"Twas the night before Yule, when all through the keep
Not a creature was stirring, not even to creep;
The prisoners were hung in the dungeon with care,
Hoping that next year’s floggings, would be spare;
The goblins were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of plunder danced in their heads;
I had just been released from being stretched on the rack,
To help me relax, for I am an insomniac,
When at the gates there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my tower to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the glitter of treasure to objects below,
When to my wondering eyes, amazement abounds,
Came a chariot, drawn by eight immense hell hounds,
With an antlered driver, so massive and blunt,
I knew in a moment it must be The Wild Hunt.
More rapid than dragons his beasts they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, called me by name;
Then shouted “The time hast come to pay for thine shame!”
On to the gates! Over the spikes on the wall!
Now run away! Run away! Run 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 roof-top the hounds they jumped,
With a thunderous crash above, the Wild Hunt thumped.
And then in a twinkling, I shivered in awe,
At the scraping of each massive paw.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney The Hunt’s Master came in with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his waist to his foot,
And his body all covered with gore and soot;
A bundle of weapons he had flung on his back,
He looked like a barbarian, prepared for attack.
His eyes -- how they smoldered! His visage so scary!
With teeth like yellow daggers, his chest and arms so hairy!
His ragged mouth was split with a grin,
This specter had come to make me pay for my sin;
He pulled a wicked sword from its sheath,
And his shaggy mane encircled his head like a wreath;
He had broad shoulders and a little round waist,
Then I realized, it was time to make haste.
He was muscular and buff, a right vengeful elf,
And I ran when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me feelings of dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And pulled out a battleaxe; then turned with a jerk,
He chased me though the keep from tower to hall,
Giving fright to my henchmen, one and all,
At dawn he sprang back to his chariot, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the path of a missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove into the black,
"Change your evil ways. Or next year, I will be back!"
This poem is Copyright © 2010 by Doug Kosik.
It cannot be reproduced without express written consent.
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