The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1883-02-08
THE MODERN SANTA CLAUS.
j. T. TRowBRIDGE.

j. Is IRONBklDGE-
Where is the old man Santa Claus,
With his airy sled which the reindeer draws,
And the round little twinkling face hedged in
By the iciced cap and frosted chin?
Storm proof leggings and huge surtout,
Speckled with snow and with chimney SCOT;
And his packs that hold
Treasures untold
For young and old?
Where does he live and what does he do?
Or where is the fortune teller who
Can tell US if these things are true?
Come here, Conrad, listen Prue,
! am the fortune-teller who
VIII tell you if these things are true.
Turn down the gas to the teebest spark,
Now take my hands, sit cose-and bark
Out there in the dark,
What's that looming,
What's that glooming,
What's that booming,
There in the dark?
Something wonderful, something white
Fills the night
With a strange, dim light
Is it the world of Arctic snow,
OF the polar bear and the Esqumau?
Where the avalanche falls,
And the glacier craws-
Mother of icebergs where she craws
Eternally over TIE worlds white walls,
ANA Htters ner WneIps IN lne DriHe DeIoW!
Where they go,
Where tn slow,
Huge, wallowng, growing young icebergs go,
Crowdng and crunchng through fog and Hoe !
Unconquered realm of the tyrant ice,
Whose palaces rise,
Mountain size,
Peak over peak. and stair over STAIR
In the twilight air !
Is this the country of Santa Claus,
Where life never blooms and the frost never
thaws?
And what are the mingling sounds hear?
The small, sharp cnk of the hoof of deer,
Tho crack of whip and over the edge
OF an icy ledge,
The clank of sledge;
A frozen-n whaleships whstling tackle;
The crimson aurora's fttul cracke,
As it flashes and fades up the sky with the
sound,
The dreary sound,
OF Waves dashed round
An iceberg aground;
And the roar
Evermore,
OF grinding foes on polar shorel
Do my eye s and ears deceive me?
Something hear and see, believe me
Something wonderful something white,
Fills the world with a soft bright light
Is ii ice and snow ?
My children, no
Nor icebergs topple, nor glaciers flow,
But peaks pallid paper rise,
A stairway leading to unseen skies !
Lodges Of snow-white paper CLEAN,
Terrace Cd terrace. ream above ream;
And l hear the quick
Multtudinous click
Oftypes falling thick
In the printers stick;
No northern lights, as they flash and fade,
But the curious tapping and cracking made
P,-, ~ nd ind ,lx,ip0 tbair
And the sound that seemed the sea, guess is
The thunder of hundreds of printing presses
Not the iceberg's crashing
That fills the air,
Nor the crashing
OF walrus and bear:
Nor foes that grind on the polar shore;
But these are the monsters that clank and roar
IT'S steam, my children, steam that draws
The sled of old man Santa Claus
Here is the region whose ribs of snow,
Whose magical mountains melt and flow
In a thousand rivers, a million brooks,
Pappers, and magazines, and books;
The realm of his choicest gifts that fill
Boxes and mal-bags, what you will
Covers that hold
Words brighter than gold,
Leaves that enfold
Thoughts more precious then gems of gold
Picture and story, rhyme and prose,
All over the wor d his treasure goes,
Bv the modern modes;
All sorts Of loads,
To all mems abodes,
They are bundled and bound and borne ava
To gladden. all hearts on Christmas Day.
Believe me, Conrad hear me- Prue
Your marvellous tales are halfway true.
But this is the realm, or else dream,
Here is the realm where he reigns supreme.
No reindeer team,
But IRON and steam,
Where the modern Santa Claus reigns supreme !