“Thor and the war and might!”
Thus she mused for a space;
“Christ and peace and the right!”
And a glory mantled her face.
“Better the right than might,
Ye valiant Thanes of War!
Blood now the Yule is white?
Nay, ’twere a grievous sight!—
Better the Christ than Thor!”
And ever and evermore
By the Baltic’s rugged shore,
In the halls of Thengelfor,
Right not might is the rule,
The Christ and not sanguine Thor
At the sharp white tide of Yule!
A Yule-Tide Carol
O lightly lift thy finger,
Thou loving lutanist,
And let around us linger
Thy music’s mellow mist!
Aye, let the strain beat faster
In captivating time,
And mirth shall be our master
Until the midnight chime!
Noel!—hang high the holly
While leaps the Yule-log’s light;
We’ll drive gray Melancholy
Abroad into the night!
With silvery touch and tingle,
Like brooks ’twixt sunny swards,
Each soaring voice shall mingle
And marry with the chords;
So shall the liquid laughter
Of mirth and music rule,
Till rings the roof-tree’s rafter
With revelries of Yule.
Noel!—hang high the holly,
And twine the ivy-tod;
My merries, we’ll be jolly,
And spurn care like a clod!
Ballad of the Eve of Yule
It was hard on the tide of Yule,
And the wind bit shrewd and sharp,
Churning the river pool,
And turning the deep-wood boughs,
That were wont to droop and drowse,
To the moaning strings of a harp.
A snow-threat gloomed the sky,
And with iterant, raucous caw
A bevy of rooks went by,
Each a seeming thing
Of evil, ominous wing
Flapping adown the flaw.