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Literary Gazette, 27th January, 1832, Pages 27-28
ORIGINAL POETRY.
CHRISTMAS.
Irregular Lines.
Now out upon you, Christmas!
Is this the merry time
When the red hearth blazed, the harper sung,
And the bells rung their glorious chime?
You are called merry Christmas—
Like many that I know,
You are living on a character
Acquired long ago.
The dim lamps glimmer o'er the streets;
Through the dun and murky air
You may not see the moon or stars,
For the fog is heavy there;
As if all high and lovely things
Were blotted from the sight,
And Earth had nothing but herself
Left to her own drear light.
A gloomy crowd goes hurrying by;
And in the lamplight's glare,
Many a heavy step is seen,
And many a face of care.
I saw an aged woman turn
To her wretched home again—
All day she had asked charity,
And all day asked in vain.
The fog was on the cutting wind,
The frost was on the flood;
And yet how many past that night
With neither fire nor food!
