Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/304

300 Feels not within her pallid cheek The rich blood mantling warm, Like her who, laughing, shakes the snow From powdered tress and form.

A tasteful hand the snow hath— For on the storied pane I saw its Alpine landscapes traced With arch and sculptured fane, Where high o'er hoary-headed cliffs The dizzy Simplon wound, And old cathedrals reared their towers With Gothic tracery bound.

I think it hath a tender heart, For I marked it while it crept To spread a sheltering mantle where The infant blossom slept. It doth to Earth a deed of love— Though in a wintry way; And her turf-gown will be greener For the snow that's fallen to-day.

The occurrence of slight snow-storms, being unusually frequent during the autumn of 1843, I amused myself with making the following simple calendar of them in their order of succession.