On the deepest night a frigid
breeze blows beneath the stars,
As whirling wisps weave winter-elves across the ice-bound lake,
Half a moon spills brightness on the snow clad forest floor,
Heaven's helmet wheels wide on Tiwar's mighty axle-tree.
Grey owl ogles from her
skyward seat in a naked oak,
the hoary hare stops high on his haunches to whiff the wind,
And the lynx which lays in wait for it soon forgets its longing,
as rim of heaven rumbles with the roar a reindeer riot.
Bursting quickly from the
brush quickened quails fly,
Raucous cries arise as creatures before their time arouse,
And when the thunder threatens open the heavens to crack,
the din declines and the winter woods wend back to a peerless quiet.
Swiftly storming swart-clouds
overwhelm the moon,
and the wary wolves wail warnings from hill to snowy hill,
The forest wights lay low as even the owl squints to see,
As a frightful flurry whips snow aloft an icy death of a fog.
Weird and woeful wailings
wax into a harrowing host of howls,
Roar the hooves of a hundred reindeer rounding the river ice,
At once every snow-flake sent aloft falls quietly back to earth,
And moonlight stills the air again as if even the moment is frozen.
A wight now stands in man-like
shape with a cloak of grey and a wide brim hat ,
White-bear fur boots lashed to the knee, with a coat of gold and a vest
of green.
Wind-driven wild are his white hair and beard, with one eye the summer
sky as blue, and the other as dark as midnight's well, and wise old
hands that a tale would tell.
And when he whistles a simple
tune, from the woods a gaggle of elves emerge,
thirteen in all, both swarthy and bright, some are quite short and others
his height,
"There beyond the beaver dam, lies a farm where a humble kindred
stays,
This year their harvest was hit with blight, and they've not an apple
this Yuletide night"
"You are elves of wide
renown, known for your crafts the nine worlds over,
Surely we can, between us, dream, of gifts for this family so deserving,
Let them feast like lords the yuletide through, and send elk for their
hunters after this moon.
Let the gifts be at their doorstep, before the man in the moon tallies
up midnight!"
At midnight the man of the
house hears a knocking, and goes to the door-sill to see who comes calling,
He heaves high the door on its iron hinges and is greeted with a snow-blast
that sent him back reeling,
Now he can see on the step there are footprints, and a big velvet sack
had there been forgotten.
He calls for his wife, as
if guests she's expecting, she says no, but close the damn door is you're
pleasing,
so he hoists up the package and slams shut the door, and lays it all
out on the floor by the fire.
A gold table cloth. A large old drinking horn. A needle and thread.
And a loaf of old pan bread.
"This is all fine and dandy, but where is the cheese? I was kind
of expecting at least something to eat."
His wife is aback by his
words, "Hush now and don't be quite so uncouth!
Give thanks that somebody left us a gift, though it may not be what
you wanted.
Go and ready yourself for the bed now, tomorrow you have a long day
of hunting,
Don't sully your luck for the hunt by complaining, we shouldn't go hungry
on yuletide."
But when they turned and
looked back, the cloth was bedecked with the finest feast an eye could
see.
And honey mead poured from the horn and try as you might it could not
be emptied,
And needle and thread had sewn for them each a new tunic and slack,
And the old pan-bread has doubled and tripled enough for a many day
hunt.
"By the gods!"
he exclaims, "we have been blessed indeed on this cold Yuletide
Eve!
Get the children from bed and fetch cat and dog, this calls on the spot
for a yuletide blot!"
"A gift for a gift" she agrees with a smile, and gathers the
kindred around,
when tucked away between the plates she sees a wise old wooden whistle.
To her lips once touched
comes a mindful tune, whistled as if by magic,
which catches the ear of Old Man Yule and his throng of thirteen elves.
He smiles and laughs before turning his cloak, whipping up a storm of
snow,
And soon is gone like a sudden storm, leaving the owl again to ogle
the mouse.
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