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Christmas in the Austrian Alps-Part 3 of 4 Christmas Eve
Holy Eve and Christmas Day
Part 3
Holy Eve is shrouded in silent reverence;
And awe profound till marksmen and hunters commence
To perform the solemn traditional yearly rite
Of shooting in the approaching Holy Night.
With spike-nailed boots they scale the peaks and crests,
Up craggy ranges where eagles build their nests,
Explosions crash and sharp reports resound,
And echoes from hoary mountain chains rebound.
But the town and hamlets stay quiet and silent until
The midnight bells begin to ring and peal.
Silence reigns in the homes - it is utterly still
In every household and regional hamlet until
The "Sign" is given at last - the first boom and crash
When thundering salvos rocks and huge boulders lash.
Then some people arise, dress warm, ready to leave,
To witness the solemn shoot-in of Holy Eve,
Goose pimples grow at so many a solemn report,
That with thundering salvos welcome the birth of the Lord.
Lone wandering maveriks without family
Go out to listen contemplatively
Stirred by the magic of the wondrous night
With star a-twinkling promising and bright.
But families, at the first report start out,
To enact rites that put ill spirits to rout.
All is besprinkled devoutly with holy water,-
Tradition demands the family’s eldest daughter
Be sprinkler in chief, but toddlers with naughty glee
Besprinkle each other, giggling mischievously..
All well-bedecked rooms are blessed, every den and chamber,
The basement, the stables, and up to the garret they clamber.
They incense in every corner, cranny and niche,
With litanies swelling louder as they beseech
The Lord to protect, and keep ill spirits away
Who, in this holiest of nights hold powerful sway.-
For the eldest son, tradition has set aside
The office of thurifer, and in solemn a stride
He swings the censer, steadily kept aglow
In widening circles glistening beads on his brow,-
The mother carries the deep holy water bowl
Behind her, the father, a shovel with glowing coal.
Fragrant fresh grains of incense are put onto it.
While the fourth Advent candle a last time is lit.
All blessed, and to the living room returned;
They find some raisin dumpling lightly burnt.
While pine and fir and incense fragrance lingers,
And Rosary beads slip through tired fingers,
A bell is heard tinkling faintly and then a rap
And from prayer distracted, the mother gets quickly up
And very slowly opens the living room door,
(which had been securely bolted some days before)
Then calls out : “The Christ Kind has been here!”
Oh mystery, wonder, thrill, delight and cheer!
The lighted tree, the gifts and wonderful toys,
And all of the things desired by girls and boys;-
Close by the creche they press and gather round;-
And Christmas carols to zither and wood flutes resound;
The meal is served, - the traditional Christmas Eve meal,
And sharing the gladness of jubilant children until
A sleigh must be readied quickly in the big shed,
For they ride on skies, by cart or sturdy toboggan sled,
A-down the steep snowy slopes, - on skies, hurray,!
Fun is a ride to mass on skies or sleigh!
Watch how the lighted trees on graveyards gleam and thrive!
None is forgotten, - Love is awake - alive!;
But lo! - the shooting stopped and the air is still,-
Its midnight and the bells begin to peal
und ring ding-dong, announcing the Saviors birth-
Ding-dong, ding-dong -peace to men on earth!
Explosions crash and sharp reports resound,
And echoes from hoary mountain chains rebound.
But the town and hamlets stay quiet and silent until
The midnight bells begin to ring and peal.
Silence reigns in the homes - it is utterly still
In every household and regional hamlet until
The "Sign" is given at last - the first boom and crash
When thundering salvos rocks and huge boulders lash.
Then some people arise, dress warm, ready to leave,
To witness the solemn shoot-in of Holy Eve,
Goose pimples grow at so many a solemn report,
That with thundering salvos welcome the birth of the Lord.
Lone wandering maveriks without family
Go out to listen contemplatively
Stirred by the magic of the wondrous night
With star a-twinkling promising and bright.
But families, at the first report start out,
To enact rites that put ill spirits to rout.
All is besprinkled devoutly with holy water,-
Tradition demands the family’s eldest daughter
Be sprinkler in chief, but toddlers with naughty glee
Besprinkle each other, giggling mischievously..
All well-bedecked rooms are blessed, every den and chamber,
The basement, the stables, and up to the garret they clamber.
