Lyrics & Legends of Christmas-Tide
Part 1
_Lyrics & Legends of Christmas-Tide_
_SECOND EDITION ENLARGED_
_Lyrics & Legends of Christmas-Tide_
_CLINTON SCOLLARD_
CLINTON, NEW YORK: GEORGE WILLIAM BROWNING M DCCCC VI
_Copyrighted 1904 by Clinton Scollard_
First Edition, October, 1904 Second Edition, enlarged, December, 1905
CONTENTS
A Bell 7
Christmas Elves 8
The Christmas Angel 9
Nazareth Town 11
A Christmas Masque 13
A Song for Christmas Morning 15
The Christmas Minstrels 16
Twelfth Night Song 17
Yule at Thengelfor 18
A Yule-Tide Carol 21
Ballad of the Eve of Yule 22
The Hanging of the Holly 25
The Maid of Bethlehem 26
The Christmas Almsman 28
The Bells of Christmas 30
Christmas Ingle Song 31
Neil MacDonald 32
The Star of Bethlehem 34
Pierol’s Christmas 35
Song for the Eve of Yule 37
The Three Kings 38
The Wise Men 40
A Yule Song 42
The Christmas Hunter 43
A Christmas Song 45
A Lover to His Rhyme 46
The Christmas Pilgrimage 47
The Yule-Log 50
Ballad of the Christmas Tryst 51
A Knight’s Christmas 55
The White Ladye 56
The Wizard People 57
Holly Song 59
Gennesar 60
Firelight 61
Mother of Pearl 62
The Bells of Ardo 63
In the Age of the Year 65
A Lover’s Christmas 66
Ballad of Kirkland Hills 67
The Closed Room 69
Under the Holly Bough 70
Cosette’s Christmas 72
Pilgrims 76
_Lyrics & Legends of Christmas-Tide_
A Bell
Had I the power To cast a bell that should from some grand tower, At the first Christmas hour, Out-ring, And fling A jubilant message wide, The forgèd metals should be thus allied;-- No iron Pride, But soft Humility and rich-veined Hope Cleft from a sunny slope, And there should be White Charity, And silvery Love, that knows nor Doubt nor Fear, To make the peal more clear; And then, to firmly fix the fine alloy, There should be Joy!
Christmas Elves
If you walk on Christmas eve, And the moon doth shine aright, You will see them weave,-- Nimble gnome, and fay and sprite,-- Devious dances in the lustrous lunar light.
Round and round the holly bole Will they dart and glide and spring; And a tripping troll Will they in a chorus sing; Threading now in broken, now in linkèd ring.
_Berry bright, berry bright, Be the love about your hearth! Leafy green, leafy green, Be perennial your mirth! Sturdy as a holly bole be your footing of the earth!_
These white spirits of old Yule, Happy you who hear their tune! Joy with you shall rule, Life for you shall be a boon Round the year through all the watches of the moon!
The Christmas Angel
In middle heaven a form behold; Fair-aureoled Her shapely brow with noon-bright gold; _Soli Deo Gloria!_
Upon a little cloud she stands, Within her hands A tympanum with scarlet bands; _Soli Deo Gloria!_
Thereon she playeth without fault, While up the vault Her voice makes silvery assault-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
Till, blended with her soaring notes, Adown there floats An echo from a myriad throats-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
An angel she of God’s own choir, Whose one desire Is higher yet to chant, and higher-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
And every year, upon the morn When Christ was born Within the manger-bed forlorn-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
’Tis hers to bid song’s raptures run From sun to sun, And list to earth’s low antiphon-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
Would that our praise might swell and rise Along the skies, And scale the gates of Paradise-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
Bearing, with more complete accord, Unto the Lord,-- Forevermore our watch and ward,-- _Soli Deo Gloria!_
Nazareth Town
Nazareth town in Galilee! Set where the paths lead up from the sea That like the chords of a mighty lyre Dirges over the rocks of Tyre, Mourns where the piers of Sidon shone, And the battlements cinctured Ascalon. They have waned as the sunset wanes; Little more than a name remains; But more than a name we hold it,--we,-- Nazareth town in Galilee!
Nazareth town in Galilee! Ah, what a golden harmony The dawn seems, flooding its bright white walls! And, when the violet twilight falls, What a vast processional of stars Pageants over its stilled bazaars! And when the full moon touches the height Of Tabor, a torch of brilliant light, Never was sight more fair to see;-- Nazareth town in Galilee!
Nazareth town in Galilee! Strumming a desert melody, The Bedouin minstrel trolls in the street; At the Well of the Virgin the maidens meet; The cactus-hedges crimson to flower, And the olives silver hour by hour As through their branches the south wind steals; A clear bell peals, and a vulture wheels Over the crest where the wild crags be;-- Nazareth town in Galilee!
