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diff --git a/20226.txt b/20226.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db67040 --- /dev/null +++ b/20226.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1333 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Bound, by John Greenleaf Whittier + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Snow-Bound + A Winter Idyll + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Illustrator: Harry Fenn, Engraved by A. V. S. Anthony and W. J. Linton + +Release Date: December 30, 2006 [EBook #20226] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BOUND *** + + + + +Produced by Louise Hope, David Newman, Chuck Greif and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + * * * * * + + SNOW-BOUND + + * * * * * + + + SNOW-BOUND + + A Winter Idyl + + By JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + _With Illustrations_ + + [Illustration: Portrait] + + +Boston +JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, +Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. +1872 + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, +in the years 1865 and 1867, by +JOHN G. WHITTIER, +in the Clerk's Office of the District Court +of the District of Massachusetts. + + [Illustration: Publisher's Device] + + + + +In the present edition of "Snow-Bound," the Illustrations are +drawn by Mr. HARRY FENN from sketches made by him during a visit +to the scene of the poem. The engraving has been done by Mr. +A. V. S. ANTHONY, under whose supervision the book has been +prepared, and Mr. W. J. LINTON. + +The Publishers are confident that the drawing, engraving, and +printing will commend themselves to the approval of the critic and +the connoisseur; while to those unfamiliar with the _locale_ of +the poem, the following note from the author will be the best +guaranty of the artists' fidelity. + +_It gives me pleasure to commend the illustrations which accompany +this edition of "Snow-Bound," for the faithfulness with which they +present the spirit and the details of the passages and places that +the artist has designed them to accompany._ + +J. G. W. + + + + + To + _The Memory_ + + Of + The Household It Describes, + + _This Poem Is Dedicated_ + + By + The Author. + + "As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good + Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the + Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common VVood Fire: and + as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our + Fire of VVood doth the same." + + COR. AGRIPPA, _Occult Philosophy_, Book I. chap. v. + + + "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, + Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields, + Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air + Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, + And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. + The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet + Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit + Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed + In a tumultuous privacy of storm." + + EMERSON. + + + + + [Illustration] + + +SNOW BOUND. + + The sun that brief December day + Rose cheerless over hills of gray, + And, darkly circled, gave at noon + A sadder light than waning moon. + Slow tracing down the thickening sky + Its mute and ominous prophecy, + A portent seeming less than threat, + It sank from sight before it set. + A chill no coat, however stout, + Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, + A hard, dull bitterness of cold, + That checked, mid-vein, the circling race + Of life-blood in the sharpened face, + The coming of the snow-storm told. + The wind blew east: we heard the roar + Of Ocean on his wintry shore, + And felt the strong pulse throbbing there + Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + + Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- + Brought in the wood from out of doors, + Littered the stalls, and from the mows + Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows; + Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; + And, sharply clashing horn on horn, + Impatient down the stanchion rows + The cattle shake their walnut bows; + While, peering from his early perch + Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, + The cock his crested helmet bent + And down his querulous challenge sent. + + [Illustration] + + Unwarmed by any sunset light + The gray day darkened into night, + A night made hoary with the swarm + And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, + As zigzag wavering to and fro + Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: + And ere the early bedtime came + The white drift piled the window-frame, + And through the glass the clothes-line posts + Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + + [Illustration] + + So all night long the storm roared on: + The morning broke without a sun; + In tiny spherule traced with lines + Of Nature's geometric signs, + In starry flake, and pellicle, + All day the hoary meteor fell; + And, when the second morning shone, + We looked upon a world unknown, + On nothing we could call our own. + Around the glistening wonder bent + The blue walls of the firmament, + No cloud above, no earth below,-- + A universe of sky and snow! + The old familiar sights of ours + Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers + Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, + Or garden wall, or belt of wood; + A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, + A fenceless drift what once was road; + The bridle post an old man sat + With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; + The well-curb had a Chinese roof; + [Illustration] + And even the long sweep, high aloof, + In its slant