The Christmas Ride of Ol’ St Cyr

Listen my neighbors and you shall hear
Of the seven o’clock ride of ol’ St Cyr
Twas the night of the big bean supper
With all the Hamilton’s cooking casseroles in tupper (ware)
The Dyers in bed quietly resting their heads
And Ol’ St Cyr held a package for a Martindale named Fred

As Ol’ St Cyr criss-crossed the island that night
Mutters and fear were gossiped at Edmund’s in fright
The Harpswellians are coming and could already be near
One came by land, and two by sea, but who gives a crap said Ol’ St Cyr
“The dung-eyes are coming The dung-eyes are coming” from west end to east
Their coming to steal our bean supper feast

Out on the frost heaves there arose such a clatter
That I sprang from the library to see what was the matter
The moon on the snow covered with prints of foxes
Showed like daylight on a white ford filled with dozens of boxes
With a chubby little driver so lively and clear
I knew in a moment it was Ol’ St Cyr

More friendly than beagles his neighbors they came
And he whistled and waved and called them by name
Now Dodo! Now Binky! Now Roy Jackson and Sue
Yo Boopie! Yo Poochie! And Steph Martin too
Bagoomba and Wink stood next to Sue Rugh
Bump was near Brother waving with Big Wink too

The dung-eyes are coming, the dung-eyes are coming; again came the call
Casseroles aplenty and crocks of bean, mouth watering aroma arose from the hall
At the crowded tables the mob settled in
Out in the hallway there arose such a din
That breaths were held and hands were a shakin
 Nerves were frayed and crocks of beans were a quakin

The Harpswellians were here and led by a man
He was dressed all in fur but what was his plan
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard round his smile as white as the snow
He and the Hapswellians had boxes on their belly
Filled with food that shook when they laughed like bowls full of jelly

There is plenty for all and still more to come
So wipe off those frowns and clean the beans off your thumb
With a wink in his eye and a mouth full of bread
Ol’ St Cyr gave us to know we had nothing to dread
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
Putting beans on the table, and began setting up chairs with a jerk

His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry
He sprang to the stage as his friends gave a whistle
As he spoke hands flew together like down from a thistle
“The Harpswellians”, he said, “are here at my invite
Bringing boxes of food and plenty of beans for this night”

You know the rest, in the books you have read
How the Harpswellians and Chebeaguers, ate and were well fed
How the Doughty’s brought stewed beans and the Martin’s casseroles
The Ross’s brought drinks the Munroe’s Taco salad in bowls
Food was enjoyed, drinks were raised in Christmas cheer
Laughing and singing, and Christmas carols for all to hear

And so through the night drove Ol’ St Cyr
With cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, as he knocks on your door
With a word and a package that shall echo evermore
And we all heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night


B Darren Hillicoss
Christmas 2009