The night was dark, the lucky elves

The night was dark, the lucky elves Had all the turnpike to themselves. No surly keeper barred the way, For use of road demanding pay, Nor were they startled by the cry Of robbers shouting, "Stand or die!" Across the bridge and up the hill And through the woods to Warren's mill,— A lengthy ride, ten miles at least,— Without a rest they drove the beast, And then were loath enough to rein Old Mag around for home again.