126 WILD SCENES AND SONG-BIRDS. 



And now he lies down beneath white sheets of home, 



Sleeping slowly to dreamless rest, 

 While shrieking winds, as his senses grow numb, 



Are changed for the harps of the blest. 



And where the great city uplifteth its crest, 

 He will find how the poor folk hide, 



Ah ! that is the sport which he loveth the best, 

 In ! through the rough crannies to glide ! 



And fiercely go singing beneath each tatter, 

 Then hiss at them when they make wails, 



And pierce and pinch them until their teeth chatter, 

 And their lips grow blue as their nails. 



Then he loveth to slam at the rich man's door, 

 And rattle and bang through his halls, 



And taunt him with creakings and dismally roar, 

 'Till the fur- wrapped thing he appalls ; 



And it shivers cringing, to think of the Poor 

 That are dying without its walls. 



IV. 

 He comes from a dreary, glittering land, 



Where strange bright horrors dwell, 

 You could not expect he'd be very bland, 



Whose playmates were so fell. 



For all monstrous shapes like the Lion Seal, 



Tusked Walrus and White Bear, 

 With the long Whales plunging, roar and reel 



In uncouth gambols there. 



Amidst great seas on the air uplifted, 

 Their icy walls wind-torn, 



