THE PAUPER’S CHRISTMAS CAROL.

Full of drink and full of meat,
On our SAVIOUR’S natal day,
CHARITY’S perennial treat;
Thus I heard a Pauper say:—­
“Ought not I to dance and sing
Thus supplied with famous cheer? 
    Heigho! 
    I hardly know—­
Christmas comes but once a year.

“After labor’s long turmoil,
Sorry fare and frequent fast,
Two-and-fifty weeks of toil,
Pudding-time is come at last! 
But are raisins high or low,
Flour and suet cheap or dear? 
    Heigho! 
    I hardly know—­
Christmas comes but once a year.

“Fed upon the coarsest fare
Three hundred days and sixty-four,
But for one on viands rare,
Just as if I wasn’t poor! 
Ought not I to bless my stars,
Warden, clerk, and overseer? 
    Heigho! 
    I hardly know—­
Christmas comes but once a year.

“Treated like a welcome guest,
  One of Nature’s social chain,
Seated, tended on, and press’d—­
But when shall I be press’d again,
Twice to pudding, thrice to beef,
A dozen times to ale and beer? 
    Heigho! 
    I hardly know—­
Christmas comes but once a year.

“Come to-morrow how it will;
Diet scant and usage rough,
Hunger once has had its fill,
Thirst for once has had enough,
But shall I ever dine again? 
Or see another feast appear? 
    Heigho! 
    I only know—­
Christmas comes but once a year!

“Frozen cares begin to melt,
Hopes revive and spirits flow—­
Feeling as I have not felt
Since a dozen months ago—­
Glad enough to sing a song—­
To-morrow shall I volunteer? 
    Heigho! 
    I hardly know—­
Christmas comes but once a year.

“Bright and blessed is the time,
Sorrows end and joys begin,
While the bells with merry chime
Ring the Day of Plenty in! 
But the happy tide to hail,
With a sigh or with or a tear,
    Heigho! 
    I hardly know—­
Christmas comes but once a year!”

THE HAUNTED HOUSE[18]

[Footnote 18:  From the opening number of Hood’s Magazine, January 1844.  Written to accompany an engraving from a painting by Thomas Creswick, bearing the same title.]

A ROMANCE.

   “A jolly place, said he, in days of old,
   But something ails it now:  the spot is curst.” 
                                   WORDSWORTH.

PART I.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams,
Unnatural, and full of contradictions;
Yet others of our most romantic schemes
Are something more than fictions.

It might be only on enchanted ground;
It might be merely by a thought’s expansion;
But, in the spirit or the flesh, I found
An old deserted Mansion.