Austin Princess at Christmas
Daily Archives: December 16, 2014
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me feet,
And spotted the perils beneath,
All the miles that I walked,
And the shoes that I bought,
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me feet.
I wish I’d been that much more willin’
And provided more space for the fillin’
To pass up winklepickers,
From respect to me kippers
And to buy something else with me shillin’.
When I think of the miles that I trekked,
And the hills that I climbed without a heck,
Potholes, big and little,
Ruined my feet, so very brittle,
My kippers are horribly fecked.
My Mother, she told me no end,
“Good feet are always your friends”
I was young then, and brainless,
My shoe choice so careless,
I never had much time to spend.
Oh I showed them the new shoes so bright,
I flashed them about with delight,
But up-and-down walkin’
And kickin’ and rushin’
Played havoc with my dainty delights.
If I’d known I was paving the way,
To verrucae, corns and decay,
The pain of arthritis,
Gout and detritus,
I’d have thrown all me show shoes away.
So I sit in the podiatrist’s chair,
And I hear his diagnosis in despair,
Telling me what I should have done,
And the shoes I should have donned,
“They’ll only last,” he’ll say, “for a few more days.”
How I laughed at my Mother’s false leg,
As she struggled with it clunkin’ beneath,
But now comes the reckonin’
It’s me it is beckonin’
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me feet.