By day their feats are hidden,
But night beholds their mirth,
When in the abysses of the air
Their sorceries they flaunt and flare
Above a wondering earth.
In vain the hilltops hearken,
Their lips no sound reveal;
But ever on, from arc to arc,
Across the spangled depths of dark
Their pennons whirl and wheel.
Why come they? Who can answer?
Whence go they? Who can tell?
Flaming and fading down the night,
A mystery, a dream-delight,
A splendor and a spell!
Such are the wizard people,
The brethren of the pole;
And though man long has sought to gain
Their secret, suns shall wax and wane
Ere he shall read their soul!
Holly Song
Care is but a broken bubble,
Trill the carol, troll the catch!
Sooth we’ll cry, “A truce to trouble!”
Mirth and mistletoe shall match!
Happy folly! we’ll be jolly!
Who’d be melancholy now?
With a “Hey, the holly! ho, the holly!”
Polly hangs the holly bough.
Laughter lurking in the eye, sir,
Pleasure foots it frisk and free;
He who frowns or looks awry, sir,
Faith, a witless wight is he!
Merry folly! what a volley
Greets the hanging of the bough!
With a “Hey, the holly! ho, the holly!”
Who’d be melancholy now?