 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
The Snow-Storm.—Anonymous.
The cold winds swept the mountain's height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And, 'mid the cheerless hours of night,
A mother wandered with her child.
As through the drifted snows she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And, 'mid the cheerless hours of night,
A mother wandered with her child.
As through the drifted snows she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And colder still the winds did blow,
And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifts of snow—
Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone—
“O God,” she cried, in accents wild,
“If I must perish, save my child!”
And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifts of snow—
Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone—
“O God,” she cried, in accents wild,
“If I must perish, save my child!”
She stripped her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm,
And round the child she wrapped the vest,
And smiled to think her babe was warm.
With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed.
And bared her bosom to the storm,
And round the child she wrapped the vest,
And smiled to think her babe was warm.
With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed.
At dawn, a traveller passed by;
She lay beneath a snowy veil;
The frost of death was in her eye;
Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale;—
He moved the robe from off the child;
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled.
She lay beneath a snowy veil;
232
Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale;—
He moved the robe from off the child;
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |