Page:The Bab Ballads.djvu/157

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The cruel old scoundrel brightens up
 * At the death of the Olden Year,

And he waves a gorgeous golden cup
 * And bids the world good cheer.

The little ones hail the festive King,
 * No thought can make them sad,

Their laughter comes with a sounding ring,
 * They clap and crow like mad!