Poems (Trask)/The Sleigh-Ride
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THE SLEIGH-RIDE.
Bright gleam the golden stars spangling the blue,
Round the white moon lifts her splendor to view,—
Low in the west the faint light of day
Dies in its red flush softly away;
Pearl-clear the snow robe spread o'er the land,
White with the frost flowers all the trees stand.
Round the white moon lifts her splendor to view,—
Low in the west the faint light of day
Dies in its red flush softly away;
Pearl-clear the snow robe spread o'er the land,
White with the frost flowers all the trees stand.
Bring up the courser! hang on the bells!
Hurrah for a sleigh-ride o'er hills and o'er dells!
In 'mid the fur robes! slacken the rein,—
Away like the wind o'er the hard beaten plain!
Oh, Fate, grant us wings! we are panting for flight
Through the sharp biting cold of this bright winter night!
Hurrah for a sleigh-ride o'er hills and o'er dells!
In 'mid the fur robes! slacken the rein,—
Away like the wind o'er the hard beaten plain!
Oh, Fate, grant us wings! we are panting for flight
Through the sharp biting cold of this bright winter night!
Steed, jingle the bells! toss your rich flowing mane!
And lift your proud head in your haughty disdain!
On over the piled drifts like lightning-winged light,—
Up, up the steep hills like deer in a fright,—
Right merrily onward and onward we go!
Ye gods! there is naught will compare with the snow!
And lift your proud head in your haughty disdain!
On over the piled drifts like lightning-winged light,—
Up, up the steep hills like deer in a fright,—
Right merrily onward and onward we go!
Ye gods! there is naught will compare with the snow!