Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1872-01-18
2: 2: ~ ). tIsss I,sk'} FISK BROS, Publishers.
Written for the Herald. .t... p.
THE VOICE OF WINTER.

come, come! tits me, ye may know,
come DER the mountains with wind and snow
With scowi on my brow, and death on my cheek,
With the light of my eye all sunken and bleak;
My vesture all worn, my hair like the frost,
My form bending low and its steadiness lost .-
have breathed the north my death dealing BREATH
II has touched oil the flowers with hue of DEATH
And the ancient oak and sturdy lin . .'y
Are left all bare where my breath hath been. ..:
But it's not for me, in hour Of dread, .-. ''
To speak of the living, but Of the dead. ' -t -.
have looked ON the South, and her sunny wales
Are robbed of their verdure by my chilling gales;
The sea has Q tinge Of deeper blue, .
The sky has a look of darker hue; ,,( ~tl
The bleat of the lamb ye hear not again, d..
And the rivulet is bound by my icy chain.
The hills and the mountains and the valleys betweeen
Are robed in the vesture Of my snowy screen;
Ny icy fingers are hanging all stiff .. >, ..s
From the caves Of each house and every cliff. h
The Jays wild note is stihed and still,
And ye hear not now the gurgling rl. .-.,...
The brooks and founts have ceased their few
They are buried deep meath the lily snow;
They sweep no more down the mountain brows
They fling no spray DER the forrest bows;
They gush no more from their sparTy caves,
And the earth is silent as q realm Of graves
see not abroad the happy throngs
Who sing, in Summer, their rustic songs;
have shut them up by their fires bright,
Where the sparks fly out with Q streak Of light;
They dread my voise &C II whistles by,
And they wish again for the clear blue sky.
The poor laboring man, with care-worn brow,
Faces the wind and braves me now;
He sallies forth from his much loved cot,
And sighs with the wind for his lowly lot;
He thinks as he goes thro' street and lane
'Tis hard to live through my piercing reign.
The leaves which danced to the warm Spring breeze
Are moulde-ing away meath the forest trees; ID
The laurel of fame stands lowly bent,
From the clear bright crystal on its twfge sent,
Like man who bows meath burthen of pains,
While age is abroad in my dark domains .-
And ye! ye were gay in the spring time of life,
But ye changed by the worlds bitter strife;
Your eye hath a look of piercing glare,
Which speaks of word of sorrow and care;
Ye smile! but your smile hath look of pain,
And know that we ne'er shall meet again.
OF the Tyre and the wreath ye have lost the charm
You heavily lean your friends strong arm;
The JOY of your footsteps has long since fed,
The winter of life is white on your head; q
I'll return again on my annual round,
And find you buried heath the cold, cold ground.
Perchance ye may live till the lay of Spring
May gladden. youB heart with its merry ring;
Your brow may assume a look more bright,
Your eye may glisten with new delight:
The hair of your head tho white snow,
May dance to the winds, as they sweetly blow.
Oh, what change! for see not here
An whom saw in the vanished year.
They are gone-they are gone to a brighter shore.
retrace my steps; ye are mine no more.
1 go where none but myself may dwell
tarry no longer-farewell! farewell! - ...<r
-.. 49, g s'...s+
Spring is coming, with sprig in her cap;
Go pluck the flowers from her dewy lap
And bind wreath for your children fair,
Ere you loose the CLEAN of their shining hair.
But, for me, depart to a frozen dell
Where the flowers eer bloom-fare ye well, farewell!