Excerpt from The Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier, Vol. 2 of 4

The Frost Spirit.

He comes, - he comes, - the Frost Spirit comes!

You may trace his footsteps now

On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the

brown hill"s withered brow.

He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees

where their pleasant green came forth,

And the winds, which follow wherever he goes,

have shaken them down to earth.

He comes, - he comes, - the Frost Spirit comes!

from the frozen Labrador,

From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which

the white bear wanders o"er,

Where the fisherman"s sail is stiff with ice, and the

luckless forms below

In the sunless cold of the lingering night into mar-

ble status grow!

He comes, - he comes, - the Frost Spirit comes!

on the rushing Northern blast,

And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his

fearful breath went past.

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