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ROAD-SONG OF THE PEASANT.
 
 
 
 
 
 


192

ROAD-SONG OF THE PEASANT.

My path is o'er the frozen hills,
The wind blows keenly in my face,
The shadows of the advancing night
Creep on with lengthening pace;—
Ha! ha! I laugh at the bitter blast—
I shall see the smile of my home at last!
More faint doth grow the light, and thick
And fast the snow-flakes drift around;
All silently my footfall sinks
Upon the muffled ground;—
Ha! ha! let the storm howl on,—ere long
I shall listen, at ease, to a softer song!
There's not a single star looks forth;
The deep and rayless gloom doth fall
Upon the wintry earth, as dark
And sad as funeral pall;—
Ha! ha! I've a ray within, too bright
To be quenched by the gloom of the darkest night!

193

The hills are passed—the valley stream
Sweeps by me, wlth its sullen roar—
'Tis crossed—my rest is well-night won,
My weary travail o'er.
Ha! ha! methinks I feel e'en now
The flash of the firelight on my brow!
With brisker steps I hurry on,
My eager gaze still bent before,
Where aye, through storm and gloom, shines out
My open cottage door;—
Ha! ha! I hear young voices call—
They are there—my wife and my dear ones all!