I am that mythical, mystical thing--
The little one's monarch, the children's king!
The mightiest ruler on earth am I;
My subjects outnumber the stars in the sky.
I'm ruler by right of the children's leave,
And visit them all on a Christmas Eve.
My soldiers are goblins and good little elves,
With nothing to conquer but conquer themselves.
I call and invisible myriads come,
At first with a faint indescribable hum,
Then louder and louder; and, chattering fast.
These dear little goblins go scampering past
Till off in the distance the sound dies away.
Then back they come tumbling, and this what they say:
I'm king of the Northland, where, locked in the snow,
Are mysteries arctic the world may not know;
White squadrons of icebergs stand guard evermore,
And ships of the nations ne'er come to my door!
My cities are built without labor or cost
By the delicate hand of the architect, Frost;
With turreted castles on mountains of ice,
Like the palaces gleaming in paradise;
Whose windows aglow make the universe bright,
Since Aurora has touched them with fingers of light.
My electrical lamp on the North Pole that gleams,
Is the bright polar star of the mariner's dreams.
I never get old, though my locks may be gray,
For a year unto me is a night and a day.
My workshops are temples more grand to behold
Than diamond peaks in a sunset of gold;
With icicled truss like the rainbow in hue,
Where Hoarfrost paints nightly his fresco anew.
There courtiers are craftsmen and artisans peers,
There lords are mechanics and skilled engineers;
Each deft little goblin his genius employs
Throughout the long year manufacturing toys.
Then off on the wings of the frosty night air,
Each loaded with happiness, all he can bear;
That little ones all through the world may receive
The wealth of my kingdom on Christmas Eve!
On the snow banks of heaven I come in my sleigh,
With elves and the goblins to herald my way--
To overgrown children, and those over wise,
I seldom appear in conventional guise;
But send forth the elves and the fairies who leave
Some comfort for each on a Christmas Eve:
Compassion, who knocks at the wealthy man's door,
While leaving a blessing, gets one for the poor.
Philanthropy bows, and the great millionaire
Returns the salute with a courtesy rare.
Sweet Memory comes with her dreams of the past,
And Joy smiles with Sorrow while reveries last!
All these are invisible angels who bring
Peace on earth and goodwill, while the fairies all sing--