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 | Drifted in |  |
The storm was raging again, and here
Had blocked our pathway in front and rear,
And the grim locomotive's toil,
And gallons of water in rage might boil,
But met more water in frozen form—
Sarcastic gift of the surly storm;
Which, any effort prepared to meet,
Forbade our advancing or retreat.
So there, in a vale of cruel snow
Our village stood: and we did not know
What township locally waved a hand
Of stern authority o'er the land.
If man, made desperate by despair,
Should murder his brother then and there,
We knew not the county whose lot 'twould be
To make him fruit of a gallows-tree,
Or bid him seek for his fatal lair,
The depths of the harsh electric chair.
We knew the city we last had left,
We knew the city we next should gain,
And half a hundred of wan miles cleft
These toilers' and idlers' homes in twain.
But where was our desolate home today,
Was more than the wisest ones could say.
Had blocked our pathway in front and rear,
And the grim locomotive's toil,
And gallons of water in rage might boil,
But met more water in frozen form—
Sarcastic gift of the surly storm;
Which, any effort prepared to meet,
Forbade our advancing or retreat.
So there, in a vale of cruel snow
Our village stood: and we did not know
What township locally waved a hand
Of stern authority o'er the land.
If man, made desperate by despair,
Should murder his brother then and there,
We knew not the county whose lot 'twould be
To make him fruit of a gallows-tree,
Or bid him seek for his fatal lair,
The depths of the harsh electric chair.
We knew the city we last had left,
47
And half a hundred of wan miles cleft
These toilers' and idlers' homes in twain.
But where was our desolate home today,
Was more than the wisest ones could say.
| Drifted in | |