Helen Maria Williams

What crowding thoughts around me wake, What marvels in a Christmas-cake! Ah say, what strange enchantment dwells Enclosed within its odorous cells? Is there no small magician bound Encrusted in its snowy round? For magic surely lurks in this, A cake that tells of vanished bliss; A cake that conjures up to view The early scenes, when life was new; When memory knew no sorrows past, And hope believed in joys that last! — Mysterious cake, whose folds contain Life’s calendar of bliss and pain; That speaks of friends for ever fled, And wakes the tears I love to shed. Oft shall I breathe her cherished name From whose fair hand the offering came: For she recalls the artless smile Of nymphs that deck my native isle; Of beauty that we love to trace, Allied with tender, modest grace; Of those who, while abroad they roam, Retain each charm that gladdens home, And whose dear friendships can impart A Christmas banquet for the heart!

I No riches from his scanty store My lover could impart; He gave a boon I valued more — He gave me all his heart! II His soul sincere, his generous worth, Might well this bosom move; And when I asked for bliss on earth, I only meant his love. III But now for me, in search of gain From shore to shore he flies; Why wander riches to obtain, When love is all I prize? IV The frugal meal, the lowly cot If blest my love with thee! That simple fare, that humble lot, Were more than wealth to me. V While he the dangerous ocean braves, My tears but vainly flow: Is pity in the faithless waves To which I pour my woe? VI The night is dark, the waters deep, Yet soft the billows roll; Alas! at every breeze I weep — The storm is in my soul.