When the man who brings the coal Claims his customary dole: When the postman rings and knocks For his usual Christmas-box: When you're dunned by half the town With demands for half-a-crown,-- Think, although they cost you dear, Christmas comes but once a year. When you roam from shop to shop, Seeking, till you nearly drop, Christmas cards and small donations For the maw of your relations, Questing vainly 'mid the heap For a thing that's nice, and cheap: Think, and check the rising tear, Christmas comes but once a year. Though for three successive days Business quits her usual ways, Though the milkman's voice be dumb, Though the paper doesn't come; Though you want tobacco, but Find that all the shops are shut: Bravely still your sorrows bear-- Christmas comes but once a year. When mince-pies you can't digest Join with waits to break your rest: When, oh when, to crown your woe, Persons who might better know Think it needful that you should Don a gay convivial mood;-- Bear with fortitude and patience These afflicting dispensations: Man was born to suffer here: Christmas comes but once a year. AD LECTIONEM SUAM When Autumn's winds denude the grove, I seek my Lecture, where it lurks 'Mid the unpublished portion of My works, And ponder, while its sheets I scan, How many years away have slipt Since first I penned that ancient man- uscript. I know thee well--nor can mistake The old accustomed pencil stroke Denoting where I mostly make A joke,-- Or where coy brackets signify Those echoes faint of classic wit Which, if a lady's present, I Omit. Though Truth enlarge her widening range, And Knowledge be with time increased, While thou, my Lecture! dost not change The least, But fixed immutable amidst The advent of a newer lore, Maintainest calmly what thou didst Before: Though still malignity avows That unsuccessful candidates To thee ascribe their frequent ploughs In Greats-- Once more for intellectual food Thou'lt serve: an added phrase or two Will make thee really just as good As new: And listening crowds, that throng the spot, Will still as usual complain That "Here's the old familiar rot Again!" RUBAIYYAT OF MODERATIONS I Wake! for the Nightingale upon the Bough Has sung of Moderations: ay, and now Pales in the Firmament above the Schools The Constellation of the boding Plough. II I too in distant Ages long ago To him that ploughed me gave a Quid or so: It was a Fraud: it was not good enough; Ne'er for my Quid had I my Quid pro Quo. III Yet--for the Man who pays his painful Pence Some Laws may frame from dark Experience: Still from the Wells of harsh Adversity May Wisdom draw the Pail of Common Sense-- IV