Hi,
This is Stefania,
And it's time for a Christmas story.
This is a story written by a man named Clement Clark Moore,
And this story is very old and it's very famous.
It's called The Night Before Christmas.
It's a poem.
Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In the hope 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 Mama,
In her kerchief,
And I,
In my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn,
There arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Quay to the window,
I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When what to my wondering eye 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,
His reindeers,
They came and they whistled and shouted and called him by name.
Now Dasher,
Now Dancer,
Now Prancer,
Now Vixen,
On Comet,
On Cupid,
On Dunder and Blixen.
To the top of the porch,
To the top of the wall,
Now dash away,
Dash away,
Dash away all.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly when they meet with an obstacle,
Mount to the sky.
So up to the housetop,
The coursers,
Reindeers,
They flew with a sleigh full of toys and St.
Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling,
I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof.
As I drew in my head,
It 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 petal just opening his back.
His eyes,
How they twinkled,
His dimples,
How merry.
His cheeks were like roses,
His nose like a cherry.
His straw little mouth was drawn up in a bow and the beard on his chin was as white as snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke,
It encircled his head like a wreath.
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 and 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 as he drove out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
And that was the story of how St.
Nicholas popped by to bring goodies.
That's all for now.
We'll be back again after the holidays with more stories for you.
Bye for now.
The performances have made it easy for You.
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