 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
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FEBRUARY.
“Come when the rains
Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice;
When the slant sun of February pours
Into the bowers a flood of light.”
Bryant.
Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice;
When the slant sun of February pours
Into the bowers a flood of light.”
Bryant.
Old churlish Winter's youngest child,
Though here so boisterous and rude,
In Egypt is Phamènoth styled,
Or the fair moon that bringeth good:
His name in Arabic is sweet—
Shasban, or month with hope replete,
Forerunner of bright days;
And Adar is his Jewish name,
For then a purifying flame
Flung far and wide its rays.
Though here so boisterous and rude,
In Egypt is Phamènoth styled,
Or the fair moon that bringeth good:
His name in Arabic is sweet—
Shasban, or month with hope replete,
Forerunner of bright days;
And Adar is his Jewish name,
For then a purifying flame
Flung far and wide its rays.
Tired of confining walls, to-day
I wandered through the woods alone,
And rime that clung to bough and spray
The richest jewelry outshone:
The bitter-sweet, on trunks of eld,
That lovingly its stalk upheld,
Hung beads of coral bright;
And tassels long, of rich brown hue,
Upon the lowly alder grew,
Refreshing to the sight.
I wandered through the woods alone,
And rime that clung to bough and spray
The richest jewelry outshone:
The bitter-sweet, on trunks of eld,
That lovingly its stalk upheld,
Hung beads of coral bright;
And tassels long, of rich brown hue,
Upon the lowly alder grew,
Refreshing to the sight.
Cold, naked arms the swamp-ash spread,
And bunches black its top that crowned
Seemed mourning badges for the dead
And shrivelled leaves that lay around:
Dry flags the brooklet overhung,
And frozen was its silver tongue,
That erst so gently spoke;
The linnet's torn, deserted nest,
Once shadowed by her downy breast,
A haunting sadness woke.
And bunches black its top that crowned
Seemed mourning badges for the dead
And shrivelled leaves that lay around:
Dry flags the brooklet overhung,
And frozen was its silver tongue,
302
The linnet's torn, deserted nest,
Once shadowed by her downy breast,
A haunting sadness woke.
North-eastwardly my glance I turned,
And through disparting clouds of gray
The moon, with argent ring, discerned,
Though distant was the close of day:
Dark thoughts, that wrapped my soul in night,
Away by that enchanting sight,
Like sun-lit mist, were driven—
In presence of the silvery queen,
More beauteous grew the barren scene,
More fair the fields of heaven.
And through disparting clouds of gray
The moon, with argent ring, discerned,
Though distant was the close of day:
Dark thoughts, that wrapped my soul in night,
Away by that enchanting sight,
Like sun-lit mist, were driven—
In presence of the silvery queen,
More beauteous grew the barren scene,
More fair the fields of heaven.
A beech I spied, with mouldering heart,
That still retained its withered leaves,
Like some poor mother loth to part
With the dead brood o'er which she grieves.
Beneath my feet the crusted snow,
Crackling, aroused from ambush low
The partridge-hunted bird!
And, loosened by a gleam of sun,
Icicles falling, one by one,
With tinkling sound, I heard.
That still retained its withered leaves,
Like some poor mother loth to part
With the dead brood o'er which she grieves.
Beneath my feet the crusted snow,
Crackling, aroused from ambush low
The partridge-hunted bird!
And, loosened by a gleam of sun,
Icicles falling, one by one,
With tinkling sound, I heard.
And other music was afloat,
That gave my pulse a joyous thrill,
For louder far than bugle note
Rang bay of hound upon the hill:
I caught a glimpse of wounded fox
Steering his course toward friendly rocks
That walled a neighboring glen;
His blood soon dyed the fleecy drift,
O'ertaken by pursuer swift,
A bow-shot from his den.
That gave my pulse a joyous thrill,
For louder far than bugle note
Rang bay of hound upon the hill:
I caught a glimpse of wounded fox
Steering his course toward friendly rocks
That walled a neighboring glen;
His blood soon dyed the fleecy drift,
O'ertaken by pursuer swift,
A bow-shot from his den.
303
Where, girt by groves, a clearing spread,
The stubble, like a darkening beard
On the pale visage of the dead,
Above the level snow appeared.
While, breaking through the hazel brush,
Quail rose, in coveys, with a rush
Of short, quick-flapping wings;
And, resting on its “figure four,”
I marked a trap, with straw roofed o'er,
Set for the silly things.
The stubble, like a darkening beard
On the pale visage of the dead,
Above the level snow appeared.
While, breaking through the hazel brush,
Quail rose, in coveys, with a rush
Of short, quick-flapping wings;
And, resting on its “figure four,”
I marked a trap, with straw roofed o'er,
Set for the silly things.
The forest, though disrobed and cold,
And robbed of bird and singing rill,
Is glorious with its columns old,
And cheered by Beauty's presence still:
Wild vines, to oak and elm that cling,
Like cordage of a vessel swing,
And rattle in the gale;
And moss, that gives Decay a grace,
The roughest spot on Nature's face
Hides with adorning veil.
And robbed of bird and singing rill,
Is glorious with its columns old,
And cheered by Beauty's presence still:
Wild vines, to oak and elm that cling,
Like cordage of a vessel swing,
And rattle in the gale;
And moss, that gives Decay a grace,
The roughest spot on Nature's face
Hides with adorning veil.
When noontide throws a sudden glare
On the pale scene, once brown with shade,
Semblance the frosted hollows bear
To cups of pearl with gold inlaid:
Dazzling becomes the dreary waste,
And bough and twig, with ice encased,
Prismatic hues display;
How changed the hills, all spangled o'er
With flashing gems, that towered before
So bleak, and stern, and gray!
On the pale scene, once brown with shade,
Semblance the frosted hollows bear
To cups of pearl with gold inlaid:
Dazzling becomes the dreary waste,
And bough and twig, with ice encased,
Prismatic hues display;
How changed the hills, all spangled o'er
With flashing gems, that towered before
So bleak, and stern, and gray!
The hand of lusty March, ere long,
Will February's ermine rend,
And, with a gush of joyous song,
Her way the blue-bird hither wend:
Awakened by warm, pattering showers,
The snowdrop will unclose its flowers,
The violet upspring;
And runnel, brook and waterfall,
Once more, released from icy thrall,
Their bells of silver ring.
Will February's ermine rend,
And, with a gush of joyous song,
Her way the blue-bird hither wend:
304
The snowdrop will unclose its flowers,
The violet upspring;
And runnel, brook and waterfall,
Once more, released from icy thrall,
Their bells of silver ring.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |