The Jingle Book

Such pasties and cates of eccentric design;
Such sparkling decanters of rarest old wine;
And ready at hand was the great wassail-bowl,
And the jolly old boar’s head, with lemon, so droll.
The nook for musicians was carefully planned,
And carols and glees would be played by the band.

At last all was ready. The workmen were done;
And awaiting the jollity, mirth, and frivolity,
The games and the dancing, the feasting and fun,
The old hall was empty,—save only for one,—
The Lady Lorraine, who surveyed it with pride,
And said, “It is worthy of Lord Cecil’s bride!”
Then a bright smile illumined her happy young face,
Her roguish eyes twinkled, and gayly Her Grace
Crossed the old polished floor with a step light and quick,
And her high slipper heels went clickety-click.
She looked cautiously round,—she was all by herself;
Like a mischievous elf,
She took from a shelf
A mistletoe spray with its berries like pearls;
Then tossing her head and shaking her curls,
In a manner half daring and yet half afraid,
The madcap maid, with a smile that betrayed
Expectant thoughts of her lover dear,
Fastened the spray to the chandelier.

Then in a merry, fanciful mood,
Inspired by the time and the solitude,
The Lady Lorraine,
In whimsical vein,
Said, “On Christmas eve, ’neath this mistletoe bough,
I’ll solemnly make an immutable vow.”
With a glance at the portraits that hung on the wall,
She said, “I adjure ye to witness, all:
I vow by the names that I’ve long revered,—
By my great-great-grandfather’s great gray beard,
By my father’s sword, by my uncle’s hat,
By my spinster aunt’s Angora cat,
By my ancient grandame’s buckled shoes,
By my uncle Gregory’s marvellous brews,
By Sir Sydney’s wig,
And his ruff so big,—
Indeed, by his whole preposterous rig,—
By the scutcheon and crest, and all the rest
Of the signs of my house, I vow this vow:
That whoever beneath this mistletoe bough
Shall first kiss me, he—none but he—
My partner for life shall henceforth be.”

She had scarcely ceased when she heard a sound.
She looked around,
And, startled, found
From the old oak chimney place it came.
For there, as if in an old oak frame,
A figure quaint, yet familiar too,
Met her astonished, bewildered view.
Of aspect merry, yet something weird,
With kind blue eyes and a long white beard,
Fur-trimmed cloak, and a peakèd cap,
Rosy cheeks,—a jolly old chap;
And, though surprised, she recognized
St. Nicholas, dear to her childhood days,
And she met his smile with a welcome gaze.

The jolly old man beheld Her Grace,
With her laughing eyes and her winsome face;
He couldn’t resist her,—
Indeed, who could?—
And he heartily kissed her
Where she stood!
And exultingly cried, “I heard your vow;
And Lady Lorraine shall be my bride now!”

The lady trembled, as in a daze;
With a startled gaze of blank amaze,
She looked at the figure who stood by her side
And audaciously claimed her for his bride.

Then she bowed her head
And the color fled
From the cheeks that his kiss had flushed rosy red.
Her heart was filled with a sad despair
As she thought of her lover, Lord Cecil Clare,
And his dire dismay
When on Christmas day
He should ride up gayly in brave array,
And find his sweetheart stolen away.

But the honor and pride of her race were at stake;
And for conscience’ sake
She dared not break
Her solemn vow, though her heart might ache.
To be true to her word, her sire had taught her,
And she was a loyal, obedient daughter.
She appealed to the portraits of squires and dames,
Who looked sternly down from their gilded frames;
But they seemed to say, “There must ne’er be broken
A promise or vow a Lorraine has spoken.”