They incense in every corner, cranny and niche,
With litanies swelling louder as they beseech
The Lord to protect, and keep ill spirits away
Who, in this holiest of nights hold powerful sway.-
For the eldest son, tradition has set aside
The office of thurifer, and in solemn a stride
He swings the censer, steadily kept aglow
In widening circles glistening beads on his brow,-
The mother carries the deep holy water bowl
Behind her, the father, a shovel with glowing coal.
Fragrant fresh grains of incense are put onto it.
While the fourth Advent candle a last time is lit.
All blessed, and to the living room returned;
They find some raisin dumpling lightly burnt.
While pine and fir and incense fragrance lingers,
And Rosary beads slip through tired fingers,
A bell is heard tinkling faintly and then a rap
And from prayer distracted, the mother gets quickly up
And very slowly opens the living room door,
(which had been securely bolted some days before)
Then calls out : “The Christ Kind has been here!”
Oh mystery, wonder, thrill, delight and cheer!
The lighted tree, the gifts and wonderful toys,
And all of the things desired by girls and boys;-
Close by the creche they press and gather round;-
And Christmas carols to zither and wood flutes resound;
The meal is served, - the traditional Christmas Eve meal,
And sharing the gladness of jubilant children until
A sleigh must be readied quickly in the big shed,
For they ride on skies, by cart or sturdy toboggan sled,
A-down the steep snowy slopes, - on skies, hurray,!
Fun is a ride to mass on skies or sleigh!
Watch how the lighted trees on graveyards gleam and thrive!
None is forgotten, - Love is awake - alive!;
But lo! - the shooting stopped and the air is still,-
Its midnight and the bells begin to peal
und ring ding-dong, announcing the Saviors birth-
Ding-dong, ding-dong -peace to men on earth!
Part 4
Feast of the Epiphany
Feast of Epiphany
Epiphany! - Oh great and most wonderful feast!
The holy three kings, the magi arrive from the east!
They had crossed huge wastelands, desolate and wild,
In search of a mother and her newborn child.
On Epiphany, three magi, - the holy three kings
Visit the homes and each of these wise men brings
Oriental sweet meats in small and dainty rolls,
Cinnamon crescents and coconut marzipan balls.
They write their names on doors with blessed chalk,
And like Saint Nicolas before they walk
Along the snwed-in paths behind their star;
And hail: "+Caspar+Melchior+Baltassar".
January 6th,- the Feast of Epiphany-
A Trio of children direct the festivity,
Boys of a hamlet don the garb of a king,
And knock on the homesteads gates and doors and sing:
"We are the magi, the wise men, the holy three kings.
And pay you a visit before the Vesper bells rings,
We come from far away, from the far East,-
Blessed by this homestad, its dwellers, men and beaast!"
Chickens, alarmed, squeeze through the wire barrier,
The cock, calls together his harem like Chanticleer-
Confused about the time he has to crow;
Since the Lord’s birthday, days began to grow-
He chants with relish to wake the community:
“Wake up my hens, line up! kickereekee!
This is the Twelfth Day of Christmas- hear all! hear!
"Twelfth Christmas Day" crows Master Chantecleer.
The kings lost their cameles, thus they chant their tales,
A-foot, passing through mountainous treks and vales.
Crossing the frozen brooks, snow banks and hills,
Their royal garb does not protect from chills.
Surrounded by peasants and many a family,
That reply to their greetings eager and thankfully,
The farmer's wife with kind and motherly heart
Brings cookies for singing, ere the kings depart.
The children's voices sweet keep echoing
As they march and sing until late evening,
It ricochets through mountain steeps and dell:
"We are the three holy kings, and are wishing you well"!
Their names, inscribed on doors are meant to stay
Till they come again next year on Epiphany Day,
Meanwhile their names that mark all the doors with Crosses Three,
Bestow on the household blessing's guarantee*.
With these names inscribed on doors good folks are freed
From fear of the wicked and cunning witches Druid,
They protect the people from every ill and harm,
And keep the tenants' hearts for the Christ Kind warm.
The Trio's sweet sing-song keeps on echoing,
As they keep marching and singing till evening,
It ricochets across mountain steeps and the dell:
"We are the three holy kings, and are wishing you well!".
Their mission takes them oft through ice and sleet,
And blessed are the people whom the three wise men meet,-
A fodder cart after sun set the kings will board
To ride back to the East - to proclaim the Lord!
+Caspar +Melchior +Balthasar!
+Christus +Mansionem +Benedicat
Feast of Epiphany
Epiphany! - Oh great and most wonderful feast!
