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Christmas Weather in Scotland. 211

What singing of Lang Syne till tear-drops shine,

And friendships brighten as the evening wanes! David Gray.

SIR GALAHAD.

When on my goodly charger borne
Thro' dreaming towns I go,

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,

The streets are dumb with snow.

The tempest crackles on the leads

And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads,

And gilds the driving hail.

Lord Tennyson.

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