SONGS AND BALLADS
But never a word from their lips is heard,
And none their passing know.
Ere the first streak of dawn
St. Mark's again they near,
And by a vault the Nine Men halt,
Their Governor's voice to hear.
"Mynheeren," he says, "ye see
Each year our borders spread!
Lo, one by one, the landmarks gone,
And marvels come instead!
"Not even a windmill left,
Nor a garden-plot we knew,
And but a paling marks the spot
Where erst my pear-tree grew.
Our walks are wearier still,—
Perchance and it were best,
So little of worth is left on earth,
To break no more our rest?"
Thus speaks old Petrus doubtfully
And shakes his valiant head,
When—on the roofs a sound of hoofs,
A rattling, pattering tread!
The bells of reindeer tinkle,
The Dutchmen plainly spy
St. Nicholas, who drives his team
Across the roof-tops nigh.
"Beshrew me for a craven!"
Cries Petrus—"All goes well!
Our patron saint still makes his round
At sound of the Christmas bell.
So long as stanch St. Nicholas
Shall guard these houses tall,
388