The holy three kings, the magi arrive from the east!
They had crossed huge wastelands, desolate and wild,
In search of a mother and her newborn child.
On Epiphany, three magi, - the holy three kings
Visit the homes and each of these wise men brings
Oriental sweet meats in small and dainty rolls,
Cinnamon crescents and coconut marzipan balls.
They write their names on doors with blessed chalk,
And like Saint Nicolas before they walk
Along the snwed-in paths behind their star;
And hail: "+Caspar+Melchior+Baltassar".
January 6th,- the Feast of Epiphany-
A Trio of children direct the festivity,
Boys of a hamlet don the garb of a king,
And knock on the homesteads gates and doors and sing:
"We are the magi, the wise men, the holy three kings.
And pay you a visit before the Vesper bells rings,
We come from far away, from the far East,-
Blessed by this homestad, its dwellers, men and beaast!"
Chickens, alarmed, squeeze through the wire barrier,
The cock, calls together his harem like Chanticleer-
Confused about the time he has to crow;
Since the Lord’s birthday, days began to grow-
He chants with relish to wake the community:
“Wake up my hens, line up! kickereekee!
This is the Twelfth Day of Christmas- hear all! hear!
"Twelfth Christmas Day" crows Master Chantecleer.
The kings lost their cameles, thus they chant their tales,
A-foot, passing through mountainous treks and vales.
Crossing the frozen brooks, snow banks and hills,
Their royal garb does not protect from chills.
Surrounded by peasants and many a family,
That reply to their greetings eager and thankfully,
The farmer's wife with kind and motherly heart
Brings cookies for singing, ere the kings depart.
The children's voices sweet keep echoing
As they march and sing until late evening,
It ricochets through mountain steeps and dell:
"We are the three holy kings, and are wishing you well"!
Their names, inscribed on doors are meant to stay
Till they come again next year on Epiphany Day,
Meanwhile their names that mark all the doors with Crosses Three,
Bestow on the household blessing's guarantee*.
With these names inscribed on doors good folks are freed
From fear of the wicked and cunning witches Druid,
They protect the people from every ill and harm,
And keep the tenants' hearts for the Christ Kind warm.
The Trio's sweet sing-song keeps on echoing,
As they keep marching and singing till evening,
It ricochets across mountain steeps and the dell:
"We are the three holy kings, and are wishing you well!".
Their mission takes them oft through ice and sleet,
And blessed are the people whom the three wise men meet,-
A fodder cart after sun set the kings will board
To ride back to the East - to proclaim the Lord!
+Caspar +Melchior +Balthasar!
+Christus +Mansionem +Benedicat
Chickens, alarmed, squeeze through the wire barrier,
The cock, calls together his harem like Chanticleer-
Confused about the time he has to crow;
Since the Lord’s birthday, days began to grow-
He chants with relish to wake the community:
“Wake up my hens, line up! kickereekee!
This is the Twelfth Day of Christmas- hear all! hear!
"Twelfth Christmas Day" crows Master Chantecleer.
The kings lost their cameles, thus they chant their tales,
A-foot, passing through mountainous treks and vales.
Crossing the frozen brooks, snow banks and hills,
Their royal garb does not protect from chills.
Surrounded by peasants and many a family,
That reply to their greetings eager and thankfully,
The farmer's wife with kind and motherly heart
Brings cookies for singing, ere the kings depart.
The children's voices sweet keep echoing
As they march and sing until late evening,
It ricochets through mountain steeps and dell:
"We are the three holy kings, and are wishing you well"!
Their names, inscribed on doors are meant to stay
Till they come again next year on Epiphany Day,
Meanwhile their names that mark all the doors with Crosses Three,
Bestow on the household blessing's guarantee*.
With these names inscribed on doors good folks are freed
From fear of the wicked and cunning witches Druid,
They protect the people from every ill and harm,
And keep the tenants' hearts for the Christ Kind warm.
The Trio's sweet sing-song keeps on echoing,
As they keep marching and singing till evening,
It ricochets across mountain steeps and the dell:
"We are the three holy kings, and are wishing you well!".
Their mission takes them oft through ice and sleet,
And blessed are the people whom the three wise men meet,-
A fodder cart after sun set the kings will board
To ride back to the East - to proclaim the Lord!
+Caspar +Melchior +Balthasar!
+Christus +Mansionem +Benedicat
+Christus +Mansionem +Benedicat
