Of Eighteen Thirty-eight!—Yule log and sea-coal fire
Be thine, as glad burnt-offerings in thy praise;
Long nights—(thou dost not look for length of days)—
Be thine, old Joy, wassail'd in various ways
Of warm, bright welcome, to hail thy stay, December!
Welcome once more, old Master of the Revels,—
Pickwick of all the Pleasures!—The blue devils,
Blue looks, blue noses, hide their uncomely faces;
Old Gout throws by his crutch—tries cinquepaces;
And Youth and Age, Love, Joy, and all the Graces