THE WOOD FROLIC
The Morning Star was bitter bright, the morning sky was grey;
And we hitched our teams and started for the woods at break of day.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
Along the white and winding road the sled-bells jangled keen
Between the buried fences, the billowy drifts between.
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
So crisp sang the runners, and so swift the horses sped,
That the woods were all about us ere the sky grew red.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
The bark hung ragged on the birch, the lichen on the fir,
The lungwort fringed the maple, and grey moss the juniper.
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
So still the air and chill the air the branches seemed asleep,
But we broke their ancient visions as the axe bit deep.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
With the shouts of the choppers and the barking of their blades,
How rang the startled valleys and the rabbit-haunted glades!
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
The hard wood and the soft wood, we felled them for our use;
And chiefly, for its scented gum, we loved the scaly spruce;
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
And here and there, with solemn roar, some hoary tree came down,
And we heard the rolling of the years in the thunder of its crown.
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
So, many a sled was loaded up above the stake-tops soon;
And many a load was at the farm before the horn of noon;
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!