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Scene in a Vermont Winter
’T IS a fearful night in the winter time, | |
| As cold as it ever can be; | |
| The roar of the blast is heard like the chimes | |
| Of the waves on an angry sea. | |
| The moon is full; but her silver light | 5 |
| The storm dashes out with its wings to-night; | |
| And over the sky from south to north | |
| Not a star is seen, as the wind comes forth | |
| In the strength of a mighty glee. | |
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| All day had the snow come down,—all day | 10 |
| 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 windows blocked and the well-curbs gone; | 15 |
| The haystack had grown to a mountain lift, | |
| And the wood-pile looked like a monster drift, | |
| As it lay by the farmer’s door. | |
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| The night sets in on a world of snow, | |
| While the air grows sharp and chill, | 20 |
| And the warning roar of a fearful blow | |
| 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! | 25 |
| He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, | |
| And growls with a savage will. | |
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| Such a night as this to be found abroad, | |
| In the drifts and the freezing air, | |
| Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road, | 30 |
| With the snow in his shaggy hair. | |
| He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls; | |
| He lifts his head and moans and howls; | |
| Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet, | |
| His nose is pressed on his quivering feet,— | 35 |
| Pray, what does the dog do there? | |
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| A farmer came from the village plain,— | |
| But he lost the travelled way; | |
| And for hours he trod with might and main | |
| A path for his horse and sleigh; | 40 |
| But colder still the cold winds blew, | |
| And deeper still the deep drifts grew, | |
| And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, | |
| At last in her struggles floundered down, | |
| Where a log in a hollow lay. | 45 |
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| In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort, | |
| She plunged in the drifting snow, | |
| While her master urged, till his breath grew short, | |
| With a word and a gentle blow; | |
| But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight; | 50 |
| His hands were numb and had lost their might; | |
| So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, | |
| And strove to shelter himself till day, | |
| With his coat and the buffalo. | |
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| He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, | 55 |
| To rouse up his dying steed; | |
| And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain, | |
| For help in his master’s need. | |
| For awhile he strives with a wistful cry | |
| To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, | 60 |
| And wags his tail if the rude winds flap | |
| The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, | |
| And whines when he takes no heed. | |
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| The wind goes down and the storm is o’er,— | |
| ’T is the hour of midnight, past; | 65 |
| The old trees writhe and bend no more | |
| In the whirl of the rushing blast. | |
| The silent moon with her peaceful light | |
| Looks down on the hills with snow all white, | |
| And the giant shadow of Camel’s Hump, | 70 |
| The blasted pine and the ghostly stump, | |
| Afar on the plain are cast. | |
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| But cold and dead by the hidden log | |
| Are they who came from the town,— | |
| The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, | 75 |
| And his beautiful Morgan brown,— | |
| In the wide snow-desert, far and grand, | |
| With his cap on his head and the reins in his hand,— | |
| The dog with his nose on his master’s feet, | |
| And the mare half seen from the crusted sleet, | 80 |
| Where she lay when she floundered down. | |
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