“Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and driving o’er the fields
Seems nowhere to alight, the whitened air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heavens
And veils the farmhouse at the garden’s end.”
Every living thing instinctively seeks safe sanctuary against the advancing fury of the storm; and desolation broods o’er all the land. The hoarse winds rise and rage and croon their wailing symphonies about the picturesque old gray-gabled farmhouses, and the inmates settle themselves contentedly within doors where all is made safe and snug. And thus the mighty blizzard rages for days. But at last the grateful sunshine deigns to burst forth once again, and like magic the scene of desolation has changed:
“Come, see the North Wind’s masonry
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves the white bastions with projected roof