Daily evening star. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, 1853-09-17
DAILY EVENING STAR.
Written for the Sfar.l
THl MURDERER's CHRISTMAS EVE

TIN mUGDERER'S CHRISTMAS EVE.
'II Christmas Eve aud all without
Is beautiful and free.
Afonce in other days it seemed
AS beautiful TO me.
Tie snow is deep-the stars are out
Upon the quiet skv,-
Aad little children laugh snd shout
i hear them going by.
lle sleigh-bells jingle merrily -
The while they glide along,
And oft hear the echoed tones
Of frevelry and scng.
oh, happy ones. their hearts sre full
WJoyfulDess to-I light,
And lu the futures vistad way
The sun CLEANS ever bright.
last Christmas Eve, III, where was L.
The stars were just as bright,
Yet, Oh, the time and place 10 mu
Was gladder than to night.
LAST Christmas Eve had a home,
A sweet. gentle wife,
AbeiCg that doatcd on.
AS dearer than MY life.
Orr children tor, last Christmas Eve,
Three merry little things,
Oh, how their voices mingiei now
In mem rvs desert rings.
think hear them crying out
In simple childish glee
And dream that they are clambcring
Upon their .fst.er's knee
Last Christmas Eve, Ha. curse the thought,
IF burns my reeling brain;
1t notes thousand mOmer Is gone
That will not come again:
1t calls my wife, my children up,
AS from their sodded graves.
And through my cell, in darkness Eow,
A spectre's white robe waves;
see the image Of my wife.
Portrayal upon the walls,
And ghoSlly shadows come and GO,
With bier and funeral pals;
know my cell is cold and chill,
My grating open too,
Yet, oh, my brain is burning UP.
My veins, the fire runs through
The thought of friends, the thought of home,
once could call my own,
Are one bv one, like Egypt. plaques.
Upon my spirit thrown.
Oh. il my crimes were darker than
The darkest night that fell.
Such thoughts were punishment enough.
They seem my only He'll.
IT'S Christmas Eve, the wine flows free
That tempter OF the soul,
And many heart and many a thought,1
Is laid within the bowl;
But as the flushing tide they pass
From eager lip TO lip,
They dream not of the WretchednesS.
The misery they sip.
Oh, once quaffrd the rosy cup,
As thoughtless full as they,
Yet, oh, how dearly have paid
In moments OF to-day.
They call me murderer, tits a name
/ shudderei once to hear,
But now It's grown friendly sound,
Familiar 10 my ear.
This morn the keeper passed my cell,
As he is wont to do,
With visiters who come to look
The vaulted prison through
I think heard him as he went,
In whispers, call my name,
And oh, how beartlessly they stared
As backward, sio'U, they came.
Twas but Il mopert gone, he came
To take his nightly leave,
With, rs my grating door he closed,
"A merry Christmas Eve
'Tis Christmas Eve, hear it now,
Re echoed thr0' my cell,
As though some being voice were nigh,
That loved to taunt me well;
'Tis Christmas Eve. ] see it writ
Upon the dorksome stones,
hear it in the tainted air
That thro' the arches means:
Tis Christmas Eve, spirit voice
Low whispers in my ear
Last Christmas Eve, heard the same,
In accents glad and dear.
They tell me that murdered her.
II who loved her SO!
Whose cares were on her breast for-ot.
Whose tears refused TO flow
My wife. my lovely gentle wife,
My dearest hope of earth,
Whose kindly tones within my breast,
First gave affection birth
The mother of my little ones.
Oh, yes, the very same.
Who taught them first before her own.
To call their fathers name.
They tell mo that the night was dark,
The stars had ceased to shine,
And every eye was closed in sleep,
Save my peer wie's and mine.
They say l reeled into my home
| scarce knew clse they said.
Save only that when morning came,
Nv wife was coid-waS dead.
Oh, God, i know not why my head
Aches madly thus tonight;
/ know not why yearn TO see
The morning early light.
'Tls but another dar to me.
Another step to iesth
And feT must pass eer st!lied my pulse.
And stiilcd my icy breath.
Twas ioiae that siruck the fatal blow,
1t surely was not l
Yet, oh, with this upon my name,
They tell ME l must die.
A curse upon the hated vine
curse upon its spell
l know that it was wombed on earth.
But oh, twas born il Hell.
And what, though Christmas Eve it be,
'Twi watch some victim home,
And doom him, just Ms dark rs l.
Fer Christmas Icxt has come.
Beware the wine cups rosy flow.
For though it sparkleS bright,
Remember that the blooi is red
Upon m. hands tonight
Rene III ber that one year ago,
A happy heart Was mine,
And just as honest true perhaps,
As any one of thine.
Another Chrisimas Eve may come
And others still go by,
And -pirits not unlike to mine,
May falter thus and die.
But Christmas Eve is waning fast:
Ny pulse beats quicker now,
And cold the sweat is stealing out
Upon my paljid brow.
Farewell. the rid, and Christmas Eve,
Will, blue and starry SKY:
To all thy loFe-efchantei scenes,
The ''.Eurd:rer' rays goo,l-bye,
"HAKRY" STANTON
WASHINGTON Cry, d. c.. September, 1888.
Mmlle. Rachels House ard Furniture
Rachel, the incompatible French TT
edian, for some reason Or other, is abo
D sell her hotel. The New York Tribu
translates from French letter the iolloy
L