(_By kind permission of the Author._)
Bells, joyous bells of the Christmas-time,
Dear is the song of your welcome chime;
Dear is the burden that softly wells
From your joyous throats, O tolling bells!
Dear is the message sweet you bind
Dove-like to wings of the wafting wind.
You tell how the Yule-king cometh forth
From his home in the heart of the icy North;
On his Eastern steeds how rusheth on
The wind-god of storms, Euroclydon;
How his trumpet strikes to the pallid stars
That shrink from the mad moon's silver bars,
Where the cold wind tortures the sobbing sea,
And the chill sleet pierces the pinioned lea,
As the snow king hurls from his frozen zone
The fragments fast of a tumbled throne.
But what is the song, O silver bells,
You sing of the ferny Austral dells,
Of the bracken height, and the sylvan stream,
And the breezy woodland's summer dream,
Lulled by the lute of the slow sweet rills
In the trembling heart of the great grave hills?
Ah, what is the song that you sing to me
Of the soft blue isles of our shimmering sea,
Where the slow tides sleep, and a purple haze
Fringes the skirts of the windless bays,
That, ringed with a circlet of beauty fair,
Start in the face of the dreamer there;
O, what is the burden of your sweet chimes,
Bells of the golden Christmas times?
You sing of the summer gliding down
From the stars that gem bright heaven's crown;
Of the flowers that fade in the autumn sere,
And the sunlit death of the old, old year.
Of the sweet South wind that sobs above
The grass-green grave of our buried love:
No bitter dirge from the stormy flow
Of a moaning sea,--ah! no, no, no!
But a sweet farewell, and a low soft hymn
Under the beautiful moons that swim
Over the silver seas that toss
Their foam to thy shrine, O Southern Cross!
O, bright is the burden of your sweet chimes,
Bells of the joyous Christmas times!
You bring to the old hearts throbbing slow
The beautiful dreams of the long ago;
Remembrance sweet of the olden Yule,
When hearts beat high in life's young school.
Ah, haply now, as they list to your chimes,
Will the voices rise of the olden times,
Till the wings of peace brood over the hours
Slipping like streams through sleepy bowers,
While you whisper the story loved of One
Who suffered for us--the sad sweet Son--
Who taught that afflictions, sent in love,
Chasten the soul for the realms above.
_WOOL IS UP._
Earth o'erflows with nectared gladness,
All creation teems with joy;
Banished be each thought of sadness,
Life for me has no alloy.
Fill a bumper!--drain a measure,
Pewter! goblet! tankard! cup!
Testifying thus our pleasure
At the news that "Wool is up."
'Thwart the empires, 'neath the oceans,
Subtly speeds the living fire;
Who shall tell what wild emotions
Spring from out that thridden wire?
"Jute is lower--copper weaker,"
This will break poor neighbour Jupp;
But for me, I shout "Eureka!"
Wealth is mine--for wool is up!
What care I for jute or cotton,
Sugar, copper, hemp, or flax!
Reeds like these are often rotten,
Turn to rods for owners' backs.
Fortune! ha! I have thee holden
In what Scotia calls a "grup,"
All my fleeces now are golden,
Full troy weight--for wool is up!
I will dance the gay fandango
(Though to me its steps be strange),
Doubts and fears, you all can hang go!
I will cut a dash on 'Change.
Atra Cura, you will please me
By dismounting from my crup--
Per--you no more shall tease me,
Pray get down--for wool is up!
Jane shall have that stylish bonnet
Which my scanty purse denied;
Long she set her heart upon it,
She shall wear it now with pride.
I will buy old Dumper's station,
Reign as king at Gerringhup,
For my crest a bust of Jason,
With this motto, "Wool is up."
I will keep a stud extensive;
Bolter, here! I'll have those greys,
Those Sir George deemed too expensive,
You can send them--with the bays.
Coursing! I should rather think so;
Yes, I'll take that "Lightning" pup;
Jones, my boy, you needn't wink so,
I can stand it--wool is up!
Wifey, love, you're looking charming,
Years with you are but as days;
We must have a grand house-warming
When these painters go their ways.
Let the ball-room be got ready,
Bid our friends to dance and sup:
Bother! _how_ can I "go steady"?
I'm worth thousands--wool is up!