IV.

Among thy boughs almost the sound I hear Of Christmas bells breaking on wintry gloom; Foretelling so, the glimmer of thy bloom The kindliest feast of all the saint-crowned year. O happy year! that for its twilight crown Wears the dim radiance of thy peaceful stars, Hears song of angels, where no harsh note jars, Filling the woods whence latest bird hath flown. O wailing bloom! bud forth thy prophecies, Thine earnest of a life fore’er renewed, Thy light in darkness, with fair hope imbued, Thy golden gift of love’s amenities. O conjurer’s wand! thy jewelled staff bend low, Show the bright waters living ‘neath the snow.

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THE WOLF-TOWER.

A BRETON CHRISTMAS LEGEND.