"He lieth still: he doth not move: He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go. So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go! "He frothed his bumpers to the brim; A jollier year we shall not see. But tho' his eyes are waxing dim, And tho' his foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me! Old year, you shall not die. We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you _must_ die. "He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er, To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he'll be dead before! Every one for his own! The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. "How hard he breathes!--over the snow, I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro; The cricket chirps: the light burns low: 'Tis nearly one[4] o'clock. Shake hands before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you. What is it we can do for you? Speak out before you die! "His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack! our friend is gone! Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let _him_ in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door!" Occasionally, too, there will come a thought across us, in these hours, which _cannot_ be made to harmonize with the feelings we are seeking to encourage, and has the unpleasing effect of a discord. It is felt at times, for instance, to be a sort of indecency that we should be looking out merrily for the New Year, when the old one is perishing by our side, and, for an instant, the heart's joyous issues are thrown back upon it. And then, again, the looker forward to hail the "coming guest" will suddenly fix his eyes upon the veil which shrouds that face; and the chill of a moment will creep over his heart, as he speculates on what it may conceal, or, gazing on the sealed book which the New Year carries in his hand, asks himself how many of those who sit with him on this night about the social table, may have their names written in its last page! Thoughts like these, however, are instantly treated like informers, and ducked, as they deserve to be, in the wassail-bowl. [Illustration: SEEING-IN THE NEW YEAR.--_Page 331._]