A storm came--and--and--we saw him no more. It was long, long ago that deep sorrow we bore! The lads who were talking, as happy as kings, Of the coming of Christmas and all that it brings, Are fathers now, so stately and tall. Their children play by the garden wall, And swing on the boughs of the apple tree, Or climb to the top, the world to see; (Some have gone from the home the world to see!) And when autumn comes, and leaves turn brown, And the ripened fruits are shaken down, And here and there, on the orchard ground, The red and the golden are heaped around-- 'Tis the children who gather that tree by the wall, And the apples from off its boughs that fall, With kindly care are stored away, Sure to appear on Christmas Day In platter or basket for all to admire, Or hung on strings before the fire, There to swing and sputter and roast, While many an one of the merry host Gives a tender thought to that first Willie-wee Who went as a sailor-boy over the sea. The youngest of all; a new Willie-wee, --A curly-haired rogue, and our darling is he!-- Now claims for his own uncle Will's _Christmas-tree_. "Because," says the child, "_he_ was named for _me!_" ON CHRIST-DAY NIGHT. By Nora Perry. |From room to room, from stair to stair; All silken-clad; while standing there Shut from the summer warmth and cheer, The silken perfumed atmosphere Of wealth and ease, a little maid With beating heart, yet unafraid, Enchanted, watched the fairy scene Between the curtains' parted screen. The fierce north wind came sweeping pa: t And shook her with its wintry blast; The frosty pavement of the street Chilled to the bone her ill-clad feet; Yet moment after moment fled And there she stood, with lifted head, Her eager eyes, as in a trance, Fixed on the changes of the dance, DULCET SOUNDS. [Illustration: 9029] |STATELY mansion, bright and gay With festal light, made darkness day Far up and down the dusky street That Christmas night, while hurry- ing feet Sped swiftly by, nor scarce de- layed For all the dulcet sounds that strayed In merry measures from within, Where harp and flute and violin, In soft accordance, wild and sweet, Made music for the dancers' feet. All silken-clad those feet that kept That time and tune, or lightly stept Her eager ears still drinking in The strains of flute and violin; And still, as sped the moments past, Colder and colder swept the blast. [Illustration: 0030] But little heed had she, or care: Her glance upon one vision fair, One vision, one, beyond the rest--