But the ivy and yew were green,

   When to Bewsey hall came a jovial crew

    On the merry Christmas e'en.

   It was mirth and feasting in hall and bower

    On that blessed and holy tide,

   But ere the morning light arose,

    There was darkness on all their pride!

   Dark wonne the night, and the revellers gay

    From the laughing halls are gone;

   The clock from the turret, old and grey,

    With solemn tongue tolled one.

   The blast was moaning down the glen,

    Through the pitch-like gloom it came,

   Like a spirit borne upon demon wings

    To the pit of gnawing flame!

   But Sir John was at rest, with his lady love,

    In a pleasant sleep they lay;

   Nor felt the sooning, shuddering wind

    Round the grim, wide welkin play.

   Their little babe, unconscious now,

 Prev. P 86/459 next