The Benevolent Gnome

An elderly gnome of benevolent turn And master of treasures untold, Once lived in a forest and guarded his mines And stored up his jewels and gold. Alone lived the gnome and no kindred had he, No gnomelets to hand down his name; No creature to cheer him, not even a cat, No housemates to praise him or blame. And Christmas was coming! With none could he share, No tree could he help to adorn, No stocking replenish, no storeroom refill! Was ever a gnome more forlorn?

But sudden one morning he happened to think, Though kin in the wood he had none, Yet neighbors in feathers and neighbors in fur Were plenty as motes in the sun. “The fox,” thought the gnome, “What a joy it would be To give him a plan of each farm, A guide to each hen-roost adjoining his den And thus to protect him from harm. The owl,” he thought, “is an excellent bird Though somewhat addicted to gloom. I’ll buy him a grammar and teach him to say No longer ‘To who!’ but ‘To whom!’

“The squirrel is restless. Some potion or balm Would quiet his nerves for a space; A bottle of tonic would pleasure the fish And set their cold blood in a race. A cheese for the wood-mice I’ll quickly procure; A string of gay beads for the crow; Some greens for the rabbit, some furs for the snake, And skis for the buck and the doe.” With bark for his notebook, a thorn for his pen, His list was soon plainly writ down, And, clinking his money in holiday mood, Our hero set out for the town. The presents he bought were a wonderful sight, They hung from each tree in the wood; No beast was forgotten, no matter how small, No bird, were he evil or good. The elderly gnome of benevolent turn No longer was lonely or sad; In sharing with others he’d found his content, In gladdening, he was made glad.