THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. In a patch of clearing, scarcely more A little, low, and lonesome shed, Aye, low, so low the wind-warped eave You might almost stretch a bishop's sleeve The roof-tree's bent and knotty knees And the door-yard fence is three felled trees And a grape-vine, shaggy and rough and red, And among the stubs, all charred and black, Away to the distant huts, Winds in and out the wagon-track, Cut full of zigzag ruts : And down and down to the sluggish pond, And through and up to the swamps beyond. And do you ask beneath such thatch What heart or hope may be? THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 253 Just pull the string of the wooden latch, A hearth-stone broad and warm and wide, And 'twixt them, in the radiant glow, Six children, girls and boys; And in the cradle a head half-hid For the baby sleeps in the shaded light And two little stockings, scarlet bright, On the dresser, saved for weeks and weeks, And some are red as the children's cheeks, A clock that looks like a skeleton, And that never was such a clock to run If you were to see the glances proud The Settler's rifle, bright and brown, And swinging a hand's breadth lower down Bible and Hymn-book, thumbed all through, "Baxter's Call," and a novel or two. "Peter Wilkins," "The Bloody Hand," "The Travels of Lewis and Clarke;' Some tracts: among them, "The Milk-maid's Fall, "Pleasure Punished," and "Death at a Ball.” A branch of sumach, shining bright, With a string of birds'-eggs, blue and white, You will say the six little heads in a row The boldest urchin dares not stir ; But each heart, be sure, rebels He has rubbed the glass and rubbed the bow, Come, Molly!" he says, THE SETTLER'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 255 In a trice the dozen ruddy legs Are bare; and speckled and brown And blue and gray, from the wall-side peg And the baby with wondering eyes, looks out “And what will Santa Claus bring?" they tease, And, say, is he tall and fair?” While the younger climb the good man's knees, And the mother jogs the cradle, and tries So happily the hours fly past, 'Tis pity to have them o’er ; But the rusty weights of the clock, at last And the knitting kneedles, one and all, Now, all of a sudden the father twirls "Old Santa Claus don't like his girls And boys to be up so late!" He says, “And I'll warrant our star-faced cow, Down the back of his chair they slide, They slide down arm and knee: "If Santa Claus is indeed outside, He sha'n't be kept for me! Cry one and all; and away they go, In the mother's eyes are happy tears As she sees them flutter away; And then they talk of what they will do And Dick is so wise, and Dolly so fair, They," says the mother, "will have luck to spare ! "Aye, aye, good wife, that's clear, that's clear 1" Just think! O, wouldn't it be fine, — She stopped her heart with hope elate Then, with the brawny hand of her mate "Walls as narrow, and a roof as low, Have sheltered a President, you know." And then they said they would work and wait, You must have pulled the latch-string straight, Feeling that you were not by leave At the Sett'er's hearth that Christmas Eve. |