Christmas! why child, can this be Christmas Eve?
Ah, me! the years run swiftly on;
Threads in the warp of this short life we live.
And now my chequered web is well nigh spun.

And Christmas seems not what it used to be,—
The good old customs all are changed, I wean;
Yet memory of old times is left with me—
The days whose brightness these dimm'd eyes have seen.

Come, Elsie, bring your stool beside my chair,
Stir up the fire to shine with brighter glow,
And while it flickers on your sunny hair,
I'll tell a Christmas-tale of long ago—

Full fifty years ago, when I was young,
And this grey hair like yours was golden-bright,
When mirth and laughter dwelt on brow and tongue,
In fleet winged hours, that sped with magic flight.

Sometimes, in waking dreams it all comes back,—
Familiar forms move softly through the room,
Then leave me, gliding up the moonlight track,
Wafting sweet music down the twilight gloom.

And at these times I see the home that stood,
In the lone highland valley far away;
The snow-crowned hills, the lake, the lonely wood,
Through which I wandered many a summer day.

And I was happy in those summers, child!—
Life in its morning brightness knows not gloom,
The rose-tinged future-mists hide waste and wild
As sharp thorns hide beneath the rose's bloom.

And girlhood seemed like some fair sunny day
Without a cloud to mar the summer sky.
On pleasure's airy pinions borne away
Too swiftly far the winged hours sped by.

Then came a glory-crown to gild the years,—
I loved; but 'twas no fancy of the hour,
No fleeting day-dream fraught with hopes and fears,
But Love, that ruled my soul with sovereign power.

A love that strengthened as the days went past,—
Dearer and holier far than all beside;
An Eden-world of beauty grand and vast,
With joys new-born, out spreading far and wide.

Seemed then mine own; and the long years to be,
Would fill my life with happiness and light,
While this great love would shed its beams on me
In glad refulgence making all things bright

For he—the hero of my life's romance,
Was dear to me—ah! words can never show
That passion'd love, how every tone and glance
Tender or cold, brought happiness or woe

But cherished hatred goads to bitter end
And, mocking, fain would quench youth's ardent fire
We saw a shadow on our life descend—
The full charged storm-cloud of long-gathering ire.

My father boasted his high birth and name
And owned a pedigree that he could trace,
Back to the stern old chiefs, whose hostile fame—
He held the pride and honor of our race.

And still when Christmas came he loved to see
All the old customs of our sires kept up,
Huge yule-logs graced the hearth, and Christmas glee
Rang high, 'mid merry song and festal cup.

And on that Christmas day of which I tell
The seasons revelry was held the same;
The stately hall with guests was furnished well
And, 'mong, the rest, was bidden Hector Graem

He drank to me—"his lady fair and bright,"
As was the custom of the olden time,
"Your lady! never, while the sun gives light
Shall Graem ever wed with child of mine!"

And pointing to the door with haughty mein
My father bade him from his board begone;—
And then a curtain fell upon life's scene—
Blackness of darkness where Hope's sun had shone

Some family-feud, in days long passed away
Between the Graems and the MacDonnell's rose.
And still its memory in his bosom lay
Though seeming peace was made between the foes

But ah! my child, how can I tell the rest?
I lived; but Heaven in mercy spared the blow
Of thought and memory then, and weeks that pass'd
Were one drear blank—I felt not then my woe.

Child, you have never loved, and cannot know
How drear and hopeless youth itself may seem;
The long, blank loveless years to wonder through,
With nought, save memory of a bygone dream.

But sorrow kills not, we may laugh or weep,
Still Time by stealthy gliding steals away;
And Winter snows again lay white and deep,
And once again they welcomed Christmas day.

I watched them with sad eyes that knew no smile,
And a dull mind from which all hope had flown,
A listless heart that nothing could beguile
Back to the gladness that it once had known.

The dull December twilight grey and cold,
Fell weird and grim upon the lonely moor;
The wild wind raged o'er wintry waste and old,
And in the storm a stranger sought our door.

He asked a shelter from the bitter night
My father's brown cheek blanched to hear that tone,
He led him forward to the yule-log's light,
A lost—a mourned, but now a new-found son!

Oh! sweetest welcomes on the wanderer fell!
The last of our long race—returning home;
Home to the long-tired hearts that loved him well
No more an exile, by strange shores to roam.

"Bid me not rest" he said, "until you know,
I have a friend who claims his welcome now,
For, but for him, the depth of Alpines snow
Had been my grave, and you had lost your son."

"Then wherefore wait?" my mother gently said,
"Let him come hither till I bless his name!"
And Roderick turned, and forth the stranger led
And once again, I looked on Hector Graem.

No welcome-glow lit up the old man's eye,
Surprise or anger seemed to hold him dumb,
My mother clasped his hand with sob and sigh,
But to full hearts the fewest words will come

Then Hector kissed her hand with courtly grace,—
Bowed lowly to my father, half in scorn,
"Old ills" he said "are hardest to erase
From hearts where gratitude was never born"

But as he spoke the glistening tear drops fell
From those old eyes, that seldom tear drops know.
"You here" he said "love breaks hates baleful spell,
And gratitude comes forth to yield her due!"

"Let feuds and errors perish with the Past,—
'Tis thus I lay them in a deep dug-grave'"
And, beckoning me beside him, there, at last,
His blessing, once refused, he fondly gave!

Ah! life is very fair, and love is sweet!
The dark sky cleared, the sun shone out again,
Earth seemed a heaven, with perfect bliss replete,
And new-born gladness healed the sting of pain

And standing by the window hand in hand,
Hearing the storm howl o'er the wastes of snow.
We were the happiest of the happy band
That merry Christmas fifty years ago!