XVII.

Thus spake the mother. Many tears did fall.
Her orphan children to their masters went.
The anxious parent bade them, one and all,
Be faithful in their work and be content.
Oft little gifts her wanderers to her sent,
Earned by their daily toils; for their true heart
Was never from their childhood's dwelling rent.
The elder brother learns the farmer's art;
In Salmon-Fall the maids industrious act their

XVIII.

part.

Ye farmers! see that ye, in virtue's school, Bring up all those, who fall unto your care; Ye gentlemen, who o'er our Factories rule! Let the poor orphan in your kindness share; Then shall they serve you well, and good prepare Both for themselves and others; and your name Receive the good man's smile, the poor man's prayer. How many thanks the virtuous soul may claim ! Such build upon a rock, and are not put to shame.

*8

WHEN feeble suns scarce light the wintry sky,
And clouds are drifting in the doubtful air,
The pensive man, with expectation high,
Forth to the window moves his easy

chair.

Observant there, in pleased security,
Regaling, as he may, both eye and ear,

He marks the frozen brook, the withered tree,
And loves, at frequent intervals, to hear

The howling of the blast, that winds its summons drear.

II.

The pensive man, to thought and feeling prone,
Inclined to sadness, but averse from sorrow,
In silence sits, and loves to be alone,

And joy from inward contemplations borrow.
Thus let me muse, nor do thou deem it strange,
That it is given the sense of joy to find

From varying thoughts that unrestricted range,
Light and unfixed, as is the stayless wind,

Pleased with the present scene, and to the future blind.

III.

'Tis Winter, in its wild and angry mood!
And as I look, behold, the clamorous crows,
Scared by the uproar vast, in yonder wood,
Regain a shelter from the blast and snows,
Where pines and firs their thick protection yield.
There nestle they retired, nor heed the cry
From muffled owl, in hollow trunk concealed.
Hid in the twisted roots, with fearful eye,
The wary fox beholds the tempest hurrying by.

IV.

Forth from the wood the wood-cutter comes back ; Upon his frosty beard the snow stands thick; He looks with peering eye to find the track, Then struggles on with panting breath and quick, Seeking his home. Anon, a traveler's sleigh Goes swift, with bells, that chime their stifled din. But he, who rides on such a stormy day, With aid of whip and voice, shall scarcely win, Seen dimly in the drifts, the distant village Inn.

V.

A refuge seeking from the surly winter, The red-breast comes, unto the window flying; Well pleased, I haste to let the stranger enter, And strive to keep the little thing from dying. See, how he hops abroad and picks the bread, The hospitable hand of childhood brings; Then pausing, as in thought, erects his head, And glances quick, and trims his little wings, And with a sudden voice breaks gladly forth and sings.

VI.

Unmindful of the storm, the noisy cur

Shakes his well powdered sides, and barks, and now, A sharer in the elemental stir,

With plunging head into the drift doth plough,

And upward throws around the feathery snow.

But Dobbin! such an hour's no sport for him.

With ruminating head, depending low,

And half-shut eye, with gathered snow-flakes dim, Close to the sheltering barn, he draws his quivering limb.

VII.

The weary thresher lays aside his flail,

And shuts, like one amazed, his granary door;
Nor else can do: the winds his heaps assail,
And wheat and chaff fly wildly round the floor.
The shades still darker wrap the rolling cloud,
And hurtling snows come rushing still more fast;
Low to the earth the groaning trees are bowed,
From rock and hill in headlong ruin cast.

The village steeple waves and trembles in the blast.

VIII.

At such an hour let none adventurous roam.
Dear to the heart, at such a time as this,
Is the security and peace of home,

The blazing hearth and the domestic bliss.
See, how the traveler scarce resists the storm!
Mark, how he strives along with fainting feet!
And doomed, without the friendly welcome warm,
To perish in its freezing winding-sheet!

Then heap the favoring blaze, his weary steps to greet!

IX.

The sun sets now; and yet no sun doth rest
Upon the mount its golden orb of light.

Dark clouds usurp his place; and shades unblest
And moaning sounds the startled air affright.
In yon lone cot the mother trims the blaze
That through the window sends its nightly beam.
Unmoved by fears, that older hearts amaze,

Though fierce the snows invade each gaping seam, The children, gathering round, enclose its cheerful gleam.

X.

The winds are rude, but they regard it not,

And laugh, as they were wont, and prattle loud; Prone on the floor, unconscious he of aught, The shaggy dog with closing eye is bowed. The cat doth in the corner sit demure; And as the crackling fire lights up the room, The housewife spreads the table of the poor, Or plies with careful hand the busy broom, Or doth her task once more, her wonted wheel resume.