James Russell Lowest. 
TAOWN swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, 
From the snow five thousand Summers old; 
On open wold and hill-top bleak 
It had gathered all the cold. 
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderei’’s cheek; 
It carried a shiver every where 
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; 
The little brook heard it, and built a roof 
'Neath which he could house him, Winter-proof; 
All night by the white stars’ frosty gleams 
He groined his arches and matched his beams; 
Slender and clear were his crystal spars 
As the lashes of light that trim the stars; 
He sculptured every Summer delight 
In his halls and chambers out of sight; 
Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 
Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt, 
Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees, 
Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 
