"'Our hearts are moved with pity, thy sufferings we deplore,' Said Alfred's queen, the gentle, 'but scanty is our store; One loaf alone is left us.' 'Then give it,' said the King, 'For He who feeds the ravens, yes, He will fresh abundance bring.' The wind was roaring loudly, the snow was falling fast, As from the lofty turret the last, last loaf he cast. An image of the winter, the haggard pilgrim stands, And Alfred's welcome pittance he catches with his hands. 'The Heavenly King, who reigns on high, Bless him who hears the poor man's cry.' "The snow is thickly falling, the winter wind is loud, But yonder in the distance appears a joyous crowd. The hunters bring their booty, the peasants bring their corn, And cheering songs of triumph along the blast are borne. Before another morning down-stricken is the foe, And blood of Danish warriors is red upon the snow. Amid the conquering Saxons the aged pilgrim stands, And like a holy prophet exclaims with lifted hands, 'The Heavenly King, who reigns on high, Bless him who hears the poor man's cry.'" A graceful little duet for female voices ("Little Children, all rejoice"), picturing the delights of childhood and its exemption from care, follows the Saxon story and leads up to the finale, which is choral throughout, and gives all the pleasant details of Christmas cheer,--the feast in the vaulted hall, the baron of beef, the boar with the lemon in his jaw, the pudding, "gem of all the feast," the generous wassail, and the mistletoe bough with its warning to maids. In delightfully picturesque old English music the joyous scene comes to an end:-- "Varied sports the evening close, Dancers form in busy rows: Hoodwink'd lovers roam about, Hope to find the right one out, And when they fail how merry is the shout! Round yon flickering flame of blue Urchins sit, an anxious crew; Dainties rich the bold invite, While from the fire the timid shrink with fright. Welcome all, welcome all. 'Tis merry now in the vaulted hall, The mistletoe is overhead, The holly flaunts its berries red, The wassail-bowl goes gayly round; Our mirth awakes the echoes sound, All eyes are bright, all hearts are gay; Thus ends our Christmas day." MACKENZIE.