University of Virginia Library

Come to my Christmas feast,
I have spread you Christmas cheer;
The scarlet holly hath lent her glow,
And the fragrant oil burns clear.
Valor, and Beauty, and Love,
Gather around my board!
Let my roof-tree ring with your revelling,
Nor my vintage be vainly poured.
I am Lord of wassail and will;
Crown ye the brimming bowl!
Here's a lilt to the beat of your lissome feet,
And a health to the drooping soul.

Do I hear a foot-fall? You have come at my call!
Silken soft is your tread in my oaken hall.
And before you enter your breath of perfume
Fills with its fragrance my empty room.
Aha! little sister, thrice welcome to-night,
'Tis many a year since you passed from my sight;
Rest at last in your vacant chair—
All the waning summers it waited there.
Methinks your cheek is a thought too white,
And your blue, mild eyes have a saddened light.
O sweet little sister, how gayly we played
Beneath the balm gilead's flickering shade!
I can see the gleam of your twinkling feet
In the soft, dense orchard grass,
And the clover droops its purple head,
Dew-laden, as you pass;
Again from my side you dart away,
And defy me to follow after,
Again from the heaps of new-mown hay
Steals up your smothered laughter.
Or, a tiptoe you stand by the garden wall,
Where the morning shadows linger,
Dimpling such dainty, resisting lips,
With the tip of a rosy finger.
Is it a robin, or is it the breeze,
Rustling up there in the apple-trees?
Was it a fairy you watched so long,
With wistful, peering eyes,
In the morning-glory's crimson cup,
Ere the sun had gathered its incense up
For his worship in the skies?
O dear little sister! the day is gone by—
I think I remember you still and white—
I think all the sunshine paled out of your eye,
Yet you are here to-night.
Was it not true, this pretty ring
Of yellow silken hair,
I kissed from that low-lying head,
With tender, needless care?
Surely the prescient hand of Death
I blest in after times,
That led your stainless soul beyond
The shadows of my crimes.
Crimes! Crimes! Who speaks that word?
Who dares at banquet of mine?
Oh, raise, little sister, your goblet of gold,
I pledge you in foaming wine!

What statelier step, what queenlier form? A lady of the land!
Right royal greeting is thy meed, and seat at my right hand.
Stay! Stay! I know the eyes that glow beneath that matchless brow;
I know the smile on those dear lips—my mother! it is thou!
O noble name! and nobly worn alike through woe and weal.
Here, mother, as a little child, low at thy feet I kneel.
I pray thee lay upon my head thy tender hand once more;
I pray thee press upon my cheek the mother's kiss of yore,
Dear love, that for my childish pain could find a quick relief—
Dear heart, that smiled upon my joy, nor spurned my simple grief.
O mother's eyes, why gaze so long upon my upturned face?
O mother's smile on mother's lips, why did you leave no trace?
Turn, turn away that mournful look; it rends my secret soul!
Relentless, o'er my shrinking heart, the waves of memory roll.
There is a sharper pang than death's—a woe that brings no tears,
But graves the brow with deeper lines than patriarchal years.
O mother, did my cruel hand work thus upon thy youth?
Speak, mother, did my madness bring such guerdon to thy truth?
I hear, as in a troubled dream, the winds of autumn rave—
The restless whirl of withered leaves above a new-made grave.
I thought a shadow hid the sun forever from my sight.
Oh, happy that it was a dream since you are here to-night,—
That I may deem it was a dream, you being here to-night!

Ring out the stirring song!
Pour forth the rosy wine!
I will to-night all hearts be light:
To-night, to night is mine.

Beautiful, beautiful shining one,
Robed in the light of a softened sun,
Gliding hither with noiseless tread,
Who bows not before thee is ill-bested.
Lo! thus I welcome thee, peerless guest,
Crowning with garlands the Queen of the Feast!
Nay, far and cold it seems at my side—
Only near in my heart—O sweeter, my bride!
I fold thee in to my burning breast,
Thou shalt calm the pulse of its wild unrest.
Methinks, my darling, your lips are chill.
Your heart against mine is strangely still.
It used to throb at my downward look,
And I read your face as a luminous book—
That face is calmer and whiter now
Than when you whispered your marriage vow.
Then it was hushed from your fear's excess,
But I was trembling with tenderness.
O Love, that day seems very far,
Distantly glowing, a tremulous star;
Gray and bitter the years have been,—
The pitiless years that rolled between.
Why did that glory depart so soon?
Who quenched the light of your fair young June?
Heart of my heart, life of my life,
Here I behold you, beautiful wife;
Yet I thought I witnessed you, day by day,
Fade like the roses of summer away.
I thought you went down to the silent dust—
Ah, me! the woe!
I thought you went up to the heaven of heavens,
Long ago.
Did the heart you should always have reigned within
Open its portals to deadly sin?
Did the demon that lurks in the red wine's glow
Nerve my arm for a murderous blow?
Silent, serene, you are standing there,
And yet, O God! I can almost swear,
Could frenzy itself such measure deal,
I saw the gleam of the flashing steel!
O fearful gleam! O hideous dream!
O flashing, fearful light!
Oh, blest in that it was a dream,
Since you are here to-night;
That I may deem it was a dream,
You being here to-night.

Avaunt! ye Phantoms of the Brain,
Avaunt! nor mock my soul;
To-night, to-night, my heart is light,
I crown the brimming bowl.
Sweet friends, to you, the tried and true,
I pour the purple flood—
Ho! dastards! slaves! Ho! hellish race!
Who hath wrought me this foul disgrace?
Wine! wine!—It is blood!

Gone—gone—gone—
The mirth and the music of life;
Valor, and Beauty, and Love;
Sister, and Mother, and Wife.
No sound but the clanking of iron chains,
With which my jailers have bound me;
No sight but the gloom of the prison walls
Which hopelessly close around me.

Far away by the sounding sea,
Stern in a stately home,
A lonely watcher is waiting for one
Who nevermore shall come.
I know in what window o'erlooking the sea
A single light burns dim—
In vain, in vain. It hath glimmered long;
But my prison walls are high and strong,
And Death is the warder grim.

O lonely watcher, quench that light
That gleams on the ocean wave!
Ere another moon rounds full and white
The earth shall witness a doleful sight—
You have no power to save;
And I, the heir of a noble name,
Last of a house of princely fame,
Freed from my burden of sin and shame,
Shall rest in a nameless grave.