Snow Storm

What a night! The wind howls, hisses, and but stops     To howl more loud, while the snow volley keeps     Incessant batter at the window pane,     Making our comfort feel as sweet again;     And in the morning, when the tempest drops,     At every cottage door mountainous heaps     Of snow lie drifted, that all entrance stops     Untill the beesom and the shovel gain     The path, and leave a wall on either side.     The shepherd rambling valleys white and wide     With new sensations his old memory fills,     When hedges left at night, no more descried,     Are turned to one white sweep of curving hills,     And trees turned bushes half their bodies hide.     The boy that goes to fodder with surprise     Walks oer the gate he opened yesternight.     The hedges all have vanished from his eyes;     Een some tree tops the sheep could reach to bite.     The novel scene emboldens new delight,     And, though with cautious steps his sports begin,     He bolder shuffles the huge hills of snow,     Till down he drops and plunges to the chin,     And struggles much and oft escape to win--     Then turns and laughs but dare not further go;     For deep the grass and bushes lie below,     Where little birds that soon at eve went in     With heads tucked in their wings now pine for day     And little feel boys oer their heads can stray.