splendor, seemed to tell + Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + + A prompt, decisive man, no breath + Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" + Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy + Count such a summons less than joy?) + Our buskins on our feet we drew; + With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, + To guard our necks and ears from snow, + We cut the solid whiteness through. + [Illustration] + And, where the drift was deepest, made + A tunnel walled and overlaid + With dazzling crystal: we had read + Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, + And to our own his name we gave, + With many a wish the luck were ours + To test his lamp's supernal powers. + [Illustration] + We reached the barn with merry din, + And roused the prisoned brutes within. + The old horse thrust his long head out, + And grave with wonder gazed about; + The cock his lusty greeting said, + And forth his speckled harem led; + The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, + And mild reproach of hunger looked; + The horned patriarch of the sheep, + Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, + Shook his sage head with gesture mute, + And emphasized with stamp of foot. + + All day the gusty north-wind bore + The loosening drift its breath before; + Low circling round its southern zone, + The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. + No church-bell lent its Christian tone + To the savage air, no social smoke + Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. + A solitude made more intense + By dreary voiced elements, + The shrieking of the mindless wind, + The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, + And on the glass the unmeaning beat + Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. + [Illustration] + Beyond the circle of our hearth + No welcome sound of toil or mirth + Unbound the spell, and testified + Of human life and thought outside. + We minded that the sharpest ear + The buried brooklet could not hear, + The music of whose liquid lip + Had been to us companionship, + And, in our lonely life, had grown + To have an almost human tone. + As night drew on, and, from the crest + Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, + The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank + From sight beneath the smothering bank, + We piled, with care, our nightly stack + Of wood against the chimney-back,-- + [Illustration] + The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, + And on its top the stout back-stick; + The knotty forestick laid apart, + And filled between with curious art + The ragged brush; then, hovering near, + We watched the first red blaze appear, + Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam + On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, + Until the old, rude-furnished room + Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; + While radiant with a mimic flame + Outside the sparkling drift became, + And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree + Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. + The crane and pendent trammels showed, + The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; + While childish fancy, prompt to tell + The meaning of the miracle, + Whispered the old rhyme: "_Under the tree, + When fire outdoors burns merrily, + There the witches are making tea._" + + The moon above the eastern wood + Shone at its full; the hill-range stood + [Illustration] + Transfigured in the silver flood, + Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, + Dead white, save where some sharp ravine + Took shadow, or the sombre green + Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black + Against the whiteness at their back. + For such a world and such a night + Most fitting that unwarming light, + Which only seemed where'er it fell + To make the coldness visible. + + Shut in from all the world without, + We sat the clean-winged hearth about, + Content to let the north-wind roar + In baffled rage at pane and door, + While the red logs before us beat + The frost-line back with tropic heat; + And ever, when a louder blast + Shook beam and rafter as it passed, + The merrier up its roaring draught + The great throat of the chimney laughed, + The house-dog on his paws outspread + Laid to the fire his drowsy head, + The cat's dark silhouette on the wall + A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; + And, for the winter fireside meet, + Between the andirons' straddling feet, + The mug of cider simmered slow, + The apples sputtered in a row, + And, close at hand, the basket stood + With nuts from brown October's wood. + + [Illustration] + + What matter how the night behaved? + What matter how the north-wind raved? + Blow high, blow low, not all its snow + Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. + O Time and Change!--with hair as gray + As was my sire's that winter day, + How strange it seems, with so much gone + Of life and love, to still live on! + Ah, brother! only I and thou + Are left of all that circle now,-- + The dear home faces whereupon + That fitful firelight paled and shone. + Henceforward, listen as we will, + The voices of that hearth are still; + Look where we may, the wide earth o'er, + Those lighted faces smile no more. + We tread the paths their feet have worn, + [Illustration] + We sit beneath their orchard-trees, + We hear, like them, the hum of bees + And rustle of the bladed corn; + We turn the pages that they read, + Their written words we linger o'er, + But in the sun they cast no shade, + No voice is heard, no sign is made, + No step is on the conscious floor! + Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, + (Since He who knows our need is