tables are laden with roast and boiled,
And carvers are hasting, lest all should be spoiled;
And gossips' tongues clatter
More loudly than platter,
And tell of their marvel to reckon the sorts:--

Ham by fat capon, and beef by green worts;
Ven'son from forest, and mutton from fold;
Brawn from the oak-wood, and hare from the wold;
Wild-goose from fen, and tame from the lea;
And plumed dish from the heronry--
With choicest apples 'twas featly rimmed,
And stood next the flagons with malmsey brimmed,--
Near the knightly swan, begirt with quinces,
Which the gossips said was a dish for princes,--
Though his place was never to stand before
The garnished head of the royal boar!

Puddings of plumbs and mince-pies, placed
In plenty along the board, met taste
Of gossip and maiden,--nor did they fail
To sip, now and then, of the double brown ale--
That ploughman and shepherd vowed and sware
Was each drop so racy, and sparkling, and rare--
No outlandish Rhenish could with it compare!

Trow ye they stayed till the meal was done
To pledge a health? Degenerate son
Of friendly sires! a health thrice-told
Each guest had pledged to fellowships old,--
Untarrying eager mouth to wipe,
And across the board with hearty gripe
Joining rough hands,--ere the meal was o'er:--
Hearts and hands went with "healths" in the days of yore!

The meal is o'er,--though the time of mirth,
Each brother feels, is but yet in its birth:--
"Wassail, wassail!" the seneschal cries;
And the spicy bowl rejoiceth all eyes,
When before the baron beloved 'tis set,
And he dippeth horn, and thus doth greet
The honest hearts around him met:--

"Health to ye all, my brothers good!
All health and happiness!
Health to the absent of our blood!
May Heaven the suffering bless,--
And cheer their hearts who lie at home
In pain, now merry Yule hath come!
My jolly freres, all health!"

The shout is loud and long,--but tears
Glide quickly from some eyes, while ears
List whispering sounds of stealth
That tell how the noble Thorold hath sent,
To palsied widow and age-stricken hind,
Clothing and food, and brother-words kind,--
Cheering their aching languishment!

"Wassail, wassail!" Sir Wilfrid saith,--
"Push round the brimming bowl!--
Art thou there, minstrel?--By my faith,
All list to hear thee troll,
Again, some goodly love-l