A SABLE pall of sky, the billowy hills,
Swath'd in the snowy robe that winter throws
So kindly over nature, skeleton trees,
Fring'd with rich silver drapery, and the stream
Numb in its frosty chains. Yon rustic bridge
Bristles with icicles; beneath it stand
The cattle group, long pausing while they drink
From the ice-hollow'd pools, that skim in sheets
Of delicate glass, and shivering as the air
Cuts with keen, stinging edge; and those gaunt trunks,
Bending with ragged branches o'er the bank,
Seem, with their mocking scarfs of chilling white,
Mourning for the green grass and fragrant flowers,
That summer mirrors in the rippling flow
Of the bright stream beneath them. Shrub and rock
Are carv'd in pearl, and the dense thicket shows
Clusters of purest ivory. Comfortless
The frozen scene, yet not all desolate.
Where slopes, by tree and bush, the beaten track,
The sleigh glides merrily with prancing steeds,
And the low homestead, nestling by its grove,
Clings to the leaning hill.
Had fallen, and then the large loose flakes had shower'd,
Quick freezing where they lit; and thus the scene, By winter's alchymy, from gleaming steel
Was chang'd to sparkling silver.
And rich, the landscape smiles with lovelier look
When Summer gladdens it. The fresh blue sky
Bends like God's blessing o'er; the scented air
Echoes with bird songs, and the emerald grass
Is dappled with quick shadows; the light wing
Of the soft west makes music in the leaves,
The ripples murmur as they dance along;
The thicket, by the road-side, casts its cool,
Black breadth of shade across the heated dust.
The cattle seek the pools beneath the banks,
Where sport the gnat-swarms, glancing in the sun,
Gray, whirling specks, and darts the dragon-fly,
A gold-green arrow; and the wandering flock
Nibble the short, thick sward, that clothes the brink,
Down sloping to the waters. Kindly tones,
And happy faces make the homestead walls
A paradise. Upon the mossy roof
The tame dove coos and bows; beneath the eaves
The swallow frames her nest; the social wren
Lights on the flower-lin'd paling, and trills through
Its noisy gamut; and the humming-bird
Shoots, with that flying harp, the honey-bee,
'Mid the trail'd honeysuckle's trumpet bloom.
Sunset wreathes gorgeous shapes within the west,
To eyes that love the splendor: morning wakes
Light hearts to joyous tasks; and when deep night
Breathes o'er the earth a solemn solitude,
With stars for watches, or the holy moon,
A sentinel upon the steeps of heaven,
Smooth pillows yield their balm to prayer and trust,
And slumber, that sweet medicine of toil,
Sheds her soft dews and weaves her golden dreams.
OF THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ARMY OF PHARAOH-NECHO,
ON HIS INVASION OF CHALDEA.-Jeremiah xlvi. 3-12.
ORDER the buckler, order the shield!
Harness the horses quick for the field!
Mount, ye horsemen, sweep along,
Stand ye forth, ye helmed throng!
Clothe ye in your coats of mail,
Furbish bright the lance and spear;
Stand ye forth, let no one fail;
To the battle draw ye near!
Ah! what means the woful sight?
Back are turned the well-trained bands;
And behold! the men of might
Dash their weapons from their hands;
Smitten, routed, beaten down,
Filled with horror and affright,
Dead to manhood and renown,
See! they safety seek in flight.
Yea, saith the LORD, apace they fly,
They look not back, the foe is nigh;
Fear stalks around, they fly, they fly!
The swift no hiding place can gain,
The mighty no relief;
The humble soldier and the lordly chief,
Prince and peasant, one and all,
Where the northern breezes blow,
Where Euphrates' waters flow,
They shall stumble, they shall fall,
Who is this, with his countless host,
Coming up in his pomp and pride?
Egypt 't is, and this is his boast,
I will go up with my waters wide,
I will overflow on every side;
City and hamlet to ruin I'll bring,
I will destroy each living thing;
I will go up with my mighty river,
Nor man nor God shall my foes deliver.
Dash, ye fiery steeds, along;
Rage, ye chariots, armed for fight;
Come ye forth, ye mingled throng,
Follow close your men of might.
Swarthy tribes of Afric, hear,
Ye that handle well the shield;
Sons of Lybia, draw ye near;
Ethiopians, take the field;
Lydians, also, ye who know
How to bend the sounding bow.
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