just,) + That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. + [Illustration] + Alas for him who never sees + The stars shine through his cypress-trees! + Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, + Nor looks to see the breaking day + Across the mournful marbles play! + Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, + The truth to flesh and sense unknown, + That Life is ever lord of Death, + And Love can never lose its own! + + We sped the time with stories old, + Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, + Or stammered from our school-book lore + "The Chief of Gambia's golden shore." + How often since, when all the land + Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, + As if a trumpet called, I've heard + Dame Mercy Warren's rousing word: + "_Does not the voice of reason cry, + Claim the first right which Nature gave, + From the red scourge of bondage fly, + Nor deign to live a burdened slave!_" + Our father rode again his ride + On Memphremagog's wooded side; + [Illustration] + Sat down again to moose and samp + In trapper's hut and Indian camp; + Lived o'er the old idyllic ease + Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; + Again for him the moonlight shone + On Norman cap and bodiced zone; + Again he heard the violin play + Which led the village dance away, + And mingled in its merry whirl + The grandam and the laughing girl. + Or, nearer home, our steps he led + Where Salisbury's level marshes spread + [Illustration] + Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; + Where merry mowers, hale and strong, + Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along + The low green prairies of the sea. + We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, + And round the rocky Isles of Shoals + The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; + The chowder on the sand-beach made, + Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, + With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. + [Illustration] + We heard the tales of witchcraft old, + And dream and sign and marvel told + To sleepy listeners as they lay + Stretched idly on the salted hay, + Adrift along the winding shores, + [Illustration] + When favoring breezes deigned to blow + The square sail of the gundalow, + And idle lay the useless oars. + + Our mother, while she turned her wheel + Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, + Told how the Indian hordes came down + At midnight on Cochecho town, + And how her own great-uncle bore + His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. + Recalling, in her fitting phrase, + So rich and picturesque and free, + (The common unrhymed poetry + Of simple life and country ways,) + The story of her early days,-- + She made us welcome to her home; + Old hearths grew wide to give us room; + We stole with her a frightened look + At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, + The fame whereof went far and wide + Through all the simple country side; + We heard the hawks at twilight play, + The boat-horn on Piscataqua, + The loon's weird laughter far away; + [Illustration] + We fished her little trout-brook, knew + What flowers in wood and meadow grew, + What sunny hillsides autumn-brown + She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, + Saw where in sheltered cove and bay + The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, + And heard the wild-geese calling loud + Beneath the gray November cloud. + + Then, haply, with a look more grave, + And soberer tone, some tale she gave + From painful Sewell's ancient tome, + Beloved in every Quaker home, + Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, + Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,-- + Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!-- + Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, + And water-butt and bread-cask failed, + And cruel, hungry eyes pursued + His portly presence mad for food, + With dark hints muttered under breath + Of casting lots for life or death, + Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, + To be himself the sacrifice. + Then, suddenly, as if to save + The good man from his living grave + A ripple on the water grew, + A school of porpoise flashed in view. + "Take, eat," he said, "and be content; + These fishes in my stead are sent + By Him who gave the tangled ram + To spare the child of Abraham." + [Illustration] + Our uncle, innocent of books, + Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, + The ancient teachers never dumb + Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. + In moons and tides and weather wise, + He read the clouds as prophecies, + And foul or fair could well divine, + By many an occult hint and sign, + Holding the cunning-warded keys, + To all the woodcraft mysteries; + Himself to Nature's heart so near + That all her voices in his ear + Of beast or bird had meanings clear, + Like Apollonius of old, + Who knew the tales the sparrows told, + Or Hermes, who interpreted + What the sage cranes of Nilus said; + A simple, guileless, childlike man, + Content to live where life began; + Strong only on his native grounds, + The little world of sights and sounds + Whose girdle was the parish bounds, + Whereof his fondly partial pride + The common features magnified, + As Surrey hills to mountains grew + In White of Selborne's loving view,-- + He told how teal and loon he shot, + [Illustration] + And how the eagle's eggs he got, + The feats on pond and river done, + The prodigies of rod and gun; + Till, warming with the tales he told, + Forgotten was the outside cold, + The bitter wind unheeded blew, + From ripening corn the pigeons flew, + [Illustration] + The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink + Went fishing down the river-brink; + In fields with bean or