Part 19 (1/2)
But long it won't be, Don't you know? Don't you see?
Unless we are as good as can be!”
_Lucy Larcom._
THE WIND AND THE MOON
Said the Wind to the Moon, ”I will blow you out.
You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about; I hate to be watched--I'll blow you out.”
The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So deep, On a heap Of clouds, to sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon-- Muttering low, ”I've done for that Moon.”
He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high In the sky With her one ghost eye, The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind--”I will blow you out again.”
The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.
”With my sledge And my wedge I have knocked off her edge!
If only I blow right fierce and grim, The creature will soon be dimmer than dim.”
He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
”One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!”
He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone; In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the shy stars shone; Sure and certain the Moon was gone.
The Wind, he took to his revels once more; On down In town, Like a merry-mad clown, He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar, ”What's that?” The glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; For still the broader the Moon-sc.r.a.p grew, The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the night.
Said the Wind--”What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath, Good faith!
I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what strength have I!”
But the Moon, she knew nothing about the affair, For high In the sky, With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great Wind blare.
_George Macdonald._
A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS
'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,-- When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my 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 a l.u.s.ter 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 housetop 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.