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Tune your voices full of laughter, Dash away the dark hereafter, Fling the cup of sorrow down, boys; Laugh tonight at Fate's dark frown, boys; Banish sorrow, And joy borrow; To welcome merry Christmas time.

Quaff of mirth a brimming measure,— Mirth tonight our only treasure, It will warm our hearts like wine, boys; None tonight should weep or pine, boys. Not with sadness, But with gladness, We'll welcome merry Christmas time.

What are all life's joys and troubles? Nought but empty fleeting bubbles; But heaven lends a joy divine, boys, More bright and warm than ruddy wine, boys. —Joy that fires us, And inspires us, To welcome merry Christmas time. Binn Eider.

I dream of thee, my bonny Kate, And bow my heart And mourn the bitter, bitter fate That did us part. As Autumn leaves, as sun is gone, My heart is sore; The sun of my life most brightly shone When thou were near. Dreams of thy beauty, darling Kate So fresh and bright, Come floating, and my soul elate Wakes from its night. A graceful lily in the wind, I see thy form; A lilly's incense is they mind: Shed in the storm. With heaven's best, holiest balm, It fills each sense,— Like prayer,—with a holy calm,— Love's recompense, Dreams of thy beauty, darling mine, Thine eyes dark night,— Those orbs from which floth Culuchy shine Thy soul so bright, Thine ached brow, and drooping lid,— Thine eyes above; Thy parting lips and laughing face, And auburn hair, Thy snowy neck, thy every grace Beyond compare. And in my dreams, thy hand I kiss And search thine eyes For the old, old look of love and bliss,— My hearts best prize. The pressure of thy hand I feel, So soft and warm: To worship that fair hand I kneel; My heart a storm Of love and anguish, bliss and pain,— For ah! I dream. I dream my Kate, how bright, thou art, And when I wake, The thorn is deeper in my heart, That will not break. Binn Eider.