The north Iowa times. [volume] (M'Gregor [i.e. McGregor], Iowa) 1856-1857, 1856-12-19
MISCELLANEOUS,
SCENE IN A VERMONT WINTER.

a BY CHARLES G. EASTMAN.
Tis fearful night in the winter time,
| As cold rs it ever can be;
| The roar of the storm is heard like the chime
| OF the waves on n angry sea.
The moon is full, but her silver light
The storm dashes out with his wings tonight
| And over the sky from south to north,
| Not star is seen as the winds come forth
| In the strength ofa mighty glee.
All day the snow came down-all day
Asst never came down before,
And over the earth at night there lay
Some two or three feet or more.
| The fence was lost, and the wall of stone;
The windows blockd and the well-curb gone
| The haystack grown to mountain lift
| And the wosdpile lookedllk monster drift
| AS it lay at the farmers door.
As the night set in, came hail and snow,
And the air grew sharp and chill,
| And the warning roar Of sullen blow
Was heard on the distant hill
And the Norther see !on the mountain peak,
In his breath how the old trees writhe and shrek
He shouts along the plain, Ho ! Ho!
He drives from his nostrils the binding snow,
And growls with savage will!
Such night as this to be found abroad
In the snow and the singing air,
shivering dog in the field by the road,
When the hail through his shaggy hair
The wind drives hard, doth crouch and growl,
And shut his eyes with dismal how'll
Then to shield himself from the cutting slect,
His nose is pressed on his quiyering feet.
Pray, what does the dog DO there
His master came from the town tonight,
And lost the travelled way;
And for hours he trod with main and might
A path for his horse and sleigh;
But deeper still the snow-drilts grew,
And colder still the fierce wind blew;
And his mare beautiful Morgan brown,
At last DER log had floundered down,
That deep in huge Drift lay.
Many plunge, with frenzied snort,
She made in the heavy snow;
And her master strovc till his breath grew short,
With word and gentle blow;
But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight,
His hands were numbd, and had lost their might
So he struggled back to his sleigh again,
And strOve to shelter himself in vain,
| With his coat and his 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 helpin his masters need.
He strives for while with a wistful cry
To catch but glance from his heavy eye,
And wags his tail if the rude wind flap
The skirts of his coat across his lap,
And whines that he takes no heed.
The wind goes down the storm is DER;
~ is the hour Of midnight past
The forest writhes and bends no more
In the rush OF the mighty blast.
The moon looks out with silver light
On the high old hills, with the snow all white
And the giant shadow Of Camel's Hump,
Oflcdge. and tree, and ghostly stump,
On the silent plain are cast.
But there are they-by the hidden log
Who came that night from the town
Alldead the man and his faithful dog,
And his beautiful Morgan brown!
He sits in his slegh-his face is bland
With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand
The dog with his head ON his masters feet,
And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet,
Where she lay when she foundered down!