Volume Iii Part 20 (1/2)

WINTER: A DIRGE

The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw: While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pa.s.s the heartless day.

”The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,”

The joyless winter day.

Let others fear,--to me more dear Than all the pride of May; The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here, firm, I rest,--they must be best, Because they are Thy will.

Then all I want (oh, do Thou grant This one request of mine!) Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, a.s.sist me to resign!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

OLD WINTER

Old Whiter sad, in snow yclad, Is making a doleful din; But let him howl till he crack his jowl, We will not let him in.

Ay, let him lift from the billowy drift His h.o.a.ry, haggard form, And scowling stand, with his wrinkled hand Outstretching to the storm.

And let his weird and sleety beard Stream loose upon the blast, And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rime From his bald head falling fast.

Let his baleful breath shed blight and death On herb and flower and tree; And brooks and ponds in crystal bonds Bind fast, but what care we?

Let him push at the door,--in the chimney roar, And rattle the window-pane; Let him in at us spy with his icicle eye, But he shall not entrance gain.

Let him gnaw, forsooth, with his freezing tooth, On our roof-tiles, till he tire; But we care not a whit, as we jovial sit Before our blazing fire.

Come, lads, let's sing, till the rafters ring; Come, push the can about;-- From our snug fire-side this Christmas-tide We'll keep old Winter out.

Thomas Noel [1799-1861]

THE FROST

The Frost looked forth, one still, clear night, And he said, ”Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go like that bl.u.s.tering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they!”

Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest, He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he dressed With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees, There were cities, thrones, temples, and towers, and these All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair,-- He peeped in the cupboard, and, finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare,-- ”Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit,” said he; ”This costly pitcher I'll burst in three, And the gla.s.s of water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking.”

Hannah Flagg Gould [1789-1865]