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His nose peering out from a very close cap,
His fingers in mittens, his chin in a wrap,
Like a tourist prepared for a very cold snap!
On, on he sped, through the regions of space,
With very short legs at a very long pace,
His well-filled knapsack lashed to his back,
Extra shoes and canteen strapped under his pack,
His coat-tails flying away on his track—
Entangled far off in the Pleiades,
On the horns of the Bull and Orion's knees.
For there was the Moon, and, strange to say,
There too was the Earth, just over the way,
Like the Doctor's globe, or a huge balloon,
Forty times larger, perhaps, than the Moon,
All covered with circles, and looming in space:
There were groups upon it, and every face
Was turned one way; and very long-jointed
Telescopes at the sky were pointed;—
And there, with a terrible rushing and humming
And hissing of breath, was a Comet a-coming!
So long and so queer, and as it came nearer
It grew every moment longer and queerer!
Until I made out such a comical chap,
In a red-flannel coat with a very long flap,
On, on he came,
With nose like a flame,
So red I was sure the fellow'd been drinking
(His canteen was empty, I knew by the clinking)
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"And what can a sober Comet be thinking,"
I cried "not to see there, plain as the day,
The Earth, like a target, hung right in his way?"
The groups were beginning to hurry about,
And hustle and bustle and signal and shout,
And the Moon looked scared, while I shrieked out,
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"Dear sir, I beg pardon, I don't know your name—
I pray you'll consider, and if it's the same
To you, here's a planet! I don't think you knew it;
But, sir, it will be
A great favor to me
And a very large circle of friends, as you see,
If you will drive round it instead of right thro' it!"
He put up his head with a stupefied stare,
And says he, "I declare!
No, I wasn't aware!
And I'm going at such a deuce of a rate—
I'd stop if I could, but I fear it's too late!
Bless my stars! here I am!" He had just time
to stoop,
When through it, head-foremost, he went at a
swoop,
As a circus rider dives through a hoop!
With a crash,
And a smash,
And a roar as of thunder,
It quivered,
And shivered,
And flew asunder:
The Moon, looking down, shed tragical tears;
While, winking hard and holding his ears,
The Comet came out on the other side,
Wheeled round, swore loud, and ruefully eyed
The ruin; sneezed two or three times; then drew
His long tail after him down the blue.
Heavens and earth! what have I done!
This does beat everything under the sun!
I don't care the wink of a star," said he,
"For all the damage done to me—"
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(Feeling his nose, and then with a flirt
Carefully brushing away the dirt
From his coat and its stained and draggled skirt)—
"But look at this dear little, queer little planet!
I've done the business for her, and I van, it
Is quite too bad! The fairest of creatures—
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How well I remember her pleasant features,
The smile on her face and the light in her eye,
When I've touched my hat to her, hurrying by,
Many a time, on my way through the sky!
I'd mend the poor thing if I could—and I'll try!"
How he got it, or where,
I cannot declare;
But thereupon he drew up a chair.
Hung his long coat-tail over the back,
Sat down by the pieces and opened his pack,
Brought forth from its depths a stout needle and
thread,
And there he sat squinting and scratching his head,
As if rather doubtfully questioning whether
'Twas possible ever to patch her together!
Meanwhile—but how can I hope to tell
Half that to my friends befell
On the shattered and scattered shell?
How depict the huge surprise
Of some, at the very astonishing rise
Of their real estate, shot off in the skies?
How describe the flying blocks,
The fall of steeples and railroad stocks,
The breaking of banks, and the stopping of clocks;
And all the various knocks and shocks;—
Frantic reporters rushing about,
And correspondents setting out
In a big balloon, intending from it
To interview our friend, the Comet!
While the wide-awake daily press unfurled
Its rival bulletins: "End of the World!!
Frightful collision! America hit!!!
Full particulars! Canada hurled
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Over New England! The Union split!!!
In INTERRUPTION OF TRAVEL AND TRADE!
The Comet coming to our aid!"
For now the Comet—odd to see!
Although it didn't seem odd to me—
With thimble and glue-pot, sewing and gluing
The shattered globe, was cheerfully doing
All he could to restore the ruin;
Patiently replacing all
The scattered fragments, great and small;
Stitching here and sticking there,
With a hopeful smile and a satisfied air,
Putting the planet into repair!
When all was done, with a dexterous twirl
Of his fingers, he set it once more a-whirl,
While the Moon looked pleased as a smiling
girl.
Off he sped; and the planet spun
Away on its axis round the sun;
When, watching with curious eyes, I found
He hadn't made it precisely round!
The zones, moreover, were strangely mixed:
Constantinople was squeezed betwixt
St. Petersburg and Baltimore;
South Carolina and Labrador
To Massachusetts were snugly tied;
New York and Paris were side by side;
And, oddest of all earthly fates,
England was in the United States!
Greenland (he couldn't have made a greater
Mistake) was on the new equator!
While in each crack of the crust some bit
Of broken China was made to fit.
Whereupon I cried, with a wild halloo,
"Hold on! come back! this never will do!
