TWAS the night before Christmas, when

all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that ST. NICHOLAS SOON would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the

With a little old driver, so lively and

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen !

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the coursers they

flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nich

olas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to

his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.

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 bowlful of jelly.

Though ages long have past

Since our Fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !
And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

While the language free and bold
Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; -
While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast; ·

While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts, -
Between let Ocean roll,

66

ROSALIE

"O POUR upon my soul again

That sad, unearthly strain,

That seems from other worlds to plain; Thus falling, falling from afar,

As if some melancholy star

Had mingled with her light her sighs, And dropped them from the skies!

"No, never came from aught below This melody of woe,

That makes my heart to overflow,
As from a thousand gushing springs
Unknown before; that with it brings
This nameless light,- if light it be,-
That veils the world I see.

"For all I see around me wears

The hue of other spheres; And something blent of smiles and tears Comes from the very air I breathe. O, nothing, sure, the stars beneath Can mould a sadness like to this,

So like angelic bliss."

So, at that dreamy hour of day,

When the last lingering ray Stops on the highest cloud to play, — So thought the gentle Rosalie, As on her maiden reverie

First fell the strain of him who stole In music to her soul.

ON THE LATE S. T. COLERIDGE

AND thou art gone, most loved, most honored friend!

No, nevermore thy gentle voice shall blend
With air of Earth its pure ideal tones,
Binding in one, as with harmonious zones,
The heart and intellect. And I no more
Shall with thee gaze on that unfathomed
deep,
The Human Soul,
the shore,

as when, pushed off

Yet still from either beach