Came lines of anguish, as if a thousand years of pain
Had lived and suffered—then across the heaving angry main
The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the waves in madness dashed
And hissed their scorn o'er the ship round which their fury cashed
And ever, ever, ever thus, that doomed crew will speed,
They try to round the stormy cape, but never can succeed.
And oft when storms are fiercest, 'mid the lightnings vivid sheen,
Against the tempest struggling, still the phantom ship is seen
Across the billows dashing; and 'tis said that every word
Of her captain's awful blasphemy upon the gale is heard.
But heaven help the hapless crew that impious sentence hears;
The doom of those is sealed to whom that fatal ship appears:
They'll never reach their destined port—they'll see their homes no more
They who see the flying Dutchman, never, never, reach the shore
"A Merry Christmas!"
A "Merry Christmas" each one sends
To-night across the foam,
To all the loved ones—all the friends
Who think of us at home.
From them a "Merry Christmas!" flies
On angel's pinions bright;
'Tis heard upon the breeze that sight
Around our ship tonight.
Though on our ears no voices fall,
Our hearts—our spirits hear—
"A Merry Christmas to you all,—
And happy, bright New Year!"
Then brothers! though we spend the day
Within a prison ship,
Let every heart with hope be gay,—
A smile on every lip.
Lets banish sorrows—banish fears,
And fill our hearts with glee,
And ne'er forget in after years
Our Christmas on the sea.
Holly Leaves.
What flower so gay as the holly spray,
With berries so red and bright;
In the frosty rime of the Christmas time,
Hearts gladdened are at the sight.
'Tis the rarest tree in all Christendie!
When recalling old Christmas time,
We link the sheen of its leaves so green
With the merry joybells' chime.
Oh! dear to me is the holly-tree—
Dear the robin's carolled song!
And the mystic bough of the mistletoe,
That to Christmas times belong.
When the earth is white, and the sky is bright,
On the silent frosty air,
From the holly bush, how sweet the gush
Of the robin's song of prayer
When with wassail bowl we cheer the soul,
While the yule-logs cheery glow,
We kiss our girls beneath the pearls
Of the mystic mistletoe.
When hearts are light and eyes are bright,
And lips like the berries shine,
And draughts of joy, without alloy,
We quaff with the rich red wine.
Oh! red and white are the berries bright
Of holly and mistletoe;
When Winter's breath breathes frozen death
On all else—still bright they glow,
To gladden the walls of princely halls,
And the peasants cottage hearth,
In the happy time when the joyous chime
Rings "Peace to men on earth!"
No holly have we, or revelry,
Nor robin's song to cheer;
From the mistletoe away we go,
To a distant hemisphere.
Where all is strange and full of change
But still wheree'er we roam,
My heart yet clings to the hallowed things
Of Christmas time at home.
