THE

NORWEGIAN HUNTER.

WHERE no warm breeze e'er bade to flow
The heights of Dofrine’s stubborn snow,
Where scarce a sun-beam cheers the day,
The hardy hunter seeks his prey.
While round his pine-built cabin roars
Each storm that varying winter pours,
He, fearless, from the mountain's brow
Or makes the clouds that roll below,
Or lists the din of storms that beat
With ceaseless rage beneath his feet.

But oft from some projecting steep The' impetuous winds long-sapping sweep A waste of snow..... With thundering bound Down rushes fast the gathering mound,

O’er crags, o'er pines it drives amain
With hideous crash, and whelms the plain.

The Hunter only 'scapes....his way
He took at early dawn of day,
Braved the keen blast and drifting snow,
To chase the elk or bounding roe....
At eve, fatigued, he quits the plain,
And seeks his peaceful cot again ;
Bethinks him of the fire that burns
To cheer his home when he returns ;
Anticipates his children's smiles,
His wife's caresses; and beguiles

;
With soothing thoughts his dreary way.
The toils, the pleasures of the day
Already he prepares to tell
To those with whom his rapt thoughts dwell;
Already he in thought beholds
The cot that all his treasure holds,
And thinks he sees his children raise
Their little hands, he sees them gaže
With wonder on the beamy horn,
From the elk's lofty forehead torn.

...............Ah wretch ! no more thy eyes shall see Thy much loved cot....No more for thee

At eve the cheerful fire shall burn To welcome thee at thy return.... Ah, wretch ! for thee no more the smile Of thy dear children shall beguile The tedious hours, nor shall the care Of thy fond wife again prepare The simple meal, nor o'er thy bed The soft fur of the rein-deer spread..... All that was lovely to thine eyes O’erwhelmed in one sad ruin lies; And oft, in midnight's awful gloom, When thou revolv'st their early doom, Thy fears shall bid before thine eyes Spirits of other worlds arise ; And voices as of those so dear Shall shriek upon thy startled ear.

7