THE WOODMAN. The fowls of heaven, Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 121 Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth; then hopping o'er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is: Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs Attract his slender feet. THOMSON. THE WOODMAN. FORTH goes the woodman, leaving unconcerned. Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd; with pointed ears, And tail cropped short, half lurcher and half cur, His dog attends him. Close behind his heel Now creeps he slow; and now, with many a frisk, Wide scampering, snatches up the drifted snow COWPER. (A WINTER WALK. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale, With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, A WINTER WALK. Where, twisted round the barren oak, And summer winds the stillness broke, Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side.) Alas! how changed from the fair scene, But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. LONGFELLOW. 123 WINTER'S FROST. AN icy gale, oft shifting o'er the pool, Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects Swells in the breeze; and with the hasty tread It freezes on, Till Morn, late rising o'er the drooping world, Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, The pendent icicle, the frost-work fair, THOMSON. THE SNOW-CLOGGED WAIN. 125 WINTER TRIUMPHANT. THE dead leaves strew the forest-walk, Gone are the Spring's green sprouting bowers, Gone Summer's rich and mantling vines, And Autumn with her yellow hours On hill and plain no longer shines. BRAINARD. THE SNOW-CLOGGED WAIN. ILL fares the traveller now, and he that stalks In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. By congregated loads adhering close To the clogged wheels; and in its sluggish pace The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, Upon their jutting chests. He, formed to bear |