THE SNOW-STORM.
And a pleasant thing it is to see
The cottage children peep From out the drift, that to their eaves
Prolongs its rampart deep.
The patient farmer searches
His buried lambs to find, And dig his silly poultry out,
That clamour in the wind : How sturdily he cuts his way
Though fierce blasts beat him back, And caters for his waiting herd,
That shiver round the stack.
Right welcome are those feath'ry flakes
To the ruddy urchins' eye, As down the long smooth hill they coast,
With shout and revelry, Or when the moon shines clear and cold,
And the band come out to play, 0, a merry gift the snow is
For a Christmas holiday.
The city miss who, wrapt in furs,
Is lifted to the sleigh, And borne so daintily to school
Along the crowded way,
�� �
