Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/303

Rh And a pleasant thing it is to see The cottage children peep From out the drifts that to their eaves Prolongs its rampart deep.

The patient farmer searches His buried lambs to find, And dig his silly poultry out, Who clamor in the wind; How sturdily he cuts his way, Though wild blasts beat him back, And caters for his waiting herd Who shiver round the stack.

Right welcome are those feathery flakes To the ruddy urchins' eye, As down the long, smooth hill they coast, With shout and revelry; Or when the moonlight, clear and cold, Calls out their throng to play— Oh! a merry gift the snow is        For a Christmas holiday.

The city miss, who, wrapped in fur, Is lifted to the sleigh, And borne so daintily to school Along the crowded way,