The Demon on the Roof.
Josephine Pollard.
’Twas an ancient legend they used to tell
Within the glow of the kitchen hearth,
When a sudden silence upon them fell,
And quenched the laughter and noisy mirth:
That whenever a dwelling was building new,
There were demons ready to curse or bless
The noble structure, that daily grew
Perfect in shape and comeliness.
And when the sound of the tools had ceased,
Hammer and nails, and plane and saw,
Ere yet the dwelling could be released
From the evil spirits,—there was a law
No master-mechanic could be found
Able or willing to disobey—
That a ladder be left upon the ground
For their enjoyment, a night and a day.
And when the chimneys begin to roar,
And voices harsh as the wintry wind
Howl and mock at the outer door,
The ancient legend is brought to mind,
And we think, perhaps, that a careless loon,
Not fearing the master’s stern reproof,
Has taken the ladder away too soon
And left a demon upon the roof.
And in every dwelling where joy comes not,
And the buds of promise forget to bloom,
Be it a palace or be it a cot,
Amply splendid or scant of room,
We may be sure that a demon elf,
Fiendishly cruel and full of spite,
Is sitting and grinning away to himself
Up on the ridge-pole, out of sight.
But let it ever be borne in mind
By those who often this legend quote,
That with every evil some good we find,
For every ill there’s an antidote.
And if we use but the magic spell,
And hearts draw near that were kept aloof,
Good angels then in our homes will dwell,
Despite the demon upon the roof.