The school-boys left the slippery hillock's crown,
So keen the blast came o'er the eastern bay;
And pale in vapors thick the sun went down,
And the glassed forest cast a sombre frown.
IV.
The busy house-wife guarded well the door,
That night, against the gathering winter storm—
Did well the walls of all the cot explore
Where'er the snow-gust might a passage form;
And to the couch of age and childhood bore
With anxious care the mantle thick and warm;
And then of fuel gathered ample store,
And bade the blaze up the rude chimney roar.
V.
That night sate Williams, with his children, by
The blazing hearth—his consort at his side;
And often did she heave the heavy sigh
As still her task of needle-work she plied;
And, from the lashes of her azure eye,
Did often brush the starting tear aside;
For they at Spring the savage wilds must try,—
'Twas so decreed by ruthless bigotry.
VI.
Beside the good-man lay his Bible's fair
Broad open page upon the accustomed stand,
And many a passage had he noted there,
Of Israel wandering o'er the desert's sand,
And each assurance he had marked with care,
Made by Jehovah, of the promised land;
And from the sacred page had learned to dare
The exile's peril, and his ills to bear.