Nazareth town in Galilee! At the sound of the words how memory Kindles as earth does under the spring, Till the dead days rise for our visioning; And out of them one compassionate face Beams with a more than mortal grace; Out of them one inspiring voice Cries in the ears of the world “rejoice!” And ever a beacon of hope shall be Nazareth town in Galilee!
A Christmas Masque
FIRST KING
I am the monarch Melchior, Mighty alike in peace and war.
SECOND KING
I am the sovereign Balthasar; A myriad fold my liegemen are.
THIRD KING
The royal ruler Jasper, I, Lord of a spacious empery.
FIRST KING
Yet do I seek a little child,--
SECOND KING
A tiny nursling undefiled;
THIRD KING
And I am one likewise beguiled.
FIRST KING
To Him whose coming stars foretold,-- A babe divine in mortal mould,-- I bear this goodly gift of gold.
SECOND KING
To Him whose life shall ease the sting Of mankind’s weary travailing, This fragrant frankincense I bring.
THIRD KING
To Him whose loving words shall stir To aspirations holier, My offering is this precious myrrh.
ALL
Piercing the mists of time, we see The cruel cross, the agony, And, whelmed with pity, bend the knee.
Piercing the mists of time, we gaze Adown the future’s opening ways, And hear the swelling prayer and praise.
Piercing the mists of time, we hail The day when woe and sin shall fail, And over all His love prevail.
A Song for Christmas Morning
O wear for garment mirth Upon the soul, As all the fields of earth Wear one white stole! A dream of things long gone Let sorrow be: Turn thou thine eyes on dawn, Thy heart on glee!
What wonder everywhere Above, abroad! The amplitudes of air Abrim with God. His presence shining through The risen sun, And in the bending blue His benison.
Into the gulfs of gloom Go death and night; Behold around thee bloom Glad life and light! The veil of darkness drawn, Thy vision free, Turn thou thy soul on dawn, Exultingly!
The Christmas Minstrels
Now that the joy-day of the year is nearing, In that fair sun-land set ’twixt sea and sea, From hill and mountain dale behold appearing With jocund strains a minstrel company.
The reeds that shepherds played in eras olden, These are the tuneful pipes whereon they blow; The sky that over-arches is the golden, The bright Calabrian sky of long ago.
And since the decades of the saints and sages, When here to Christ was first raised prayerful praise, These minstrel men through all the echoing ages Have heralded the hallowed Christmas days.
From lonely shrines on steep and stony byways Their clear wild music up the pathway soars; It gushes like a fount on traveled highways, And through the populous piazza pours.
They cling to their old ways, these simple-hearted And humble dwellers on the uplands high; Their notes, an echo of the days departed, Span gulfs of time, and bring the dead years nigh.
Long may the cool Calabrian laurel alleys Hearken the strains, in rarer ether born, Of minstrels wending down the mountain valleys To greet the coming of the Christmas morn!
Twelfth Night Song
Heaped be the fagots high, And the half-burnèd bough From last year’s revelry Be litten now! Brimmed be the posset bowl For every lusty soul; And while the maskers rule, Cry ‘Noel!’ cry ‘Noel!’ down all the halls of Yule!
O eager viols, thrill! Pipe, hautboys, clear and sweet! Work your impetuous will, Ye restless feet! For every lip--a glass! For every lad--a lass! And, ere the ardors cool, Cry ‘Noel!’ cry ‘Noel!’ down all the halls of Yule!
Yule at Thengelfor
It was Yule at Thengelfor,-- The sharp white tide of Yule; And the mailèd Thanes of War, Bred in the fiery school Of the devotees of Thor, Flung into the council-hall With sneer and clamorous call At the calm-browed Thanes of Peace Who worshiped without cease,-- Bending in prayer the knee To the One of Galilee Who died, as they said, for all.
Each man stood in his place That sharp white noon of Yule, And the War-Thanes hooted “fool,” And “coward” and “craven knave;” And they flashed, each one, a glaive In every Peace-Thane’s face. But the Peace-Thanes were not cowed, Smiling their quiet smile At the flaunts and threats and jeers Roaring about their ears; And they held them poised and proud, Till, after a breathing while, The tumult died like the sea Subsiding sullenly Around the breast of an isle Set at the last fiord’s verge, Fronting the western surge.
Then into the council-hall Where Peace confronted War,-- Where Christ confronted Thor,-- Dauntless, willowy, tall, Came a maid of Thengelfor,-- The Princess. Ah, how fair Was the sunrise sheen of her hair, More wondrous to behold Than her coronet of gold! And she paused between them there, As white as the Yule was white, Till a hush fell on the air Like the hush of the middle night. And she said, “What stand ye for?” To the mailèd Thanes of War; And they shouted shrill, “For Thor, And the kingdom’s olden might!” Then she turned her, level-eyed, To the Peace-Thanes. “Ye?” she cried; As in one voice they replied, “For Christ, and the rule of right!”
