THE ICE SPIRIT.
O, where is the place where the sad heart may rest,
And hush all its sorrows and fears?
O, can the wide world show a region so blest,
Where the Ice Spirit never appears?
And hush all its sorrows and fears?
O, can the wide world show a region so blest,
Where the Ice Spirit never appears?
It chills the warm current of life in the veins,
To feel but his terrible breath:
He flutters his wings o'er the gardens and plains;
They are still and as silent as death.
To feel but his terrible breath:
He flutters his wings o'er the gardens and plains;
They are still and as silent as death.
The stream in yon meadow that sparkles so gay,
And, murmuring, hurries along,
The lee Spirit shall stop in its flowery way,
And silence its heart-touching song.
And, murmuring, hurries along,
The lee Spirit shall stop in its flowery way,
And silence its heart-touching song.
He delighteth to nip the Spring's early blossom;
He darkens e'en poverty's gloom;
He pillows his head on the maniac's bosom;
His home is the dark, narrow tomb.
He darkens e'en poverty's gloom;
He pillows his head on the maniac's bosom;
His home is the dark, narrow tomb.
But, when some fond heart with friendship that glows,
O'erburdened with sorrow and care,
On the bosom beloved would seek for repose,
And finds but the Ice Spirit there—
O'erburdened with sorrow and care,
On the bosom beloved would seek for repose,
And finds but the Ice Spirit there—
