him lord of the land.

And many a one did he save from getting
A fever, or cold or cough:
For many a sole did he save from wetting,
When, whether in water or snow 'twas setting,
His shoeing would keep them off

And when he had done with his making and mending,
With hope and a peaceful breast,
Resigning his awl, as his thread was ending,
He slid from his bench, to the grave descending,
As high as a king to rest!

=The Snow-Storm=

It snows! it snows! from out the sky
The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,
Like little birds, that don't know why
They're on the chase, from place to place,
While neither can the other trace!
It snows, it snows! a merry play
Is o'er us, on this sombre day.

As dancers in time's airy hall,
That not a moment holds them all,
While some keep up, and others fall,
The atoms shift; then, thick and swift,
They drive along to form the drift,
That weaving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light.

But now the wind comes, whistling loud,
To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,
Or giant phantom in a shroud.
It spreads,--it curls,--it mounts and whirls;
At length a mighty wing unfurls;
And then, away!--but where, none knows,
Or ever will.--It snows! it snows!

To-morrow will the storm be done;
Then out will come the golden sun!
And we shall, we shall see, upon the run
Before his beams, in sparkling streams,
What now a curtain o'er him seems.
And thus, with life it ever goes;--
'Tis shade and shine! It snows, it snows!

=The Whirlwind=

Whirlwind, Whirlwind, whither art thou hieing,
Snapping off the flowers young and fair;--
Setting all the chaff and the withered leaves a-flying,--
Tossing up the dust in the air?

"I," said the Whirlwind, "cannot stop for talking!
Give me up your cap, my little man;
And the polished stick, that you will not need for walking.
While you run to catch them, if you can!

"You, pretty maiden--none has time to tell her
I am coming, ere I shall be there.
I will twirl her zephyr--snatch her light umbrella,
Seize her hat, and snarl her glossy hair!"

On went the Whirlwind, showing many capers
One would hardly deem it meet to tell;--
Dusting Judge and Parson--flirting gown and papers,--
Discomposing matron, beau and belle.

"Whisk!" from behind came the long and sweeping feather,
Round the head of old Chanticleer:--
Plumed and plumeless biped felt gust together,
In a way they wouldn't like to hear.