Speaker 1: Christmas Time by John Clare. Glad Christmas comes, and every
hearth makes room to give him welcome. Now e' want
will dry its tears in mirth and crown him with
a holly bough. Though tramping neath a winter sky o'er
snowy paths and rimy stiles. The housewife sets her spinning
by to bid him welcome with her smiles. Each house
is swept the day before, and windows stuck with evergreens.
The snow is beastomed from the door, and comfort crowns
the cottage. Scenes gilt holly with its thorny pricks and
eyew and box with berries. Small These deck the unused
candlesticks and pictures hanging by the wall. Neighbors resume their
annual cheer, wishing with smiles and spirits high glad Christmas
and a happy Year to every morning passer by. Milk
Maids their Christmas journeys go, accompanied by a favored swain,
and children past the crumpling snow to taste their granny's
cake again. The shepherd, now no more afraid, since custom
doth the chance bestow, starts up to kiss the giggling
maid beneath the branch of mistletoe that neath each cottage
beam is seen with pearl like berries shining gay. The
shadow still of what hath been, which fashion yearly fades away.
The singing waits a merry throng at early morn with
simple skill, yet imitate the angel's song and chaunt their
Christmas ditty still and mid. The storm that dies and
swells by fits in hummings softly steals the music of
the village, bells ringing around their merry be When this
is past, a merry crew bedecked in masks and ribbons gay.
The Morris dance their sports renew and act their winter
evening play. The clown turned king for penny praise storms
with the actor's strut and swell and harlequinn a laugh
to raise, wears his hunchback and tinkling bell and oft
for pence and spicy ale with winter nosegays pinned before
the wassaile singer tells her tale and draws her Christmas
carols o'er, while prentice boy, with ruddy face and rhyme
bepowdered dancing locks from door to door with happy face,
runs round to claim his Christmas box. The block upon
the fire is put to sanction customs, old desires, and
many a faggot's bands are cut for the old farmer's
Christmas fires, where a loud tongue gladness joins the throng,
and winter meets the warmth of May, till feeling soon
the heat too strong, he rubs his shins and draws away,
while snows the window panes be dim the fire curls
up a sunny charm, where creaming o'er the pitcher's rim.
The flowering ale is set to warm mirth full of joy,
as summer bees sits there its pleasures to impart, and
children tween their parents knees, sing scraps of carols off
by heart, and some to view the winter weathers climb
up the window seat with glee, likening the snow to
falling feathers in fancy's infant ecstasy, laughing with superstitious love,
or visions wild that youth supplies of people pulling geethe
above and keeping Christmas in the skies, as though the
homestead trees were dressed in liew of snow with dancing leaves,
as though the sun dried Martin's nest instead of icicles
hung the eaves. The children hail the happy day as
if the snow were April's grass, and pleased as neath
the warmth of may sport. O'er the water froze to glass,
Thou day of happy sound and mirth, that long with
childish memory, stays how blest around the cottage hearth. I
met thee in my younger days, harping with raptures, dreaming
joys on presents which thy coming found. The welcome sight
of little toys, the Christmas gift of cousins. Round about
the glowing hearth. At night, the harmless laugh and winter
tail go round, while parting friends delight to toast each
other o'er their ale. The cotter oft with quiet zeal,
will musing o'er his bible leant, while in the dark
the lovers steal to kiss and toy behind the screen
old customs. Oh, I love the sound, however simple they
may be. Whate'er with time hath sanctioned found is welcome
and is dear to me. Pride grows above simplicity and
spurns them from her haughty mind, And soon the poet's
song will be the only refuge they can find. End
of Christmas Time by John Clare