clover gay, + The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, + Peered from the doorway of his cell; + The muskrat plied the mason's trade, + And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; + And from the shagbark overhead + The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. + + Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer + And voice in dreams I see and hear,-- + The sweetest woman ever Fate + Perverse denied a household mate, + Who, lonely, homeless, not the less + Found peace in love's unselfishness, + And welcome wheresoe'er she went, + A calm and gracious element, + Whose presence seemed the sweet income + And womanly atmosphere of home,-- + Called up her girlhood memories, + The huskings and the apple-bees, + The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, + Weaving through all the poor details + And homespun warp of circumstance + A golden woof-thread of romance. + [Illustration] + For well she kept her genial mood + And simple faith of maidenhood; + Before her still a cloud-land lay, + The mirage loomed across her way; + The morning dew, that dries so soon + With others, glistened at her noon; + Through years of toil and soil and care + From glossy tress to thin gray hair, + All unprofaned she held apart + The virgin fancies of the heart. + Be shame to him of woman born + Who hath for such but thought of scorn. + + [Illustration] + + There, too, our elder sister plied + Her evening task the stand beside; + A full, rich nature, free to trust, + Truthful and almost sternly just, + Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, + And make her generous thought a fact, + Keeping with many a light disguise + The secret of self-sacrifice. + O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best + That Heaven itself could give thee,--rest, + Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! + How many a poor one's blessing went + With thee beneath the low green tent + Whose curtain never outward swings! + + As one who held herself a part + Of all she saw, and let her heart + Against the household bosom lean, + Upon the motley-braided mat + Our youngest and our dearest sat, + Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, + Now bathed within the fadeless green + And holy peace of Paradise. + O, looking from some heavenly hill, + Or from the shade of saintly palms, + Or silver reach of river calms, + Do those large eyes behold me still? + With me one little year ago:-- + [Illustration] + The chill weight of the winter snow + For months upon her grave has lain; + And now, when summer south-winds blow, + And brier and harebell bloom again, + I tread the pleasant paths we trod, + I see the violet-sprinkled sod + Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak + The hillside flowers she loved to seek, + Yet following me where'er I went + [Illustration] + With dark eyes full of love's content. + The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills + The air with sweetness; all the hills + Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; + But still I wait with ear and eye + For something gone which should be nigh, + A loss in all familiar things, + In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. + And yet, dear heart! remembering thee, + Am I not richer than of old? + Safe in thy immortality, + What change can reach the wealth I hold? + What chance can mar the pearl and gold + Thy love hath left in trust with me? + And while in life's late afternoon, + Where cool and long the shadows grow, + I walk to meet the night that soon + Shall shape and shadow overflow, + I cannot feel that thou art far, + Since near at need the angels are; + And when the sunset gates unbar, + Shall I not see thee waiting stand, + And, white against the evening star, + The welcome of thy beckoning hand? + + Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, + The master of the district school + Held at the fire his favored place; + Its warm glow lit a laughing face + Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared + [Illustration] + The uncertain prophecy of beard. + He teased the mitten-blinded cat, + Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, + Sang songs, and told us what befalls + In classic Dartmouth's college halls. + Born the wild Northern hills among, + From whence his yeoman father wrung + By patient toil subsistence scant, + Not competence and yet not want, + He early gained the power to pay + His cheerful, self-reliant way; + Could doff at ease his scholar's gown + To peddle wares from town to town; + Or through the long vacation's reach + In lonely lowland districts teach, + Where all the droll experience found + At stranger hearths in boarding round, + The moonlit skater's keen delight, + The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, + The rustic party, with its rough + Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, + [Illustration] + And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, + His winter task a pastime made. + Happy the snow-locked homes wherein + He tuned his merry violin, + Or played the athlete in the barn, + Or held the good dame's winding yarn, + Or mirth-provoking versions told + Of classic legends rare and old, + Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome + [Illustration] + Had all the commonplace of home, + And little seemed at best the odds + 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; + Where Pindus-born Araxes took + The guise of any grist-mill brook, + And dread Olympus at his will + Became a huckleberry hill. + + A careless boy that night he seemed; + But at his desk he had the look + And air of one who wisely schemed, + And hostage from the future took + In trained thought and lore of book. + Large-brained, clear-eyed,--of such as he + Shall