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.