Christmas Night.
'Twas Christmas Day, as the evening fell, and the gladsome sounds of mirth
O'er the City's darkening streets rang out from many a happy hearth:
The north wind loved the joyous tones, and he whistled his loudest blast
Of boisterous murth round those cheerful homes, as he rapidly hurried past.
Away o'er the fields and woods he rushed, but he paused in his wild career,
For again through the gathering gloom arose, those sounds he loved to hear.
Then down to a cottage far below he stooped in his rapid flight,
And he shouted with glee, did the old North Wind, on that happy Christmas night.
Away again o'er the woods and wilds—all wrapt in a stormy shroud;
But soon in the path of the old North Wind rose a castle's turrets proud;
The sound of the feast, and the song, and the dance, came cheerily up from below,
And the great yule-log in the castle's hall sent out its general glow.
The old Wind paused with a beaming smile, and peered at the happy throng,
Then round that noble castle's walls, he roared his boisterous song.
Ah! he loved those sounds, and he lingered a while to feats on the pleasing sight,
Then away again, with a laugh and a shout, making glad that Christmas night.
o'er country and city, and hamlet he sped, and from all came joyous sounds;
The old wind whirled and shrieked with glee, for he soon would finish his rounds.
Away o'er the forest and filed he swept and his voice grew hoarse and proud,
As low as the rude Old Tyrant's power the forest monarchs bowed.
A mighty oak from its roots he tore and hurled aloft from his path:
"How strong I am!" said the Old North Wind: "Oh! who can withstand my wrath!"
And this he spoke, as he onward sped—"Truly every heart is light;
In merry England, from the east to the West, no mortal is sad tonight!"
But now in his path stood a gloomy pile, ere the cheering thought had passed:
A prison, all massive, and silent, and stern, its darkening shadow cast.
The air grew cold and his boisterous mirth was struck with a sudden chill,
For tho' keen are the frozen blasts of the north, there are others more piercing still.
Sadly he blew round the ponderous walls, for he saw not a sign of mirth;
Though he peered into every grated cell, no sound of joy came forth.
"Now," said he, "I must blow a cheery blast;" and he essayed a merry tone,
But he failed, and he shook his grisly locks, as it died in a hollow moan.
