Und so I set und nurse 'im,
Vile der Gristmas vas come roun',
Und I told 'im 'bout "Kriss Kringle,"
How he come der chimbly down:
Und I ask 'im eef he love 'im
Eef he bring 'im someding fine?
"Nicht besser as mein fader,"
Say dot leedle boy of mine.—
Und he put his arms aroun' me
Und hug so close und tight,
I hear der gclock a-tickin'
All der balance of der night! . . .
Someding make me feel so funny
Ven I say to my Katrine,
"Let us go und fill der stockin's
Of dot leedle boy of mine."
Vell.—Ve buyed a leedle horses
Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring,
Und a leedle fancy jay-bird—
Eef you vant to hear 'im sing
You took 'im by der topknot
Und yoost blow in behine—
Und dot make much spectakel
For dot leedle boy of mine!
Und gandies, nuts und raizens—
Und I buy a leedle drum
Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle
Ven der Gristmas morning come!
Und a leedle shmall tin rooster
Dot vould crow so loud und fine
Ven he sqveeze 'im in der morning,
Dot leedle boy of mine!
Und—vile ve vas a-fixin'—
Dot leedle boy vake out!
I t'ought he been a-dreamin'
"Kriss Kringle" vas about,—
For he say—"DOT'S HIM!—I SEE 'IM
MIT DER SHTARS DOT MAKE DER SHINE!"
Und he yoost keep on a-gryin'—
Dot leedle boy of mine,—
Und gottin' vorse und vorser—
Und tumble on der bed!
So—ven der doctor seen id,
He kindo' shake his head,
Und feel his pulse—und visper,
"Der boy is a-dyin'."
You dink I could BELIEVE id?—
DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE?
I told you, friends—dot's someding,
Der last time dot he speak
Und say, "GOOT-BY, KRISS KRINGLE!"
—Dot make me feel so veak
I yoost kneel down und drimble,
Und bur-sed out a-gryin',
"MEIN GOTT, MEIN GOTT IN HIMMEL!—
DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE!"
. . . . . . . . . .
Der sun don't shine DOT Gristmas!
. . . Eef dot leedle boy vould LIFF'D—
No deefer-en'! for HEAVEN vas
His leedle Gristmas gift!
Und der ROOSTER, und der GANDY,
Und me—und my Katrine—
Und der jay-bird—is awaiting
For dot leedle boy of mine.
I SMOKE MY PIPE
I can't extend to every friend
In need a helping hand—
No matter though I wish it so,
'Tis not as Fortune planned;
But haply may I fancy they
Are men of different stripe
Than others think who hint and wink,—
And so—I smoke my pipe!
A golden coal to crown the bowl—
My pipe and I alone,—
I sit and muse with idler views
Perchance than I should own:—
It might be worse to own the purse
Whose glutted bowels gripe
In little qualms of stinted alms;
And so I smoke my pipe.