Classic Poem

The nightly shadows, dark and cold,
Fell round a hovel low and old;
The wind came through the broken door
And scattered snowflakes on the floor,
And whispered in an elfin tone,
From shattered thatch to cold hearthstone,
Whereon a woman sat and prest,
A hungry baby to her breast,
And drew the rags, in closer fold,
Around a little five-year-old
That crouched and shivered aTher feet.
“Mamma,” he lisped, in accents sweet,
As lip, and cheek, and eye grew bright:
“Will Trismas tum to-morrow night?”

“Yes, Benny, dear,” the mother sighed,
And turned her pallid face aside,
As if she strove to hide the tears
That came with thoughts of brighter years.
“Mamma, I wist,” said little Ben,
“At we tould go to seep till den;
We'd find a 'ittle jag of wood
To make a fire, and somesing dood
To eat for break'ast, dest because
I writed to Old Santa Caus
A letter, dest my very best,
And hided it in Robin's nest,
Away up in the cedar tree,
Where 'ittle birdies used to be.”

The mother, as her eyes grew dim,
Asked: “What, dear, did you write to him?”
“I writed: ‘Santa: Papa's dead.
I's hungry; pease to bring some bread,
And dest a 'ittle wood and tea
For mamma, and some boots for me;
My feet is freezing told,’ and den
I writed: “I is 'ittle Ben.’”


As dawned the light of Christmas day,
O'er mount and moorland, cold and gray,
O'er frozen stream and leafless wold,
O'er stately hall and hovel old,
A little tawny, frowsy head
Was lifted from a tattered bed,
And two large, shining, childish eyes,
Brim full of wonder and surprise,

Beheld a hearthstone warm and bright,
Where frost was woven yesternight,
And saw a little table spread
With golden butter, snowy bread
And ruddy apples. Could it be?
Yes, there was mamma making tea!
It was no dream, and such a shout
Of boyish joy and glee rang out,
As startled with its merry din
The little snow-birds peeping in,
Or gayly hopping here and there,
As if they waited for a share
Of that delicious Christmas fare.

Then Benny, kneeling by his bed,
Folded his little hands and said
His morning prayer: “Amen”—a pause,
“And pease, dood Lord, bless Santa Caus.”

Soon Benny spied a basket hid
Behind the door; he raised the lid
And found a woman's dress and shawl,
Warm woolen hood, and—last of all—
O joy! a boy's full suit of clothes,
Nice mittens, bran new boots and hose,
And, on the collar of the coat
Was pinned the letter Benny wrote;
But where that little waif had blown,
Or who replied, was never known.
Perhaps some tender heart and hand
Had picked it up in Fairyland.

How Benny looked when he was drest
In boots and breeches, coat and vest,
And how he stirred the crackling fire,
To see the ruddy flames leap higher,
And how the baby crowed and cooed,
As if it fully understood,
While mamma put the things away,
And softly sung a Christmas lay,
Is more than I have words to say.