A Visit from St. Nicholas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the houseNot 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 Mama 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 snowGave the luster of mid-day to objects below,When, what to my wondering sight should appearBut 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 roofThe 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 headSoon 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."

Little drops of water,Little grains of sand,Make the mighty oceanAnd the pleasant land,

There was a little girlWho had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead,When she was goodShe was very, very good,But when she was bad she was horrid,

Clement C. Moore1862, March 13th.Originally written many years ago.

To my dear brother Beekman I sit down to writeTen minutes past eight and a very cold night;Not far from me sits with a baullancy cap onOur very good cousin, Elizabeth Tappan.A tighter young sempstress you'd ne'er wish to seeAnd she (blessings on her) is sewing for me.New shirts & new cravats this morning cut outAre tumbled in heaps and lye huddled about.My wardrobe (a wonder) will soon be enrichedWith ruffles new hemmed and wristbands new stitched.Believe me, dear brother, the women may beCompared to us, of inferior degree.Yet still they are useful, I vow with a fegs,When our shirts are in tatters & jackets in rags.

Now for news, my sweet fellow, first learn with a sighThat matters are carried here gloriously high.Such gadding, such ambling, such jaunting about—To tea with Miss Nancy—to sweet Willy's rout;Now parties at coffee—then parties at wine—Next day all the world with the Major must dine.

Bounce, all hands to Fishkill must go in a clutterTo guzzle bohea and destroy bread and butter!While you at New Lebanon stand all forlornBehind the cold counter from evening to morn.The old tenor merchants push nigher and nigherTill fairly they shut out poor Baze from the fire.

Out, out, my dear brother, Aunt Amy's just comeWith a flask for molasses and a bottle for rum.Run! Help the poor creature to light from her jade,You see the dear lady's a power afraid.Souse into your arms she leaps like an otterAnd smears your new coat with a piggin of butter.

Next an army of shakers your quarters beleagerWith optics distorted and visages meagre,To fill their black runlets with brandy and gin —Two blessed exorcists to drive away sin.But laugh away sorrow nor mind it a daisySince it matters but little, my dear brother Bazee,Whether here you are rolling in pastime and pleasureOr up at New Labanon taffety measure.If the sweetest of lasses, contentment, you find,And the banquet enjoy of an undisturb'd mind,Of friendship & love let who will make a potherBelieve me, dear Baze, your affectionate brotherWill never forget the fifth son of his mother.

P. S. If it suits your convenience, remit if you pleaseTo my good brother Paul an embrace and a squeeze.

Go envied glove, with anxious care,From scorching suns and withering air,Belinda's hand to guard.And let no folds offend the sight;Nor let thy seams, perversely tight,With hasty rents be marred.

On a warm sunny day, in the midst of July,A lazy young pig lay stretched out in his sty,Like some of his betters, most solemnly thinkingThat the best things on earth are good eating and drinking.