Just see what a botch you've made!" Before
He had time to turn, with a clang and a roar,
And a glare of its one great Cyclops eye,
The Lightning Express went whizzing by
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With a rushing of steam,
And a howl and a scream,
That waked me from my curious dream;
Which the Doctor avers (and he makes it plain)
Must all have passed through my busy brain
With the passing of the midnight train!
O happy night! that brings the morn
To dawn above the Lord new born,
And bids the angels sing again
Their message to the sons of men—
We hail thee! we hail thee!
O happy manger! that hath known
This precious burden as thine own,
Beyond all gifts the world doth hold,
Of pomp and pow'r and gems and gold
We hail thee! we hail thee!=
O happy star! whose radiance sweet
Did lead the wise men's eager feet
To seek the way, unknown, untried,
That led them to the manger's side—
We hail thee! we hail thee!
O happy day! that gave to men
The Babe Divine of Bethlehem,
The King of Kings, the Undefiled,
In semblance of a little child—
We hail thee! we hail thee!
O happy Babe! whose wondrous eyes
Still hold the light of Paradise,
Look down in blessing from above
While Prince of Peace, and Lord of Love,
We hail thee! we hail thee!
TWO lads were conversing as happy as kings,
Of the coming of Christmas and all that it
brings,
Of the Christmas-tree and its many delights,
Of the city shop-windows and other fine sights,
When out spake wee Will, sometimes called "Willie
wee,"
Though often "sweet William," or "little Willee,"
—Four years and a half or three-quarters was he—
"Say! What kind of a tree is a Chrissermus-tree?"
And the while they discoursed, as his wonder grew',
With questions like these he followed them through:
"Does it have big branches that spread all around?
Do its roots stay deep down in the dark ground?
Does it grow, grow, grow, way up very high?
If you climb to the top will your head bump the sky?
Do any plums grow on it, or apples, or cherries?
Or any good nuts, or pretty red berries?
Does it bloom out all over with flowers white as
snow,
As that tree does down there in our garden below?
Do robins and king-birds build nests in that tree?
And other birdies too?" asked little Willee.
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"Yes," answered Ned, wise, school-boy Ned:
"A Christmas-tree, young curly-head,
Has branches, sure, but has no roots,
And on its branches grow no fruits;
Yet bright red apples there you'll see,
And oranges of high degree—
Apples and oranges on one tree!"
"That sounds very strange," quoth little Willee.
"No flowers bloom there, snowy white,
Yet with these fruits—a curious sight—
Are oft seen flowers both red and white!
Should you climb to the top without a fall,
Your head might bump against the wall,
But not against the sky, you see,
For indoors-stands the Christmas-tree!"
"You tell very big stories," quoth little Willee.
"No birdie there doth build its nest,
No king-bird, blue-bird, robin redbreast,
Yet eggs thereon are often seen.
Of beautiful colors, pink, and green,
And purple, and lavender, fit for a queen.
Even eggs with pictures on them are found.
And with golden bands which circle around.
But from all these eggs so fair to see
Are hatched no birds in that Christmas-tree;
Instead, are hatched candy and gumdrops!" said he.
"Are you telling the truth?" asked little Willee.
"I've not told half, I do declare,
Of all those wondrous branches bear.
Bear? They bear dolls and whips and drums,
Tops, whistles, taffy, sugar-plums,
And candy sheep, and candy cats,
And candy birds, and candy rats,
And India-rubber girls and boys,
Bear trumpets and all kinds of toys,
Bear books, and jumping-jacks, and mittens,
And little cotton-flannel kittens;
And over the whole of this Christmas-tree
Candles are burning right merrily!
What think you of this? my sweet Willie-wee?"
"I think you are fooling!" said little Willee.
Next morning young Willie, with serious air,
Put earth in a flower-pot, and buried up there
A seed of an apple with very great care.
"Pray, what are you doing, you rogue Willie-wee?"
"I am planting a seed for a Chrissermas tree!
Is not that good to do?" asked little Willee.
—There came from that seed a green little shoot
Which put out its leaves and firmly took root,
And so finely did thrive that at last it was found
Too large for the house and was set in the ground,
Where it grew up, a tree, one scarcely knew how.
Look down by the wall; it is standing there now.
It blossoms in springtime, and many a nest
Has been built there by king-bird and robin redbreast;
And other birdies too oft come to the tree
And sing there and swing there, oh, so merrily;
They make it all summer our joy and delight;
And in fall of the year 'tis a beautiful sight
When the clustering wealth of its apples is seen—
Its ruby red apples all set in their green!
—And Willie? Yes, he grew up, too, young Willie-
wee,
And went as a sailor-boy over the sea.
He sailed in a ship to some far distant shore;
A storm came—and—and—we saw him no more.
It was long, long ago that deep sorrow we bore!
The lads who were talking, as happy as kings,
Of the coming of Christmas and all that it brings,
Are fathers now, so stately and tall.
Their children play by the garden wall,
And swing on the boughs of the apple tree,
Or climb to the top, the world to see;
(Some have gone from the home the world to see!)
