Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!

CLEMENT Clarke Moore’s famous poem, originally entitled A Visit From St Nicholas, was first published on December 23, 1823, by a New York newspaper The Sentinel. It has since become one of the best-known Christmas poems in the world. ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring,

not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by

the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas

soon would be there. The children were nestled all

snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums

danced in their heads. And Mamma in her ‘kerchief,

and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains

for a long winter’s nap. When out on the roof 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 shutter, and

threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of

the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of midday to

objects below, When, what to my wondering

eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh and

eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so

lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must

be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles, his

coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted

and called them by name: ‘Now Dasher! Now Dancer!

Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid!

On, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away

all!’ As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an

obstacle, mount to the sky So up to the house-top the

coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled!

His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his

nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was

drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was

as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held

tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his

head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a

little round belly, That shook when he laughed,

like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a

right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw

him, in spite of myself. 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 stockings,

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 Christmas to all, and

to all a good night!’