50 The Red-Poll Linnet 
Heights where robber eagles linger, 
Vales where caribou are feeding, 
Glens in which at hour of evening 
Rises wild disturbing clamor 
From the lucivee, the wood fiend. 
Rose-touched are their brows, with tints 
like 
Lights upon a winter's snow-field. 
Rosy are their caps as morning 
When the storm clouds gather eastward, 
Happy are their hearts and voices, 
Happy are the fields and forests, 
When their merry notes come jingling, 
Sleighbell like, from upper ether, 
Happy is the red-cheeked farmer 
When they gather by his barnyard. 
Even as the red-poll linnets 
Gather from the bleaker Northland 
On Chocorua's wintry pastures. 
Scorned by sparrows, finches, juncos, 
So in other scenes of world life 