Freedom's young apostles be, + Who, following in War's bloody trail, + Shall every lingering wrong assail; + All chains from limb and spirit strike, + Uplift the black and white alike; + Scatter before their swift advance + The darkness and the ignorance, + The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, + Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, + Made murder pastime, and the hell + Of prison-torture possible; + The cruel lie of caste refute, + Old forms remould, and substitute + For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, + For blind routine, wise-handed skill; + A school-house plant on every hill, + Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence + The quick wires of intelligence; + Till North and South together brought + Shall own the same electric thought, + In peace a common flag salute, + And, side by side in labor's free + And unresentful rivalry, + Harvest the fields wherein they fought. + + [Illustration] + + Another guest that winter night + Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. + Unmarked by time, and yet not young, + The honeyed music of her tongue + And words of meekness scarcely told + A nature passionate and bold, + Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, + Its milder features dwarfed beside + Her unbent will's majestic pride. + She sat among us, at the best, + A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, + Rebuking with her cultured phrase + Our homeliness of words and ways. + A certain pard-like, treacherous grace + Swayed the lithe limbs and drooped the lash, + Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; + And under low brows, black with night, + Rayed out at times a dangerous light; + The sharp heat-lightnings of her face + Presaging ill to him whom Fate + Condemned to share her love or hate. + A woman tropical, intense + In thought and act, in soul and sense, + She blended in a like degree + The vixen and the devotee, + Revealing with each freak or feint + The temper of Petruchio's Kate, + The raptures of Siena's saint. + Her tapering hand and rounded wrist + Had facile power to form a fist; + The warm, dark languish of her eyes + Was never safe from wrath's surprise. + Brows saintly calm and lips devout + Knew every change of scowl and pout; + And the sweet voice had notes more high + And shrill for social battle-cry. + + Since then what old cathedral town + Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, + What convent-gate has held its lock + Against the challenge of her knock! + Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, + [Illustration] + Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, + Gray olive slopes of hills that hem + Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, + Or startling on her desert throne + The crazy Queen of Lebanon + With claims fantastic as her own, + Her tireless feet have held their way; + And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, + She watches under Eastern skies, + [Illustration] + With hope each day renewed and fresh, + The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, + Whereof she dreams and prophesies! + + Where'er her troubled path may be, + The Lord's sweet pity with her go! + The outward wayward life we see, + The hidden springs we may not know. + Nor is it given us to discern + What threads the fatal sisters spun, + Through what ancestral years has run + The sorrow with the woman born, + What forged her cruel chain of moods, + What set her feet in solitudes, + And held the love within her mute, + What mingled madness in the blood, + A life-long discord and annoy, + Water of tears with oil of joy, + And hid within the folded bud + Perversities of flower and fruit. + It is not ours to separate + The tangled skein of will and fate, + To show what metes and bounds should stand + Upon the soul's debatable land, + And between choice and Providence + Divide the circle of events; + But He who knows our frame is just, + Merciful, and compassionate, + And full of sweet assurances + And hope for all the language is, + That He remembereth we are dust! + + At last the great logs, crumbling low, + Sent out a dull and duller glow, + [Illustration] + The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, + Ticking its weary circuit through, + Pointed with mutely-warning sign + Its black hand to the hour of nine. + That sign the pleasant circle broke: + My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, + Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, + And laid it tenderly away, + Then roused himself to safely cover + The dull red brands with ashes over. + And while, with care, our mother laid + The work aside, her steps she stayed + One moment, seeking to express + Her grateful sense of happiness + For food and shelter, warmth and health, + And love's contentment more than wealth, + With simple wishes (not the weak, + Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, + But such as warm the generous heart, + O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) + That none might lack, that bitter night, + For bread and clothing, warmth and light. + + Within our beds awhile we heard + The wind that round the gables roared, + With now and then a ruder shock, + Which made our very bedsteads rock. + We heard the loosened clapboards tost, + The board-nails snapping in the frost; + And on us, through the unplastered wall, + Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. + But sleep stole on, as sleep will do + When hearts are light and life is new; + Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, + Till in the summer-land of dreams + They softened to the sound of streams, + Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, + And lapsing waves on quiet shores. + + [Illustration] + + [Illustration] + + Next