He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! From the frozen Labrador,-- From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, Which the white bear wanders o'er,-- Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, And the luckless forms below In the sunless cold of the lingering night, Into marble statues grow! He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! On the rushing Northern blast, And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed As his fearful breath went past. With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, Where the fires of Hecla glow On the darkly beautiful sky above, And the ancient ice below. He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! And the quiet lake shall feel The torpid touch of his glazing breath, And ring to the skater's heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, Or sang to the leaning grass, Shall bow again to their winter chain, And in mournful silence pass. [Illustration: "THE FISHERMAN'S SAIL IS STIFF WITH ICE."] He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! Let us meet him as we may, And turn with light of the parlor-fire His evil power away; And gather closer the circle round, When that fire-light dances high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend, As his sounding wing goes by. [Illustration] THE ARROW AND THE SONG. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. [Illustration] I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BRIDGE. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. I stood on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower. I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea. And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon. Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away; As, sweeping and eddying through them. Rose the belated tide, And, streaming into the moonlight, The sea-weed floated wide. And like those waters rushing Among the wooden piers, A flood of thoughts came o'er me, That filled my eyes with tears. How often; Oh! how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight, And gazed on that wave and sky!