“Thor and the war and might!” Thus she mused for a space; “Christ and peace and the right!” And a glory mantled her face. “Better the right than might, Ye valiant Thanes of War! Blood now the Yule is white? Nay, ’twere a grievous sight!-- Better the Christ than Thor!”
And ever and evermore By the Baltic’s rugged shore, In the halls of Thengelfor, Right not might is the rule, The Christ and not sanguine Thor At the sharp white tide of Yule!
A Yule-Tide Carol
O lightly lift thy finger, Thou loving lutanist, And let around us linger Thy music’s mellow mist! Aye, let the strain beat faster In captivating time, And mirth shall be our master Until the midnight chime!
Noel!--hang high the holly While leaps the Yule-log’s light; We’ll drive gray Melancholy Abroad into the night!
With silvery touch and tingle, Like brooks ’twixt sunny swards, Each soaring voice shall mingle And marry with the chords; So shall the liquid laughter Of mirth and music rule, Till rings the roof-tree’s rafter With revelries of Yule.
Noel!--hang high the holly, And twine the ivy-tod; My merries, we’ll be jolly, And spurn care like a clod!
Ballad of the Eve of Yule
It was hard on the tide of Yule, And the wind bit shrewd and sharp, Churning the river pool, And turning the deep-wood boughs, That were wont to droop and drowse, To the moaning strings of a harp.
A snow-threat gloomed the sky, And with iterant, raucous caw A bevy of rooks went by, Each a seeming thing Of evil, ominous wing Flapping adown the flaw.
Then night fell over the fen, And he mused, still stumbling on, “Out of the world of men Into the shades I go!” And he grimly laughed, when lo, A light on his pathway shone!
“Mine enemy’s tower!” he said, As the beacon beckoned him. “Well, Succor were likely as bread To be had from a shard or stone, Or meat from a wolf-gnawed bone, Or hope in the heart of hell!”
Yet he steered him sheer on the flare, With a “Here or there, ’tis one! A corpse in the morning air, Frozen as rigid as steel, Or a form on gibbet or wheel,-- What matters it how ’tis done!”
He clanged a summons clear, Keeping his grip on hate; And he wavered not to hear A word from a tongue abhorred,-- Then back swung the outer ward, And his enemy stood in the gate.
Eyes upon burning eyes Hung, as when war-fires rule Under the angry skies; Then, ere the wrath-flame died, “Welcome!” his enemy cried, “For this is the eve of Yule.”
Into the banquet-hall He was bid as a chosen guest; And there before them all Did his enemy give him meat, And bread of the finest wheat, And golden wine of the best.
Then was he brought to a room Where rugs were soft on the floor, And a fire made fair the gloom; And, warned with a stern behest Of the sacred rights of a guest, A guard was set at the door.
Through the black night-watches long Did he wait on sleep, but when Came the peal of the matin song No slumber had kissed his brow; So he girded himself, for now The sunlight lay on the fen.
Then once more did his foe Proffer him drink and food; Forth to the court below Did his enemy lead the way, Where, as one for a fray, Chafing, a charger stood.
“Hate!--it is burned into shame; Scorn!--of myself is the scorn; Blame!--I confess to the blame; Vengeance is thine!” he said, And with averted head He rode out into the morn.
The Hanging of the Holly
The holly is for happiness; Hang it, hang it high, When the holy morn we bless Shows its rose along the sky!
The holly is for heartsome cheer; Hang it, hang it high, While the glory of the year Lights the heights of all the sky!
The holly is for home-side mirth; Hang it, hang it high, Till the dearest day of earth Fades in shades along the sky!
The Maid of Bethlehem
It was a maid of Bethlehem;-- As fair as spring was she When first lifts up its fragile cup The rathe anemone.
It was a man of Bethlehem;-- As dark of heart was he As is night’s Stygian shadow cast Upon the lone Dead Sea.
He fawned where’er she set her foot, He followed her like fate; And when she sealed his lips with scorn, He held a tryst with hate.
And then, as venom through the veins, Through Bethlehem there ran A whispered malice in the air That spread from man to man.
“And shall this living lie endure?” In rising rage, they said; “The purging fire shall work a cure Upon her sinful head!”
It was the maid of Bethlehem, In all her stainless grace, They seized before the House of God Within the market-place.
It was the man of Bethlehem Who led the throng elate That bore her out with mocking shout Beyond the city gate.
Around her heaped they fagots high, And touched the pile with flame; “Behold!” they cried, “the wanton witch! She expiates her shame!”
