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| NOR is stern Winter’s icy sceptre swayed | |
| O’er sylvan scenes alone—his shafts invade | |
| Our splendid city, too—and every street | |
| Is rendered cheerless by his pointed sleet; | |
| For every arrow from the centaur’s bow, | 5 |
| Is tipt with ice, and feathered, too, with snow. | |
| The Battery, now, each verdant charm has lost, | |
| And e’en the Park is silvered o’er with frost; | |
| Vauxhall and Castle-Garden, late so gay, | |
| Where night gave place to artificial day, | 10 |
| Are now deserted—even Chatham mourns, | |
| And all must droop till gentle Spring returns. . . . . . . . | |
| But Winter’s brightest joy, in towns like this, | |
| Is yet unsung—I mean that scene of bliss | |
| To which our annual holy-days give birth, | 15 |
| A foretaste of Elysium here on earth! | |
| That period to generous hearts so dear, | |
| That little week of joy that shuts the year, | |
| And brings to light the bright auspicious morn, | |
| When all unite to hail a New-Year born— | 20 |
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| In all my wanderings thro’ this vale of tears, | |
| From infancy, to manhood’s riper years, | |
| Whatever pains assail’d, or griefs oppress’d, | |
| Christmas and New-Year always saw me blest! | |
| A lengthened absence o’er, how pleasant, then, | 25 |
| The friends I dearest love to meet again! | |
| Grasp the warm hand, or share the fond embrace, | |
| And see new smiles lit up in every face! | |
| ’Twas Christmas eve! the supper board was spread, | |
| The fire blazed high, with logs of hickory fed; | 30 |
| The candles, too, unusual lustre lent, | |
| Candles expressly made for this event. | |
| Old tales were told, the cheerful glass went round, | |
| While peals of laughter made the cot resound. | |
| A thousand welcomes hail’d the truant boy, | 35 |
| And swift the moments flew on wings of joy; | |
| Till (as they thought, too soon) the hour of prayer | |
| Bade the young urchins to their beds repair. | |
| But first the stocking, from each little leg, | |
| Must be suspended to a hook or peg, | 40 |
| That Santa Claus, who travels all the night, | |
| Might, in the dark, bestow his favours right; | |
| These rites observed, they take a parting kiss, | |
| And go to dream of morning’s promised bliss! | |
| Thus did a week of festive pleasures roll, | 45 |
| Till New-Year’s happy morning crown’d the whole. | |
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