And when autumn comes, and leaves turn brown,
And the ripened fruits are shaken down,
And here and there, on the orchard ground,
The red and the golden are heaped around—
'Tis the children who gather that tree by the wall,
And the apples from off its boughs that fall,
With kindly care are stored away,
Sure to appear on Christmas Day
In platter or basket for all to admire,
Or hung on strings before the fire,
There to swing and sputter and roast,
While many an one of the merry host
Gives a tender thought to that first Willie-wee
Who went as a sailor-boy over the sea.
The youngest of all; a new Willie-wee,
—A curly-haired rogue, and our darling is he!—
Now claims for his own uncle Will'sChristmas-tree.
"Because," says the child, "hewas named forme!"
From room to room, from stair to stair;
All silken-clad; while standing there
Shut from the summer warmth and cheer,
The silken perfumed atmosphere
Of wealth and ease, a little maid
With beating heart, yet unafraid,
Enchanted, watched the fairy scene
Between the curtains' parted screen.
The fierce north wind came sweeping pa: t
And shook her with its wintry blast;
The frosty pavement of the street
Chilled to the bone her ill-clad feet;
Yet moment after moment fled
And there she stood, with lifted head,
Her eager eyes, as in a trance,
Fixed on the changes of the dance,
9029Original Size
STATELY mansion,
bright and gay
With festal light, made
darkness day
Far up and down the dusky
street
That Christmas night, while hurry-
ing feet
Sped swiftly by, nor scarce de-
layed
For all the dulcet sounds that
strayed
In merry measures from within,
Where harp and flute and violin,
In soft accordance, wild and sweet,
Made music for the dancers' feet.
All silken-clad those feet that kept
That time and tune, or lightly stept
Her eager ears still drinking in
The strains of flute and violin;
And still, as sped the moments past,
Colder and colder swept the blast.
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But little heed had she, or care:
Her glance upon one vision fair,
One vision, one, beyond the rest—
A girl with roses on her breast,
And with a look upon her face,
The sweet girl-face of Heaven's own grace,
As through the dance she smiling led
Her youthful guests, with airy tread.
"Ah, would she smile on me like this
And would she give me kiss for kiss
If I could stand there at her side?"
The wistful watcher softly cried.
Even as she spoke she closer crept,
Upon the broad low terrace stept,
And nearer leaned.—Just then, just there,
A street light sent a sudden glare
Across her face.—One startled glance,
And from the changes of the dance.
With beating heart and eyes dilate.
The girlish mistress of the fête
Sprang swiftly forth.—A moment more
And through the window's opened door
Another guest was ushered in.
Her lip was pale, her cheek was thin,
No costly robe of silk and lace
Apparelled her, and 011 her face
And in her dark bewildered eyes
A shock of fear and shamed surprise
Did wildly, desperately gleam,
While here and there, as in a dream,
She vaguely heard, yet did not hear,
The sound of voices far and near.
She tried to speak: some word she said
Of all her troubled doubt and dread,
Some childish word—"what would they
do?"
Then all at once a voice rang through
Her troubled doubt, her troubled fear,
"What will they do, why, this—and this!"
And on her cold lips dropped a kiss,
And found her frozen figure crept
A tender clasp.—She laughed and wept
And laughed again, for this and this,
This tender clasp, this tender kiss,
Wras more than all her dream come true:
Was earth with Heaven's light shining through;
Was Christ's own promise kept aright—
His word fulfilled on Christ-day night!
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AWHIRR of wings, and a rush of feet!
And quick through the driving snow and
Grace, at the window, with wondering eyes
Watches their coming in shy surprise:
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A flock of snow-birds, tiny and brown,
On the gnarled old plum-tree settle down!
A moment she watches the chirping band,
Her sweet face resting upon her hand,
"O mamma, look! it is snowing brown"
She cries as the birdlings flutter down.
Then cries—and a laugh slips out with the words
"Why, mamma, the snow-flakes have turned to birds
SOME sweet things go just to make room for
others:
The blue field-blossom hurries from the dew,
(My little maiden, hush your noisy brothers!)
And see, the wild-rose reddens where it grew!
The green leaf fades that you may see the yellow;
We have the honey when we miss the bee;
Who wants the apples, scarlet-stained and mellow,
Must give the buds upon his orchard-tree;
Then, for those finely painted birds that follow
The sun about and scent their songs with flowers,
We have, when frosts are sharp and rains beat hollow,
These pretty, gray crumb-gathering pets of ours;
The butterflies (you could not catch) were brighter
Than anything that we have left in air;
But these still-flying shapes of snow are whiter,
I fancy, than the very lilies were.
Then, is the glimmer of fire-flies, cold and eerie,
Far in the dusk, so pleasant after all
As is this home-lamp playing warm and cheery,
Among your shadow-pictures on the wall?
But I forget. There ought to be a story,
A lovely story! Who shall tell it, then?
The boys want war—plumes, helmets, shields and
glory—
They'd like a grand review of Homer's men.
Their jealous sisters say it's tiresome hearing
(A girl is not as patient as a boy,)
Of that old beauty—yes, the much-recurring,
About-three-thousand-years-old, Helen of Troy.