Forth goes the woodman, leaving, unconcern'd,
The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe,
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear;
From morn to eve, his solitary task:
Shaggy, and lean, and shrew'd, with pointed ears,
And tail cropt 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
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout;
Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy.
Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl
Moves right towards the mark; nor stops for aught,
But now and then, with pressure of his thumb,
To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube
That fumes beneath his nose; the trailing cloud
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air.
Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale,
Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam
Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side,
Come trooping at the housewife's well known call
The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing
And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood,
Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge.
To sad necessity, the cock foregoes
His wonted strut, and wading at their head,
With well consider'd steps, seems to resent
His alter'd gait, and stateliness retrench'd
-Indurated and fixt, the snowy weight
Lies undissolv'd, while silently beneath,
And unperceiv'd, the current steals away,
And see where frost has hung the embroider'd banks
With forms so various, that no powers of art,
The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene.
Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high
(Fantastic misarrangement) on the roof
Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees
And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops
That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd,
Shoot into pillars of pellucid length,
And prop the pile, they but adorn'd before.
Here grotto within grotto safe defies
The sunbeam; there, embost and fretted wild,
The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes
Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain
The likeness of some object seen before.
SILENTLY as a dream, the fabric rose;
No sound of hammer or of saw was there;
Ice upon ice, the well adjusted parts
Were soon conjoined; nor other cement ask'd
Than water interfus'd, to make them one;
Lamps, gracefully dispos'd and of all hues,
Illumin'd every side, a watery light
Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd
Another moon new risen, or meteor fall'n
From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene.
So stood the brittle prodigy; though smooth
And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound,
Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within,
That royal residence might well befit,
For grandeur, or for use. Long wavy wreaths,
That fear'd no enemy but warmth,
Blush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed nonc
Where all was vitreous; but in order due,
Convivial table, and commodious seat,
Sofa, and couch, and high built throne august.
The same lubricity was found in all,
And all was moist to the warm touch; a scene
Of evanescent glory; once a stream,
And soon to slide into a stream again.
'Twas transient in its nature, as in shew,
'Twas durable; as worthless as it seem'd,
Intrinsically precious; to the foot,
Treacherous and false; it smil'd, and it was cold.
WINTER WALK AT NOON.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet; now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still;
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on
With easy force, it opens all the cells
Where memory slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it, all its pleasures and its pains.
The night was winter in his roughest mood;
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon,
Upon the southern side of the slant hills,
And where the woods keep off the northern blast,
The season smiles, resigning all its rage;
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue
Without a cloud; and white without a speck
The dazzling splendour of the scene below.
Again the harmony comes o'er the vale;
And through the trees I view the embattled tower,
Whence all the music. I again perceive
The soothing influence of the wafted strains,
And settle in soft musings, as I tread
The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms,
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade.
The roof, though moveable through all its length,
As the wind sways it, has yet well suffic'd,
And intercepting in their silent fall
The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me.
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought;
The redbreast warbles still, but is content
With slender notes, and more than half supprest,
Pleas'd with his solitude, and flitting light
From spray to spray; where'er he rests, he shakes
From many a twig, the pendent drops of ice,
That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below.
Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft,
Charms more than silence. Meditation, here,
May think down hours to moments. Here the
heart
May give a useful lesson to the head,
And learning wiser grow without his books.
ERE yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow,
Or winds began through hazy skies to blow,
At evening a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsullied froze.
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclos'd, at once, to view
The face of nature, in a rich disguise,
And brighten'd every object to the eyes;
For every shrub, and every blade of grass,
And every pointed thorn, seem'd wrought in glass;
In pearls and rubies rich, the hawthorns show,
While through the ice, the crimson berries glow.
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