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CLEMENT C. MOORE.
À VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 'T was the night before Christmas, when all He had a broad face and a little round belly through the house
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; jelly. The stockings were hung by the chimney with He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old care,
elf; In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myThe children were nestled all snug in their beds, self. While visions of sugar-plums danced in their A wink of his eye and a twist of his head heads;
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, He spoke not a word, but went straight to his Had just settled our brains for a long winter's work, nap,
And filled all the stockings ; then turned with a When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
jerk, I sprang from my bed to see what was the mat. And laying his finger aside of his nose, ter.
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. Away to the window I flew like a flash,
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
whistle, The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow And away they all few like the down of a this. Gave a lustre of midday to objects below; When what to my wondering eyes should ap- But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of pear,
sight, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, * Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodWith a little old driver, so lively and quick
THE FROST. Vixen ! On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Donder and Blitzen! The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night, To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall !
And he said, "Now I shall be out of sight; Now dash away, dash away, dash away all !".
So through the valley and over the height As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane ily,
In silence I'll take my way. When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the I will not go like that blustering train, sky,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, With the sleigh full of toys, – and St. Nicholas
But I'll be as busy as they !" too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
Then he went to the mountain, and powdered ils The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
crest, As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
He climbed up the trees, and their boughs hu Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a dressed bound.
With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast He was dressed all in fur from his head to his Of the quivering lake he spread foot,
A coat of mail, that it need not fear And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes The downward point of many a spear and soot;
That he hung on its margin, far and near, A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
Where a rock could rear its head. And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
He went to the windows of those who slept, His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how And over each pane like a fairy crept: merry!
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; By the light of the moon were seen His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, Most beautiful things. There were flowers and And the heard on his cnin was as white as the trees,
I There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees,
I will paint her as I see her.
Ten times have the lilies blown
And her face is lily-clear,
Lily-shaped, and dropped in duty
Oval cheeks encolored faintly,
Which a trail of golden hair
Now in memory comes my mother,
As she used, in years agone, To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn: So I see her leaning o'er me,
As I list to this refrain Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain. Then my little seraph sister,
With the wings and waving hair, And her star-eyed cherub brother
A serene angelic pair
With their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.
And a forehead fair and saintly,
Which two blue eyes undershine,
Face and figure of a child,
Though too calm, you think, and tender, For the childhood you would lend her.
Yet child-simple, undefiled,
Frank, obedient, — waiting still
And another comes, to thrill me
With her eyes' delicious blue ; And I mind not, musing on her,
That her heart was all untrue : I remember but to love her
With a passion kin to pain,
Moving light, as all your things,
As young birds, or early wheat,
THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.
A DISTRICT school, not far away,
THE BAREFOOT BOY. BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace ; From my heart I give thee joy, I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he cau buy In the reach of ear and eye, Outward sunshine, inward joy : Blessings on thee, barefoot boy !
O for boyhood's painless play,
O for boyhood's time of June,
WILLIAM PITT PALMER.
Old Master Brown brought his ferule down,
And his face looked angry and red.
Along with the girls,” he said.
With his head down on his breast,
That he loved, of all, the best. Jud Anthony Blair seemed whimpering there,
But the rogue only made believe ; For he peeped at the girls with the beautiful curls,
And ogled them over his sleeve.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree ; My mother's hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.
Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides ! Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too ; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy !
Ah ! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
After the evening prayer,
In tones my heart would thrill !
Here are they living still !
To brothers, sisters, dear ;
Who loved God's word to hear !
What thronging memories come! Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home!
O for festal dainties spread,
and bowl of wood,
Cheerly, then, my little man,
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my
childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild.
wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond and the mill which
stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract
fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the
well, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ;
For often, at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were
glowing ! And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it
MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
This book is all that's left me now,
Tears will unbidden start, With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.