And claps his wings close to his sharpen'd breast. The wandering fowler from behind the hedge,
150 Fastens his eye upon him, points his gun, And firing wantonly, as at a mark, Of life bereaves him in the cheerful spot That oft hath echo'd to his summer's song.
The mid-day hour is near; the pent-up kine cows
155 Are driven from their stalls to take the air. How stupidly they stare! and feel how strange! They open wide their smoking mouths to low, But scarcely can their feeble sound be heard, Then turn and lick themselves and, step by step,
160 Move, dull and heavy, to their stalls again.
In scatter'd groups the little idle boys, With purple fingers molding in the snow Their icy ammunition, pant for war; And drawing up in opposite array,
165 Send forth a mighty shower of well-aim'd balls. Each tiny hero tries his growing strength, And burns to beat the foe-men off the field. Or on the well-worn ice in eager throngs, After short race, shoot rapidly along,
170 Trip up each other's heels, and on the surface With studded shoes draw many a chalky line. Untired and glowing with the healthful sport They cease not till the sun hath run his course, And threatening clouds, slow rising from the north,
175 Spread leaden darkness o'er the face of heaven; Then by degrees they scatter to their homes, Some with a broken head or bloody nose, To claim their mother's pity, who, most skillful! Cures all their troubles with a bit of bread.
180 The night comes on apace?Chill blows the blast and drives the snow in wreaths; Now every creature looks around for shelter, And whether man or beast, all move alike Towards their homes, and happy they who have
185 A house to screen them from the piercing cold! Lo, o'er the frost a reverend form advances! His hair white as the snow on which he treads, His forehead mark'd with many a care-worn furrow, Whose feeble body bending o'er a staff,
190 Shows still that once it was the seat of strength, Though now it shakes like some old ruin'd tower. Clothed indeed, but not disgraced with rags, He still maintains that decent dignity
Which well becomes those who have served their country.
195 With tottering steps he gains the cottage door; The wife within, who hears his hollow cough, And pattering of his stick upon the threshold,
.
21 8 / JOANNA BAILLIE
Sends out her little boy to see who's there. The child looks up to mark the stranger's face,
200 And, seeing it enlighten'd with a smile, Holds out his tiny hand to lead him in. Round from her work the mother turns her head, And views them, not ill pleased. The stranger whines not with a piteous tale,
205 But only asks a little to relieve A poor old soldier's wants. The gentle matron brings the ready chair And bids him sit to rest his weary limbs, And warm himself before her blazing fire.
210 The children, full of curiosity, Flock round, and with their fingers in their mouths Stand staring at him, while the stranger, pleased, Takes up the youngest urchin on his knee. Proud of its seat, it wags its little feet,
215 And prates and laughs and plays with his white locks. But soon a change comes o'er the soldier's face; His thoughtful mind is turn'd on other days, When his own boys were wont to play around him, Who now lie distant from their native land
220 In honorable but untimely graves: He feels how helpless and forlorn he is, And big round tears course down his wither'd cheeks. His toilsome daily labor at an end, In comes the wearied master of the house, 225 And marks with satisfaction his old guest, In the chief seat, with all the children round him. His honest heart is fill'd with manly kindness, He bids him stay and share their homely meal, And take with them his quarters for the night. 230 The aged wanderer thankfully accepts, And by the simple hospitable board, Forgets the by-past hardships of the day.
When all are satisfied, about the fire They draw their seats and form a cheerful ring.
235 The thrifty housewife turns her spinning-wheel; The husband, useful even in his hour Of ease and rest, a stocking knits, belike, Or plaits stored rushes, which with after skill Into a basket form'd may do good service,
240 With eggs or butter fill'd at fair or market.
Some idle neighbors now come dropping in, Draw round their chairs and widen out the circle; And every one in his own native way Does what he can to cheer the social group.
245 Each tells some little story of himself, That constant subject upon which mankind, Whether in court or country, love to dwell. How at a fair he saved a simple clown0 country fellow
.
A WINTER'S DAY / 219
From being trick'd in buying of a cow;
250 Or laid a bet on his own horse's head Against his neighbor's bought at twice his cost, Which fail'd not to repay his better skill; Or on a harvest day bound in an hour More sheaves of corn than any of his fellows,
255 Though e'er so stark,0 could do in twice the time; strong, powerful Or won the bridal race with savory broose4 And first kiss of the bonny bride, though all The fleetest youngsters of the parish strove In rivalry against him.
260 But chiefly the good man, by his own fire, Hath privilege of being listen'd to, Nor dares a little prattling tongue presume, Though but in play, to break upon his story. The children sit and listen with the rest;
