I long to hear the thundering crash
Of their terrific fall;
And the echoes from a thousand cliffs,
Like lonely voices call.
There we shall see the fierce white bear,
The sleepy seals aground,
And the spouting whales that to and fro
Sail with a dreary sound.
We'll pass the shores of solemn pine,
Where wolves and black bears prowl,
And away to the rocky isles of mist
To rouse the northern fowl.
And there, in the wastes of the silent sky,
With the silent earth below,
We shall see far off to his lonely rock
The lonely eagle go.
Then softly, softly we will tread
By island streams, to see
Where the pelican of the silent North
Sits there all silently.
—William Howitt.
[DECEMBER]
And now December's snows are here,
The light flakes flutter down,
And hoarfrost glitters, white and fair,
Upon the branches brown.
—Selected.