Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/303

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,