Sir Wilfrid's carven chair of state 'Neath the dais is gently elevate,-- But his smile bespeaks no lordly pride: Sweet Edith sits by her loved sire's side, And five hundred guests, some free, some thrall, Sit by the tables along the wide hall, Each with his platter, and stout drink-horn,-- They count on good cheer this Christmas morn! Not long they wait, not long they wish-- The trumpet peals,--and the kingly dish,-- The head of the brawny boar, Decked with rosemary and laurels gay,-- Upstarting, they welcome, with loud huzza, As their fathers did, of yore! And they point to the costard he bears in his mouth, And vow the huge pig, So luscious a fig, Would not gather to grunch in the daintiful South! Strike up, strike up, a louder chime, Ye minstrels in the loft! Strike up! it is no fitting time For drowsy strains and soft,-- When sewers threescore Have passed the hall door, And the tables are laden with roast and boiled, And carvers are hasting, lest all should be spoiled; And gossips' tongues clatter More loudly than platter, And tell of their marvel to reckon the sorts:-- Ham by fat capon, and beef by green worts; Ven'son from forest, and mutton from fold; Brawn from the oak-wood, and hare from the wold; Wild-goose from fen, and tame from the lea; And plumëd dish from the heronry-- With choicest apples 'twas featly rimmed, And stood next the flagons with malmsey brimmed,-- Near the knightly swan, begirt with quinces, Which the gossips said was a dish for princes,-- Though his place was never to stand before The garnished head of the royal boar! Puddings of plumbs and mince-pies, placed In plenty along the board, met taste Of gossip and maiden,--nor did they fail To sip, now and then, of the double brown ale-- That ploughman and shepherd vowed and sware Was each drop so racy, and sparkling, and rare-- No outlandish Rhenish could with it compare! Trow ye they stayed till the meal was done To pledge a health? Degenerate son Of friendly sires! a health thrice-told Each guest had pledged to fellowships old,-- Untarrying eager mouth to wipe, And across the board with hearty gripe Joining rough hands,--ere the meal was o'er:-- Hearts and hands went with "healths" in the days of yore! The meal is o'er,--though the time of mirth, Each brother feels, is but yet in its birth:-- "Wassail, wassail!" the seneschal cries; And the spicy bowl rejoiceth all eyes, When before the baron beloved 'tis set, And he dippeth horn, and thus doth greet The honest hearts around him met:-- "Health to ye all, my brothers good! All health and happiness! Health to the absent of our blood! May Heaven the suffering bless,-- And cheer their hearts who lie at home In pain, now merry Yule hath come! My jolly freres, all health!"