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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519640" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Marmion: a Christmas Poem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;<br>But let it whistle as it will,<br>We'll keep our Christmas merry still.<br>Each age has deem'd the new-born year<br>The fittest time for festal cheer:<br>Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane<br>At Iol more deep the mead did drain;<br>High on the beach his galleys drew,<br>And feasted all his pirate crew;<br>Then in his low and pine-built hall<br>Where shields and axes deck'd the wall<br>They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer;<br>Caroused in seas of sable beer;<br>While round, in brutal jest, were thrown<br>The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone:<br>Or listen?d all, in grim delight,<br>While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight.<br>Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,<br>While wildly loose their red locks fly,<br>And dancing round the blazing pile,<br>They make such barbarous mirth the while,<br>As best might to the mind recall<br>The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And well our Christian sires of old<br>Loved when the year its course had roll'd,<br>And brought blithe Christmas back again,<br>With all his hospitable train.<br>Domestic and religious rite<br>Gave honour to the holy night;<br>On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;<br>On Christmas Eve the mass was sung:<br>That only night in all the year,<br>Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.<br>The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen;<br>The hall was dress'd with holly green;<br>Forth to the wood did merry-men go,<br>To gather in the mistletoe.<br>Then open'd wide the Baron's hall<br>To vassal, tenant, serf and all;<br>Power laid his rod of rule aside<br>And Ceremony doff'd his pride.<br>The heir, with roses in his shoes,<br>That night might village partner choose;<br>The Lord, underogating, share<br>The vulgar game of 'post and pair'.<br>All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight,<br>And general voice, the happy night,<br>That to the cottage, as the crown,<br>Brought tidings of salvation down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,<br>Went roaring up the chimney wide;<br>The huge hall-table's oaken face,<br>Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace,<br>Bore then upon its massive board<br>No mark to part the squire and lord.<br>Then was brought in the lusty brawn,<br>By old blue-coated serving-man;<br>Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high,<br>Crested with bays and rosemary.<br>Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell,<br>How, when, and where, the monster fell;<br>What dogs before his death to tore,<br>And all the baiting of the boar.<br>The wassel round, in good brown bowls,<br>Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls.<br>There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by<br>Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;<br>Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce,<br>At such high tide, her savoury goose.<br>Then came the merry makers in,<br>And carols roar'd with blithesome din;<br>If unmelodious was the song,<br>It was a hearty note, and strong.<br>Who lists may in their mumming see<br>Traces of ancient mystery;<br>White shirts supplied the masquerade,<br>And smutted cheeks the visors made;<br>But, O! what maskers, richly dight,<br>Can boast of bosoms half so light!<br>England was merry England, when<br>Old Christmas brought his sports again.<br>'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;<br>'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;<br>A Christmas gambol oft could cheer<br>The poor man's heart through half the year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519640" data-title="Marmion: a Christmas Poem de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deem'd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did dr..."></div>
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