Harper's Young People, December 30, 1879 / An Illustrated Weekly

COASTING NEW-YEAR'S EVE. Drawn by C. Graham.
From the quaint old farm-house, nestling warmly 'Neath its overhanging thatch of snow, Out into the moonlight troop the children, Filling all the air with music as they go, Gliding, sliding, Down the hill, Never minding Cold nor chill, O'er the silvered Moon-lit snow, Swift as arrow From the bow, With a rush Of mad delight Through the crisp air Of the night, Speeding far out O'er the plain, Trudging gayly Up again To where the firelight's Ruddy glow Turns to gold The silver snow. Finer sport who can conceive Than that of coasting New-Year's Eve? Half the fun lies in the fire That seems to brighter blaze and higher Than any other of the year, As though his dying hour to cheer, And at the same time greeting give To him who has a year to live. 'Tis built of logs of oak and pine, Filled in with branches broken fine; It roars and crackles merrily; The children round it dance with glee; They sing and shout and welcome in The new year with a joyous din That rings far out o'er hill and dale, And warns the watchers in the vale 'Tis time the church bells to employ To spread the universal joy. Then the hill is left in silence As the coasters homeward go, And the crimson of the fire-light Fades from off the trodden snow. So the years glide by as swiftly As the sleds rush down the hill, And each new one as it cometh Bringeth more of good than ill.
Ethelreda, the Fairy of Northland, Was singing a song to herself, As she swung from a wreath of soft snow-flakes, And smiled to another bright elf. What token shall we send to our darling, Our name-child, fair Ethel, below In the house which is down in the valley All covered and calm in the snow? Shall we gather our glorious jewels, And wind them about her lithe form? They would glitter and glance in the sunshine, And merrily gleam in the storm. Shall we clothe her in whitest of ermine, And robe her as grand as a queen; Weave her laces of ice and of frost-work, A mantle of glistening sheen? She would shudder and cry at the clasping, She would moan aloud in her woe, And think the gay robes had been fashioned By cruelest, bitterest foe. I will none of these gifts for my darling, Neither jewels nor laces rare, Neither diamonds nor pearls of cold anguish— My gift shall be tender and fair. Early Ethel awoke Christmas morning, And found on her pillow that day A bunch of bright little snow-drops, From kind Ethelreda, the Fay!