 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
44
FROST-PICTURES.
The frost-king hath clad the forest
In a garb of icy mail,
And left on the panes of the windows,
A white translucent veil.
In a garb of icy mail,
And left on the panes of the windows,
A white translucent veil.
Oh, a rare and radiant pencil
And a skilful hand hath he,
And none may mock or rival
His magical imagery.
And a skilful hand hath he,
And none may mock or rival
His magical imagery.
Come hither ye sweet-voiced prattlers,
Who mourn for the summer lost,—
Come hither and see what beauties
Are born of the winter's frost.
Who mourn for the summer lost,—
Come hither and see what beauties
Are born of the winter's frost.
'T is a scene in the northern regions,
Where through the lingering night,
The mystical borealis
Is lending its waving light.
Where through the lingering night,
The mystical borealis
Is lending its waving light.
45
Where the sledge and the fleet-paced reindeer
O'er the glittering snow-paths go,
And the bending boughs of the fir-trees
Are heavy with clinging snow.
O'er the glittering snow-paths go,
And the bending boughs of the fir-trees
Are heavy with clinging snow.
Where the woods flash back the sunshine
From their load of glistening gems,
And clusters of glancing crystals
Depend from the swaying stems.
From their load of glistening gems,
And clusters of glancing crystals
Depend from the swaying stems.
And afar in the frigid distance,
The glaciers crash and fall,
And ranks of towering icebergs
Form a strong and massive wall.
The glaciers crash and fall,
And ranks of towering icebergs
Form a strong and massive wall.
But the wayward painter wearied
Of his first imagining,
And bordered his wintry landscape
With the leaves and flowers of spring.
Of his first imagining,
And bordered his wintry landscape
With the leaves and flowers of spring.
Alas, for the radiant picture
So truly and brightly drawn,
One smile of the winter sunshine
Hath touched it, and it is gone.
So truly and brightly drawn,
One smile of the winter sunshine
Hath touched it, and it is gone.
As fade, in our after being
The fancies and hopes of youth,
Or as vanish the shades of error
In the dawning light of truth.
The fancies and hopes of youth,
Or as vanish the shades of error
In the dawning light of truth.
46
No trace of the beauteous picture
On the weeping pane appears,
But mountain and plain and forest
Have melted in lucid tears.
On the weeping pane appears,
But mountain and plain and forest
Have melted in lucid tears.
Thus ever our blissful dreamings
Of the bright and blessed ideal,
Are scattered in tears and sadness
By the stern, remorseless real!
Of the bright and blessed ideal,
Are scattered in tears and sadness
By the stern, remorseless real!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |