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’T WAS 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, | |
When 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, |
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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 pedler 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.” |
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