morn we wakened with the shout + Of merry voices high and clear; + And saw the teamsters drawing near + To break the drifted highways out. + Down the long hillside treading slow + We saw the half-buried oxen go, + Shaking the snow from heads uptost, + Their straining nostrils white with frost. + Before our door the straggling train + Drew up, an added team to gain. + The elders threshed their hands a-cold, + Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes + From lip to lip; the younger folks + Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, + Then toiled again the cavalcade + O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, + And woodland paths that wound between + Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. + [Illustration] + From every barn a team afoot, + At every house a new recruit, + Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, + Haply the watchful young men saw + [Illustration] + Sweet doorway pictures of the curls + And curious eyes of merry girls, + Lifting their hands in mock defence + Against the snow-ball's compliments, + And reading in each missive tost + The charm with Eden never lost. + + We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; + And, following where the teamsters led, + The wise old Doctor went his round, + [Illustration] + Just pausing at our door to say, + In the brief autocratic way + Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, + Was free to urge her claim on all, + That some poor neighbor sick abed + At night our mother's aid would need. + For, one in generous thought and deed, + What mattered in the sufferer's sight + The Quaker matron's inward light, + The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? + All hearts confess the saints elect + Who, twain in faith, in love agree, + And melt not in an acid sect + The Christian pearl of charity! + + So days went on: a week had passed + Since the great world was heard from last. + The Almanac we studied o'er, + Read and reread our little store, + Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; + One harmless novel, mostly hid + From younger eyes, a book forbid, + And poetry, (or good or bad, + A single book was all we had,) + Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, + A stranger to the heathen Nine, + Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, + The wars of David and the Jews. + [Illustration] + At last the floundering carrier bore + The village paper to our door. + Lo! broadening outward as we read, + To warmer zones the horizon spread; + In panoramic length unrolled + We saw the marvels that it told. + Before us passed the painted Creeks, + And daft McGregor on his raids + In Costa Rica's everglades. + [Illustration] + And up Taygetos winding slow + Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, + A Turk's head at each saddle-bow! + Welcome to us its week-old news, + Its corner for the rustic Muse, + Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, + Its record, mingling in a breath + The wedding knell and dirge of death; + Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale; + The latest culprit sent to jail; + Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, + Its vendue sales and goods at cost, + And traffic calling loud for gain. + We felt the stir of hall and street, + The pulse of life that round us beat; + The chill embargo of the snow + Was melted in the genial glow; + Wide swung again our ice-locked door, + And all the world was ours once more! + + Clasp, Angel of the backward look + And folded wings of ashen gray + And voice of echoes far away, + The brazen covers of thy book; + The weird palimpsest old and vast, + Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; + Where, closely mingling, pale and glow + The characters of joy and woe; + The monographs of outlived years, + Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, + Green hills of life that slope to death, + And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees + Shade off to mournful cypresses + With the white amaranths underneath. + Even while I look, I can but heed + The restless sands' incessant fall, + Importunate hours that hours succeed, + Each clamorous with its own sharp need, + And duty keeping pace with all. + Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; + I hear again the voice that bids + The dreamer leave his dream midway + For larger hopes and graver fears: + Life greatens in these later years, + The century's aloe flowers to-day! + + Yet, haply, in some lull of life, + Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, + The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, + Dreaming in throngful city ways + Of winter joys his boyhood knew; + And dear and early friends--the few + Who yet remain--shall pause to view + These Flemish pictures of old days; + Sit with me by the homestead hearth, + And stretch the hands of memory forth + To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze! + And thanks untraced to lips unknown + Shall greet me like the odors blown + From unseen meadows newly mown, + Or lilies floating in some pond, + Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; + The traveller owns the grateful sense + Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, + And, pausing, takes with forehead bare + The benediction of the air. + + [Illustration] + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Bound, by John Greenleaf Whittier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOW-BOUND *** + +***** This file should be named 20226.txt or 20226.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/2/2/20226/ + +Produced by Louise Hope, David Newman, Chuck Greif and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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