Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/73

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 forest 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 low-advance-retreat. The big waves, with alternate beat. Against the cottage window-pane Drives the sharp sleet, and pattering rain; They within, around the blaze, Tell the lov'd tales of other days; Hear the wild storm 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.