A Carol for the Eve of St. Mary’s Day.
This is the season when, agreeably to custom,
That it was an honour to send wassail
By the old people who were happy
In their time, and loved pleasure;
And we are now purposing
To be like them, every one merry:
Merry and foolish, youths are wont to be,
Being reproached for squandering abroad.
I know that every mirth will end
Too soon of itself;
Before it is ended, here comes
The wassail of Mary, for the sake of the time:
N ——— [420] place the maid immediately
In the chair before us;
And let every body in the house be content that we
May drink wassail to virginity,
To remember the time, in faithfulness,
When fair Mary was at the sacrifice,
After the birth to her of a son,
Who delivered every one, through his good will
From their sins, without doubt.
Should there be an inquiry who made the carol,
He is a man whose trust is fully on God,
That he shall go to heaven to the effulgent Mary,
Towards filling the orders where she also is.
Thomas Evans.
In the rage for “collecting” almost every thing, it is surprising that “collectors” have almost overlooked carols as a class of popular poetry. To me they have been objects of interest from circumstances which occasionally determine the direction of pursuit. The wood-cuts round the annual sheets, and the melody of “God rest you merry gentlemen,” delighted my childhood; and I still listen with pleasure to the shivering carolist’s evening chant towards the clean kitchen window decked with holly, the flaring fire showing the whitened hearth, and reflecting gleams of light from the surfaces of the dresser utensils.
Davies Gilbert, Esq. F.R.S. F.A.S. &c. has published “Ancient Christmas carols, with the tunes to which they were formerly sung in the west of England.” Mr. Gilbert says, that “on Christmas-day these carols took the place of psalms in all the churches, especially at afternoon service, the whole congregation joining: and at the end it was usual for the parish clerk, to declare in a loud voice, his wishes for a merry Christmas and a happy new year.”
In “Poor Robin’s Almanac,” for 1695, there is a Christmas carol, which is there called, “A Christmas Song,” beginning thus:—
Now thrice welcome, Christmas,
Which brings us good cheer,
Minced-pies and plumb-porridge,
Good ale and strong beer;
With pig, goose, and capon,
The best that may be,
So well doth the weather
And our stomachs agree.
Observe how the chimneys
Do smoak all about,
The cooks are providing
For dinner, no doubt;
But those on whose tables
No victuals appear,
O, may they keep Lent
All the rest of the year!
With holly and ivy
So green and so gay;
We deck up our houses
As fresh as the day.
With bays and rosemary
And laurel compleat,
And every one now
Is a king in conceit.