with wine,100And honest mirth with thoughts divine:
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