WOODS IN WINTER.

163

WOODS IN WINTER.

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,
And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

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,

When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!

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
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,-

I listen, and it cheers me long.

THE FIRST SNOW-FALL.

165

THE FIRST

FIRST SNOW-FALL.

THE snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night

Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

Every pine, and fir, and hemlock

Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow;

The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down ;
And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds.
Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn,
Where a little headstone stood :
How the flakes were folding it gently

As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,

Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky

That arched o'er our first great sorrow
When that mound was heaped so high.

I remember'd the gradual patience

Which fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father

Alone can make it fall! "

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

LOWELL.

167

RESIGNATION.

RESIGNATION.

THERE is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,

And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,

Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions

Not from the ground arise;

But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapours,

Amid these earthly damps:

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers,

May be Heaven's distant lamps.

There is no Death!

What seems so is transition;

This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the life Elysian,

Whose portal we call death.