The Poems of Sidney Lanier Part 24

"Yes, sold me out: we've moved away.

I've had to give up everything.

My reindeer, even, whom I . . . pray, Excuse me" . . . here, o'er-sorrowing,

Poor Santa Claus burst into tears, Then calmed again: "my reindeer fleet, I gave them up: on foot, my dears, I now must plod through snow and sleet.

"Retrenchment rules in Elfland, now; Yes, every luxury is cut off.

-- Which, by the way, reminds me how I caught this dreadful hacking cough:

"I cut off the tail of my Ulster furred To make young Kris a coat of state.

That very night the storm occurred!

Thus we became the sport of Fate.

"For I was out till after one, Surveying chimney-tops and roofs, And planning how it could be done Without my reindeers' bouncing hoofs.

"'My dear,' says Mrs. Claus, that night (A most superior woman she!) 'It never, never can be right That you, deep-sunk in poverty,

"'This year should leave your poor old bed, And trot about, bent down with toys, (There's Kris a-crying now for bread!) To give to other people's boys.

"'Since you've been out, the news arrives The Elfs' Insurance Company's gone.

Ah, Claus, those premiums! Now, our lives Depend on yours: thus griefs go on.

"'And even while you're thus hara.s.sed, I do believe, if out you went, You'd go, in spite of all that's pa.s.sed, To the children of that President!'

"Oh, Charley, Harry, Nimblewits, These eyes, that night, ne'er slept a wink.

My path seemed honeycombed with pits.

Naught could I do but think and think.

"But, with the day, my courage rose.

Ne'er shall my boys, MY boys (I cried), When Christmas morns their eyes unclose, Find empty stockings gaping wide!

"Then hewed and whacked and whittled I; The wife, the girls and Kris took fire; They spun, sewed, cut, -- till by and by We made, at home, my pack entire!"

(He handed me a bundle, here.) "Now, hoist me up: there, gently: quick!

Dear boys, DON'T look for much this year: Remember, Santa Claus is sick!"

____ Baltimore, December, 1877.

Dialect Poems.

A Florida Ghost.

Down mildest sh.o.r.es of milk-white sand, By cape and fair Floridian bay, Twixt billowy pines -- a surf asleep on land -- And the great Gulf at play,

Past far-off palms that filmed to nought, Or in and out the cunning keys That laced the land like fragile patterns wrought To edge old broideries,

The sail sighed on all day for joy, The prow each pouting wave did leave All smile and song, with sheen and ripple coy, Till the dusk diver Eve

Brought up from out the br.i.m.m.i.n.g East The oval moon, a perfect pearl.

In that large l.u.s.tre all our haste surceased, The sail seemed fain to furl,

The silent steersman landward turned, And s.h.i.+p and sh.o.r.e set breast to breast.

Under a palm wherethrough a planet burned We ate, and sank to rest.

But soon from sleep's dear death (it seemed) I rose and strolled along the sea Down silver distances that faintly gleamed On to infinity.

Till suddenly I paused, for lo!

A shape (from whence I ne'er divined) Appeared before me, pacing to and fro, With head far down inclined.

'A wraith' (I thought) 'that walks the sh.o.r.e To solve some old perplexity.'

Full heavy hung the draggled gown he wore; His hair flew all awry.

He waited not (as ghosts oft use) To be 'dearheaven'd!' and 'oh'd!'

But briskly said: "Good-evenin'; what's the news?

Consumption? After boa'd?

"Or mebbe you're intendin' of Investments? Orange-plantin'? Pine?

Hotel? or Sanitarium? What above This yea'th CAN be your line?

"Speakin' of sanitariums, now, Jest look 'ee here, my friend: I know a little story, -- well, I swow, Wait till you hear the end!

"Some year or more ago, I s'pose, I roamed from Maine to Floridy, And, -- see where them Palmettos grows?

I bought that little key,

"Cal'latin' for to build right off A c'lossal sanitarium: Big surf! Gulf breeze! Jest death upon a cough!

-- I run it high, to hum!

"Well, sir, I went to work in style: Bought me a steamboat, loaded it With my hotel (pyazers more'n a mile!) Already framed and fit,

"Insured 'em, fetched 'em safe around, Put up my buildin', moored my boat, COM-plete! then went to bed and slept as sound As if I'd paid a note.

"Now on that very night a squall, c.u.m up from some'eres -- some bad place!

An' blowed an' tore an' reared an' pitched an' all, -- I had to run a race

"Right out o' bed from that hotel An' git to yonder risin' ground, For, 'twixt the sea that riz and rain that fell, I pooty nigh was drowned!

"An' thar I stood till mornin' c.u.m, Right on yon little knoll of sand, FreQUENTly wis.h.i.+n' I had stayed to hum Fur from this tarnal land.