CHAPTER IX

Thus on the chill Lapponian’s dreary land, For many a long month lost in snow profound, When Sol from Cancer sends the seasons bland, And in their northern cave the storms hath bound; From silent mountains, straight, with startling sound, Torrents are hurl’d, green hills emerge, and lo, The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crown’d; Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go; And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant’s heart o’erflow. BEATTIE Several of her succeeding days passed in …