‘Twas the night before Snowdown, when all through the house
Not a soul was stirring, not even a mouse;
The traitors were hung from the gallows with care,
In hopes that St.Sion soon would be there;
The whelps were nestled snug in their beds;
While visions of war danced in their heads;
And mamma in her robes, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out in the courtyard 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 peering eyes did appear,
But a giant sleigh and eight monstrous rein-deer,
There a great juggernaut rode upon,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Sion..
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, War! now, Famine! now Disease and Death!
On, Boram! on, Keiran! on, Jericho and Eldreth!
To the top of the balcony! to the top of the wall!
Now charge on! Charge on! Charge on all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of weapons, and St. Sion too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The clatter and stomping of each mighty hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Sion came abound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A crate of arms he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they glowed! His complexion, so bleary!
His aura oppressive, the feeling, so dreary!
The hole in his gut shone a bright red glow,
And the crown on his chin was as black as his soul;
A tuft of red cloth hung from the dagger lodged in his skull,
Through the crate of weapons he began to cull;
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 coffers; 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 Snowdown to all, and to all a good fight!”
She crossed her arms, quietly listening to the Juggernaut’s peculiar tale.
“Why, Sion, I didn’t know you were such a poet.” She cocked an eyebrow, unsure whether she was supposed to laugh or to actually take this - surprisingly well-written - poem seriously.
“The part where you wish famine and death upon our government does give me some concern, though. But I suppose, merry Snowdown to you too. I am sorry I didn’t get you a present, but last year I did and you broke it into pieces after three minutes.”
