Winter’s Farewell
THEY are growing tired of the poor old man;
I have known it long; and it first began
When Spring sent messengers one day
To herald her coming along this way.
Ah! A fickle set are these girls and boys,
For they welcomed me with the wildest noise.
And I went to work with a right good will,
To make them happy; on dale and hill
I rallied my forces, snow and ice,
To fashion new roads all smooth and nice,
Where they could coast or hound away
O'er the frozen ground in the dashing sleigh.
I caught the stream-as it-tried to pass
And floored it o'er with the finest glass,
That they on the keen-edged skate might glide,
Or chase each other a-down the slide.
And I rather think were it not for me
They never old (Man) would see.
When Autumn left the earth so bare,
I came with beautiful things, and rare;
The landscape glistened in crystal gems,
And forests in pearly diadems;
And all that perished beneath her feet
I wrapt around in a winding-sheet.
The rain, young Spring, I've heard it said,
Has no respect for my hoary head;
No glory of mine is ever seen
Whene'er she dons her suit of green;
And if I turn but a moment back,
She pushes the old man oil the track.
But, as Autumn yielded her golden crown,
And I am robbed of my robes of down;
E'er I wish good-bye, I would like to say,
It will be her turn to step out some day.
Ah! Here she comes; I'll hurry and go,
I'm off to the land of the Esquimaux.
S. S. Classmate.