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The night sets in on a world of snow, While the air grows sharp and chill, And the warning roar of a fearful blow

Is heard on the distant hill;

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And the norther, see! on the mountain-peak
In his breath how the old trees writhe and shriek!
He shouts on the plain, ho-ho! ho-ho!
He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow,
And growls with a savage will.

Such a night as this to be found abroad,
In the drifts and the freezing air,
Sits a shivering dog, in the field, by the road,
With the snow in his shaggy hair.

He shuts his eyes to the wind and growls;
He lifts his head, and moans and howls;
Then crouching low, from the cutting sleet,
His nose is pressed on his quivering feet —
Pray what does the dog do there?

A farmer came from the village plain -
But he lost the travelled way;

And for hours he trod with might and main
A path for his horse and sleigh;
But colder still the cold winds blew,
And deeper still the deep drifts grew,
And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown,
At last in her struggles floundered down,
Where a log in a hollow lay.

In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort,
She plunged in the drifting snow,

While her master urged, till his breath grew short,

With a word and a gentle blow;

But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight;
His hands were numb and had lost their might;
So he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh.
And strove to shelter himself till day,
With his coat and the buffalo.

He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, To rouse up his dying steed;

And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain
For help in his master's need.

For a while he strives with a wistful cry
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye,
And wags his tail if the rude winds flap
The skirt of the buffalo over his lap,

And whines when he takes no heed.

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And those whom thou wouldst gladly see Are waiting there to welcome thee."

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky, Amid the noontide haze,

A shadowy region met his eye,

And grew beneath his gaze,
As if the vapors of the air
Had gathered into shapes so fair.

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers
Showed bright on rocky bank,
And fountains welled beneath the bowers,
Where deer and pheasant drank.
He saw the glittering streams; he heard
The rustling bough and twittering bird.

And friends, the dead, in boyhood dear,
There lived and walked again;
And there was one who many a year
Within her grave had lain,

A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride —
His heart was breaking when she died.

Bounding, as was her wont, she came

Right towards his resting-place, And stretched her hand and called his name, With that sweet smiling face. Forward, with fixed and eager eyes, The hunter leaned in act to rise:

Forward he leaned - and headlong down
Plunged from that craggy wall;

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown
An instant, in his fall -

A frightful instant, and no more ;
The dream and life at once were o'er.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Softly Woo away her Breath.

SOFTLY WOO away her breath,

Gentle death!

Let her leave thee with no strife,

Tender, mournful, murmuring life ! . She hath seen her happy day —

She hath had her bud and blossom: Now she pales and shrinks away, Earth, into thy gentle bosom !

She hath done her bidding here,
Angels dear!

Bear her perfect soul above,

THE MAY QUEEN.

Seraph of the skies-sweet love!
Good she was, and fair in youth;
And her mind was seen to soar,
And her heart was wed to truth:
Take her, then, for evermore —
For ever-evermore !

BARRY CORNWALL.

The May Queen.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad

new-year

Of all the glad new-year, mother, the maddest, merriest day;

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

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I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;

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He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white;

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love-but that can never be;

They say his heart is breaking, mother-what is that to me?

There's many a bolder lad 'll woo me any summer day;

And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the

green,

And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the queen;

For the shepherd lads on every side 'll come from far away;

And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray;

And I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

meadow-grass,

But I must gather knots of flowers and buds, and The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the garlands gay; For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be And the happy stars above them seem to brighten queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I

see,

But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazeltree?

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He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him All the valley, mother, 'll be fresh and green and yesterday

still,

But I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the queen o' the May. hill,

And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'll merrily The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elmglance and play, tree,

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad new-year:

lea,

And the swallow 'll come back again with summer o'er the wave,

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

To-morrow 'll be of all the year the maddest, mer- Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave riest day, of mine,

For I'm to be queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be In the early, early morning the summer sun 'll queen o' the May.

NEW-YEAR'S EVE.

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear,

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad newyear.

It is the last new-year that I shall ever see

Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me.

shine,

Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill

When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light

You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;

When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool

To-night I saw the sun set-he set and left be- On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulhind

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rush in the pool.

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.

I shall not forget you, mother; I shall hear you when you pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive

me now;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow;

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild;

There's not a flower on all the hills-the frost is You should not fret for me, mother-you have

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Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the what you say, blessed sun, And be often, often with you when you think I'm And now it seems as hard to stay; and yet, His

far away.

Good-night! good-night! when I have said goodnight for evermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door,

will be done!

But still I think it can't be long before I find release;

And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace.

hair!

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be Oh blessings on his kindly voice, and on his silver growing greenShe'll be a better child to you than ever I have And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet been.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor.

Let her take 'em-they are hers; I shall never garden more.

me there!

Oh blessings on his kindly heart, and on his silver head!

A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush He showed me all the mercy, for he taught me all that I set

the sin;

About the parlor-window, and the box of migno- Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One

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How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the All in the wild March morning I heard the angels year!

call

To die before the snowdrop came, and now the It was when the moon was setting, and the dark violet's here.

Oh sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies;

And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise;

was over all;

The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll,

And in the wild March morning I heard them call my soul.

And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers For, lying broad awake, I thought of you and Effie that blow;

dear;

And sweeter far is death than life, to me that long I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here;

to go.

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