“O sinless One of Calvary,” Then did they hear her say, “Prove Thou my blameless innocence On this, Thy natal day!”
Lo, as she spake, each fiery tongue Leaped on her foe of foes, The while from charred and smoking boughs Burst rose on crimson rose!
It was the man of Bethlehem Who died in agony; It was the maid of Bethlehem Who went unharmed and free.
The Christmas Almsman
It was a Christmas almsman Came to a palace door; The flambeaux flared, the music blared, And gleamed the waxen floor.
“Out on thee, for a vagrant!” A pompous porter cried; Quick, get thee gone ere goads be drawn To scourge thy tattered hide!”
The mirth roared to the rafter, With plenty groaned the board, Yet naught they gave that almsman gaunt Save flaunting fleer and ribald taunt, Despite his bare and bitter want, From all their Yule-tide hoard!
It was a Christmas almsman Unto a hovel came; The walls so grim were drear and dim With one pale candle flame.
Yet spake the kindly hoveler Who saw the beggar’s face: “You’re welcome here, though lean our cheer; Enter, and bide a space!”
He shambled in; he crouched him down; He ate their meagre fare; And lo, they found, when he had sped, A scrip of gold and jewels red! _The hoveler had housed and fed An angel unaware!_
The Bells of Christmas
“Pilgrim, you of the loosened lachet, What do you hear as you roam and roam?” “Master, I list to the bells of Christmas, The bells of Christmas, calling me home!
“They call and call, and I fain would hasten Back to the warmth of the old roof-tree, To the plentiful board and the merry faces, And the twilight prayer at the mother’s knee!”
“Pilgrim, you of the loosened lachet, Why, then, still do you roam and roam?” “Master, ’twas but a dream they conjured, The bells of Christmas, calling me home.
“’Twas but a vision out of the distance, Happy and holy and sweet, forsooth! ’Twas but a vision out of the distance, Out of the long lost vale of Youth!”
“Pilgrim, you of the loosened lachet, All of us have our dreams like thee, And back are borne by the bells of Christmas To the twilight prayer at the mother’s knee!”
Christmas Ingle Song
Now once more the year has run (Sun succeeding sceptred sun) To the time of hallowed birth, To the holiest tide of earth; Out with sadness! out with sin! Let us hail the Christ-Child in!
While we lift our thanks for thrift, Praise the giver and the gift, With the holly, berried bright, Druid ivy sprays unite!-- Long they both have sacred been; Let us hail the Christ-Child in!
And the back-log,--let it be From some ancient forest tree Great of girth, that flames may roar Up the chimney high and hoar, Thus to swell our merry din; Let us hail the Christ-Child in!
Far into the night with song Let us the old rites prolong! Cry, “Noel! noel! noel!” Until peals the midnight bell! If we peace and love would win, Let us hail the Christ-Child in!
Neil MacDonald
“Whither away, O Neil MacDonald? Whither away so fleet hie ye?” “I have a tryst to keep, my mother, Under the boughs of the holly tree!”
“Go ye not, O Neil MacDonald! Go ye not, prithee! prithee!” “I must keep the tryst, my mother, Under the boughs of the holly tree!”
Into the night leaps Neil MacDonald; Every man has a weird to dree; He will dree his weird this Yule-tide Under the boughs of the holly tree.
In the north the pale auroras Flash and waver spectrally; But the purple shadows slumber Under the boughs of the holly tree.
Over the burn bounds Neil MacDonald; Through the bracken plunges he; He has won to the purple shadows Under the boughs of the holly tree.
“O my love!” cries Neil MacDonald; “O my love! my love!” cries she; And their lips are met together Under the boughs of the holly tree.
Bitter the frost upon the moor-side, Bitter the frost, but what recks he, With his arms about Fiorna Under the boughs of the holly tree!
“What is that I hear, beloved? What is that dark shape I see?” “You but dream, my Neil MacDonald, Under the boughs of the holly tree.”
“He dreams not, your Neil MacDonald, Sister, false as the falsest be!” Hark!--the clan-call of MacGregor Under the boughs of the holly tree!
Hark!--the clan-call of MacGregor!-- Every man has a weird to dree! He has dreed his, Neil MacDonald, Under the boughs of the holly tree.
The Star of Bethlehem
Out of the past’s black night There shines one star Whose light Is more than countless constellations are.
High in the east it gleams;-- This radiant star Whose beams Are more to man than all the planets are.
Still be thy light displayed, O Bethlehem star, Nor fade Until the circling systems no more are!
Pierol’s Christmas
Into the hall on the night of Yule Capered the jester, blithe Pierol, Crying merrily, “Gifts for a fool!” Sooth, right well did he play the role, Though the wolf of bitterness gnawed his soul!