POETRY.
THE NORWEGIAN SKI-RUNNER. ERE yet the morning's golden bars Have put to flight the paling stars, Rap-rap along the frozen way Goes the ski-runner, brisk and gay.
He leaves the hard-bound track below, And seeks the rolling fields of snow, There where the valley opens down Upon the quaint-set wooden town ; Up where the velvet pine-trees stand, And clothe with green a frozen land, He tracks the elk, and in his lair Awakes to life the slumbering bear.
Upleaps the sun with glad surprise, And under his o'ermastering eyes The snowy bosom warms, and glows, And melts into a flood of rose.
Frost diamonds glitter in the rays, And thro' a falling golden haze The runner passes to the bright, Glad, herald burst of morning light.
What reeks he, that he bold intrudes Upon the Frost King's solitudes; Scales the unbroken slopes, and rides Triumphant down the mountain sides ?
Long furrows clean the good ski make, As down their wild, mad course they take ; To right, to left grim boulders lift Their cold, grey noses through the drift.
The forest mazes in and out, This way and that they twist about : They whistle shrill, the trees divide, And down the long, white lanes they glide.
Below the twinkling lights appear, The lights of home the wanderer steer, And far athwart the northern sky Are flung the wizard search-lights high.
The red wood-fire, the wholesome fare, The hard, clean life, the kindling air Are his, and blithe the Norseman sings The glories of his wooden wings.
W. GILCHRIST WILSON.
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