THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW 
A MIDSUMMER LEGEND 
  "And where have you been, my Mary,     And where have you been from me?"
  "I've been to the top of the Caldon Low,     The midsummer-night to see."
  "And what did you see, my Mary,     All up on the Caldon Low?"
  "I saw the glad sunshine come down,     And I saw the merry winds blow."
  "And what did you hear, my Mary,     All up on the Caldon hill?"
  "I heard the drops of the water made.
    And the ears of the green corn fill."
  "Oh! tell me all, my Mary 
    All, all that ever you know;   For you must have seen the fairies,     Last night on the Caldon Low."
  "Then take me on your knee, mother;     And listen, mother of mine:
  A hundred fairies danced last night,     And the harpers they were nine;"
  "And their harp-strings rung so merrily     To their dancing feet so small;   But oh! the words of their talking     Were merrier far than all."
  "And what were the words, my Mary,     That then you heard them say?"
  "I'll tell you all, my mother;     But let me have my way.
  "Some of them played with the water,     And rolled it down the hill;   'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn     The poor old miller's mill; 
  "'For there has been no water     Ever since the first of May;   And a busy man will the miller be     At dawning of the day.
  "'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh     When he sees the mill-dam rise!
  The jolly old miller, how he will laugh     Till the tears fill both his eyes!'
  "And some they seized the little winds     That sounded over the hill;   And each put a horn unto his mouth,     And blew both loud and shrill; 
  "'And there,' they said, 'the merry winds go     Away from every horn;   And they shall clear the mildew dank     From the blind old widow's corn.
  "'Oh! the poor, blind widow,     Though she has been blind so long,   She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone,     And the corn stands tall and strong.'
  "And some they brought the brown lint-seed,     And flung it down from the Low;   'And this,' they said, 'by sunrise,     In the weaver's croft shall grow.
  "'Oh! the poor, lame weaver,     How will he laugh outright   When he sees his dwindling flax-field     All full of flowers by night!'
  "And then outspoke a brownie,     With a long beard on his chin;   'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,     'And I want some more to spin.
  "'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,     And I want to spin another;   A little sheet for Mary's bed,     And an apron for her mother.
  "With that I could not help but laugh,     And I laughed out loud and free;   And then on the top of the Caldon Low     There was no one left but me.
  "And on the top of the Caldon Low     The mists were cold and gray,   And nothing I saw but the mossy stones     That round about me lay.
  "But, coming down from the hill-top,     I heard afar below,   How busy the jolly miller was,     And how the wheel did go.
  "And I peeped into the widow's field,     And, sure enough, were seen   The yellow ears of the mildewed corn,     All standing stout and green.
  "And down by the weaver's croft I stole,     To see if the flax were sprung;   And I met the weaver at his gate,     With the good news on his tongue.
  "Now this is all I heard, mother,     And all that I did see;   So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother,     For I'm tired as I can be."
MARY HOWITT  
THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS 
  At evening when the lamp is lit,   Around the fire my parents sit;   They sit at home and talk and sing.
  And do not play at anything.
  Now, with my little gun, I crawl   All in the dark along the wall,   And follow round the forest track   Away behind the sofa back.
  There, in the night, where none can spy,   All in my hunter's camp I lie,   And play at books that I have read   Till it is time to go to bed.
  These are the hills, these are the woods,   These are my starry solitudes;   And there the river by whose brink   The roaring lions come to drink.
  I see the others far away   As if in firelit camp they lay,   And I, like to an Indian scout,   Around their party prowled about.
  So, when my nurse comes in for me,   Home I return across the sea,   And go to bed with backward looks   At my dear land of Story-books.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON  
A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 
  'T was the night before Christmas, when all through the house   Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;   The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,   In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;   The children were nestled all snug in their beds,   While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;   And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,   Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, 
  When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,   I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
  Away to the window I flew like a flash,   Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
  The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow   Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;   When what to my wondering eyes should appear,   But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,   With a little old driver, so lively and quick   I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
  More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,   And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name;   "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
  On, Comet! on, Cupid, on, Donder and Blitzen!
  To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
  Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
  As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,   When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,   So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,   With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
  And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof   The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
  As I drew in my head, and was turning around,   Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
  He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,   And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;   A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,   And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
  His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
  His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;   His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,   And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
  The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,   And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
  He had a broad face and a little round belly   That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
  He was chubby and plump a right jolly old elf;   And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself.
  A wink of his eye and a twist of his head   Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
  He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,   And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,   And laying his finger aside of his nose,   And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
  He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,   And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;   But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,   "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE