IN the North the spring comes in a day. For 

 four long months the white paw of the Arctic bear 

 holds everything in icy clutch. The tread of it 

 flattens all minor growths, the iron claws of it hook 

 into vale and ravine, and at their touch the singing 

 waters cease their foamy play and chill and stiffen 

 in the coldness of a deathlike trance. On stream 

 and pond flashes the crystal breastplate of the Frost 

 King's service. To them comes the Captain Bear. 

 " Sleep " is the monarch's order, which the captain 

 must enforce ; so he travels far and wide, treading 

 with creaking weight on snowy feet. His "grand 

 rounds" mean rest, the ceasing of all strife, the 

 temporary triumph of the forces of the North upon 

 that bloodless field which must in turn be won and 



