With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocks
Onward still urged by man and dog, escape
The smothering drift; while, skulking at aside,
Is seen the fox, with close down-folded tail,
Watching his time to seize a straggling prey;
Or, from some lofty crag, he ominous howls,
And makes approaching night more dismal fall.
During this month, the increasing influence of the sun is scarcely felt, till we approach the end, then hoping, watch from day to day the lengthened minutes as they pass, to usher in Spring’s holy charms.