Christmas Eve in the Country

The Mountain tops were tipt with driven Snow, And Silver white were all the Vales below, When, ceasing thro' the frozen Field to roam, Each Country Bumpkin ambles to his Home; Enjoys what oft his betters do admire In Winter Time,—a comfortable Fire, There with his Spouse and rosy Brats regale In simple Mirth all round a Mug of Ale. And now when some sage venerable 'Squire Does from the Noise of this great Town retire, To end his Days, forgetting King and Court, And turns once more unto his youthful Sport; But feels the Want of Strength, the Want of Sight, And feels the Winter more severely bite, Than when his Blood, some forty Years ago Wou'd reek with Ardour in December's Snow; Climb the steep Hill, the flowing Riv'let fly, And join with Speed the chearful Huntsman's Cry 'Till the deep Vally eccho'd to the Sky. Less Exercise poor Man will now content, Infirmity will teach him to repent; And make Attonement for a Life of Sin,— At threescore Years 'tis Time sure to begin. The Night approach'd, each Friend receives his Guest, To drink an Health, or crack some merry Jest To eat and drink in hearty free Good will, And all the Troubles of the Day to kill. Tho' Ven'son fumes ne'er taint their homely Board, The feast on what they better can afford; A good Sir Loin, a Pudding full of Plumbs, Smoaking and hot upon the Table comes. No Prince on Earth cou'd here refuse to eat So nice the Pudding and so sweet the Meat.

Once on a Time the Fire Side was grac'd With six true pair of Lovers round it plac'd, When biting Frost, and Snow bespread the Green, The Lads here serv'd their Lasses for a Skreen, By holding them as we do often see The Lads in Town—their Lasses on their Knee; Now each in Turn wou'd Sing a merry Song, And some wou'd tell a Story very long, While all attentive wou'd with Wonder hear, And shew'd with Eyes of Love an Heart of Fear; One who refused in his Turn to sing, Told a sad Story of a murder'd King.

Another cry'd, he heard his Granny say As she was passing thro' a lonely way, The Night was dark and Glow-worms did appear, When ev'ry Tree then added to her Fear. And passing by a lonely Church Yard Wall The Grave Stones mov'd, the Steeple shook and all. Another now began a woeful Tale The very Thought of which oft turn'd him pale.— Once, said he, a Lady fair and tall Did walk a Nights upon our Garden Wall; She sometimes like a Sow and Pigs appear'd And sometimes like a Jew, with a long Beard, And sometimes like a greyhound, sleek and trim, Sometimes like a Lion very Grim. And once my Father said he saw it stand With a bleeding Heart grasp't within its Hand And once he heard it like a Raven croak, And thrice, they say, it to our Parson spoke.

At this sad Tale, not one in all the House, But even fear'd the moving of a Mouse. O lack a-Day, cry'd one fair trembling Maid, I fear to move, I am so much afraid. Another, list'ning, thought she heard a Voice, Another cry'd, I'm sure I heard a Noise. Hush was the Word, while each with list'ning Fear, Did, as it were, all statue-struck appear. Nor Eye, nor Finger now was seen to move, But each pale Maid cling'd fast about her Love; And all, the more from Fear, than from Desire, Mov'd by Degrees almost into the Fire. A dreadful Clatter all at once was heard, And in a Trice the Fire Side was clear'd; Out at the Door they helter-skelter ran, Nor 'till the Morning did there one return; The Parson and the Clerk at Noon were brought, With Faces full of Fear and Heads of Thought; Gravely they enter'd, with a solemn Look, The Parson held his Breech, the Clerk his Book, And step by step with Caution star'd around, Thinking most sure 'twas all inchanted Ground, But first they both into the Oven peept, Thinking, perhaps, it might in there have crept, But turning to the Cup-board, there did lie, A nice Plumb-pudding, and a Christmas Pie, That Puss had in her thieving Tricks thrown down, And struck with Wonder all the simple Town. The Parson, with a knavish Leer and Grin, Stroak'd with great Sanctity his double Chin. Cry'd 'twas a Shame such Pudding should be lost, And in an Instant down his Throat he tost A Piece that wou'd almost have choak'd a Hog, And gave old Sly the Clerk a frienldy Jog. Who likewise cry'd, indeed it was a Shame, And by the Priest's Example did the same. Then both turn'd home with Safety and Content, And left the Losers only to repent; Telling 'em of the worst to make the most, To rest content, by giving up the Ghost.