Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-Loom Weaver :: :: University of Virginia Library

Grim father Frost, he had children twain,
The cloud-born daughters of Lady Rain;
The elder, a coquettish pattering thing,
Would woo you in winter, and pelt you in spring;

At times you might scarce feel her feathery fall,
Anon she will beard you with icicle ball;
When the warrings of heaven roll higher and higher,
She, coward-like, flees from the conflict of fire—
Yet heightens the havoc, for her feeble power,
Tho' scaithless the oak, how it fells the frail flower!
And the bud of the berry, the bloom of the bean,
Are founder'd to earth by the merciless quean;
E'en the stout stems of summer full often must quail
To this rattling, brattling, head-breaking hail.
I'll not say a word of how rudely she breaks
On the dream of the garret-doomed maid, and awakes
A thousand regrets in the marrowless lass,
And cruelly mimics the “touch on the glass,”
With her cold little pearls, that dance, bound, and play,
Like our ain bonnie bairns on Candlemas day.

You know her meek sister? Oh, soft is the fall
Of her fairy footsteps on hut and on hall!
To hide the old father's bleak doings below,
In pity she cometh, the minist'ring snow.
With her mantle she covers the shelterless trees,
As they groan to the howl of the Borean breeze;
And baffles the search of the subtle wind,
Guarding each crevice lest it should find
Its moaning way to the fireless fold
Of the trembling young and the weeping old.
When through her white bosom the daisy appears,
She greets the fair stranger with motherly tears!
And they mingle so sweet with the golden ray
Of the struggling beam that chides her away.

But where's the last speck of her brightness seen,
Mid the bursting spring and its saucy green?
In the coldest side of yon lone churchyard,
Neglected graves she loveth to ward;
But not where gorgeous marble pleads,
And frequent foot of mourner treads;
But down by the stranger's noteless lair,
Where sighs are few and footsteps rare,
She loveth, she loveth to linger there!
O'er hearts forgotten that sleep below,
There is none to weep but the friendly snow.

“Old Father Frost” was the result of a sportive contest in rhyming between the author and Mr. Adam, whose verses are subjoined, as well for their native prettiness as their giving interest and character to the whole.

Old Father Frost hath children twain,
Begotten 'twixt him and his Lady rain:
Though he is harsh, yet mild is she,
And this is seen in their family.
Old Father Frost and his family!

Yes, Father Frost is a hard old churl,
On his upper lip there's a bitter curl;
And his black ill-favoured visage throws
A sombre shade o'er his pale blue nose.
Old Father Frost and his family!

When the summer heat hath passed away,
And gentle Rain gives up her sway,
Old Father Frost, with his iron hand,
Seizes and binds each northern land.
Old Father Frost and his family!

And hard it were for the creatures of earth,
Were it not that Lady Rain gives birth
To her chaste and kindly daughter, Snow,
Who throws her mantle o'er all below.
Old Father Frost and his family!

For stern is the fiat of Father Frost,
He chains the waters though tempest-toss't;
And he freezes up the very ground
Till it yields a ringing metal sound.
Old Father Frost and his family!

But like the Paynim maid in the minstrel tale,
Who released the knight from her father's jail,
Sweet sister Snow sets prisoners free,
And mitigates Frost's severity.
Old Father Frost and his family!

Not so kind by half is brother Hail,
Who rattles about in his coat of mail,
And bends and shatters both shrub and flower,
In the wanton display of his father's power.
Old Father Frost and his family!

But Frost, and Rain, and Hail, and Snow,
Come at your time when you come below;
And we'll welcome you all with a cheerful smile,
And drink and laugh and sing the while.
Old Father Frost and his family!