  With Pyrotechnic Lights, at the Military Academy, by Santa Claus, 12 o'clock, 1880. Hark! what's that that bursts on the midnight air? "The Cadets are loose," said a lady fair. "Cadets loose?" echoed her puzzled spouse, As he rose in haste and donned his clothes. From "Siege Gun Battery" came a roar That echoed back from shore to shore, Rumbling along under old Cro' Nest, And sunk in the far-off hills to rest. Just at this juncture came pouring forth From every window in the north Of the Barrack building grim and gray, And chased the moonbeams out of the way, The grandest sight that ever was seen, Or ever will be again, I ween,— Rockets, Roman Candles and Blue Lights clear, To welcome in the glad New Year. With the booming of cannon and grand "fish-horn" Eighteen hundred and eighty was born; This fine little fellow was ushered in With rocket's roar and fish-horn's din. What means this noise and running around, Looking for something that's not to be found? For every door was relieved of its handle By some friend, of course, surely not by a vandal, To keep intruders who were stalking around From wakening the boys who were sleeping so sound, Dreaming of fish-horns and other such things That Santa Claus always to the children brings. THE COLOR GUARD. (By Cadet Cameron, Class of '83.) THE COLOR GUARD. Just at this moment came a loud crash— A window is broken in with a smash, And a voice calls out, "Bring me an axe!" And on his near neighbor he levied the tax. I'll let him see, thought the neighbor, who'll lift the latch, As he handed him out the innocent match; The reason was this, St. Nick had been busy an hour or more, And that was the reason he'd fastened the door. 'Tis the midnight hour; the Long Roll has beat, And brought every boy in a jiff to his feet, In the area of the Barracks, on the cold, damp ground, And not a delinquent is to be found, Except the little fellow who was locked in his room By some naughty boy, and of course could not come. From the hall-ways came running, all loose to be sure, Every boy, in a hurry his place to secure, And there on the cold ground, in the night air to stand, While the searchers were looking for things contraband. In a room two Rockets were picked up by a scout, That Santa Claus dropped as he made his way out. While up in the cockloft, so cosy and snug, Lay the old brass cannon, like a "bug in a rug," Where Santa Claus left it to be raised up higher, And then, after all, the old thing hung fire. What can be the matter? what's all this about? That every boy from his bed is turned out In the night air to shiver and freeze, With nought on his feet but his old Reveilles? There to wait for a long half hour Still as the bell in the old clock tower; The scouts and the searchers have all done their best, And the boys are allowed to return to their rest, MAKING TAFFY AFTER TAPS. (Sketched by Cadet Hall, Class of '83.) MAKING TAFFY AFTER TAPS. And all tumble into their little cot beds, While visions of "Calling Day" float through their heads, Sleeping and snoring like other good boys, For Santa Claus had filled all their stockings with toys. But lo! from the roof comes a thundering noise, Loud enough to waken all of the boys; That old brass cannon had crept out of its lair, In the Grand Celebration determined to share. From the roof of the Barracks dark and gray The old brass cannon blazed away, Waking the neighbors far and near, To let them know there was nothing to fear; For old St. Nick had done his work, And into his sleigh had skipped with a jerk; And calling by name each tiny reindeer, As he rode out of sight he cried "Happy New Year." Dedicated to all the "Boys" who took part in the "Grand Celebration," by Transcriber's Notes:Minor typographical errors have been corrected. Added Contents. |
|
