Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/69

 FIRST OF DECEMBER. Hark; the rude hind, with sturdy blow, Gives the imprison'd streams to flow ! Loud rings round, from rock to rock, In long repeat, the crackling shock; O'er the wide foiest echoes still, And dies to silence on the hill. Thro' the ice-encrusted trees Rattles the hoarse and hollow breeze. The plover's and the curlew's scream Scare Meditation's idle dream; And, mingling with their shrilly yell, Prophetic sounds the storm'foretell. Seen afar, the stooping sail Scuds along before the gale: Now loud--now 1ow--advanceretreat The big waves, with alternate heat. Against the cottage window-pane Drives the sharp sleet, and pattering rain; They within, around the blaze, Tell the 1ov'd tales of other days; Hear the wild stnn around them roar, And feel their every comfort more; While,' as they think on those, who roam O'er the bleak waste without a home, Pity of a tear beguiles, To mingle with their joyous smiles. E ......... GooIe

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