296 SELECT POETRY

THE FROST SPIRIT.

He comes—he comes—the frost spirit comes !
You may trace his footsteps now

On the naked woods, and the blasted fields,
And the broad hill’s withered brow.

He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees
Where their pleasant green came forth,

And the winds which follow wherever he goes,
Have shaken them down to earth.

He comes—he comes—the frost spirit comes!
From the frozen Labrador—

From the icy bridge of the Northern Seas,
Which the white bear wanders o’er—

Where the fisherman’s sail is stiff with ice,
And the luckless forms below

In the sunless cold of the atmosphere
Into marble statues grow !

He comes—he comes—the frost spirit comes !
On the rushing northern blast,

And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed
As his fearful breath went past.

With an unscorched wing he has hurried on,
Where the fires of Hecla glow

On the darkly beautiful sky above
And the ancient ice below.

He comes—he comes—the frost spirit comes .
And the quiet lake: hall feel

The torpid touch of his glazing breath,
And ring to the skater’s heel ;