Excerpt from The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, Vol. 4 of 6

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 overpouered their natural green.

Through hill ana valley every breeze

Had sunk to rest with folded wings

Keen uas the air, but could not frreze,

Nor check the music of the strings;

So stout and hardy uere the band

That scraped the chords with strenuous hand!

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