124 A SNOW-STORM. Of the waves on an angry sea; The moon is full, but her silver light The storm dashes out with its wings to-night; Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth 11. All day had the snow come down — all day, As it never came down before; And over the hills, at sunset, lay Some two or three feet, or more; The fence was lost, and the wall of stone, The night sets in on a world of snow, Is heard on the distant hill; And the Norther! See on the mountain peak, In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek! He shouts on the plain, Ho, ho, Ho, ho! He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, And growls with a savage will. III. Such a night as this to be found abroad, In the drifts and the freezing air, A SNOW-STORM. Sits a shivering dog in the field by the road, He shuts his eyes to the wind, and growls; A farmer came from the village plain, And for hours he trod, with might and main, But colder still the cold wind blew, In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, While her master urged, till his breath grew short, But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight, And strove to shelter himself till day, With his coat and the buffalo. IV. He has given the last faint jerk of the rein To rouse up his dying steed, 125 126 A SNOW-STORM. And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain, For help in his master's need; For a while he strives, with a wistful cry, To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, And wags his tail if the rude winds flap And whines when he takes no heed. A SNOW-STORM. V. The wind goes down, and the storm is o'er: 'Tis the hour of midnight past; The old trees writhe and bend no more In the whirl of the rushing blast; And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, The blasted pine and the ghostly stump, But cold and dead, by the hidden log, In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand, And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet, Where she lay when she floundered down. CHARLES GAMAGE EASTMAN. 127 MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE. My heid is like to rend, Willie, My heart is like to break; It's vain to comfort me, Willie : I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, |