The Indiana State Sentinel

Sleighing

By LEE O. HARRIS.

We are gliding where the meadows
In their crystal beauty glow;
Through the forest where the shadows
Lie asleep upon the snow;
Where the naked oaks, a-shiver,
Of the stinging cold complain
To the half-imprisoned river
Tearing at its icy chain.
Where the frozen brooklet lingers
Till the winter's reign is o'er,
And the willows wring their fingers
As they crouch along the shore;
Through the silvery light that glances
Where the mail-clad hills arise,
Till they shake their ashen lances
In defiance at the skies.
Oh, was ever joy completer
Than the sleighing time compels?
Was there ever music sweeter
Than this singing of the bells?
Was there ever lighter motion
Than this gliding of the sleigh,
Like a shallop on the ocean
With its wake of flying spray?
Not a cloud is in yon far height
As it arches blue and fair,
And the frost, like frozen starlight,
Trembles downward through the air,
While the moon above us hanging,
Earthward turns her silver bow.
Don't you hear her arrows twanging
As they fall upon the snow?
Love may pine in melancholy
Where the tropic breezes blow,
But he laughs to scorn such folly
As he flies above the snow,
Where the blood with very madness
Through the bounding pulses swells,
And the heart in rhythmic gladness
Times the music of the bells.

Lewisville, Ind., Feb. 4, 1878.