The minstrels played their Christmas tune To night beneath my cottage eaves; While, smitten by a lofty moon, The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, That overpowered their natural green.
Through hill and valley every breeze Had sunk to rest with folded wings: Keen was the air, but could not freeze, Nor check, the music of the strings; So stout and hardy were the band That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.
And who but listened? till was paid
Respect to every inmates claim,
The greeting given, the music played
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And Merry Christmas wished to all.