Frost Pictures on Window-Pane of "Turf, Field, and Farm"

I trace the silver fretwork of the frost upon my pane,
The crystallizing pearl-drops of the snowflake and the rain;
And I know it is but vapor, condensed upon the glass,
Yet how lifelike are its scenes that before my vision pass!
I seem to see grand mountains, rising white amid the sky,
The Alps, the Andes, soaring majestically high;
I trace their airy summits, each peak and snowy cone,
Their caves and dark ravines, where never sunbeams shone.
I see the falling torrents and the glaziers' frozen sea,
The larch, the pine-tree forests, the sombre cypress-tree —
Works of no mortal painter, wrought by no human hand,
Trac'd by the fairy Frost-queen with her imperial wand.

I seem to see a race-course, the grand-stand's crowded height;
The flutter of gay ribbons, of flags and banners bright;
The brave steeds and their riders, impatient for the race,
Each speeding like an arrow to take the foremost place.
And methinks I hear the shoutings, like thunders of the surf —
It is the frantic plaudits at some triumph of the Turf !

Again the picture changes: I see a landscape wide,
A fox-hunt, a deer-hunt, where fast the huntsmen ride.
I see along the woodside the coveys as they rise,
And quick the quail-flock flutters, and swift the partridge flies.
I see the flash, I see blue smokes above the thicket float;
I see them on the river, ascend from fowler's boat;
I seem to hear the guns that o'er the marshes peal'd,
And echoings of reports in every stubble F IELD .

And now the frost discloses a lovely summer scene,
The waving grain, the bending woods, with shining streams between.
I see the gray old homestead o'erhung with elm and oak,
I hear the plough-boy's whistle, the flail's resounding stroke.
And all this scene of beauty, that every sense may charm,
Spread on the frosted casement, is some secluded Farm .

One other scene — a home-scene, a fireside scene of joy —
A blazing hearth, a flaming lamp, sire, mother, girl, and boy.
The father reads a printed sheet, the evening hour to charm,
It is the sportsman's journal — the Turf , the F IELD and Farm .
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