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In the present edition of “Snow-Bound,” the Illustrations are drawn by Mr. Harry Fenn from sketches made by him during a visit to the scene of the poem. The engraving has been done by Mr. A.V.S. Anthony, under whose supervision the book has beenMoreIn the present edition of “Snow-Bound,” the Illustrations are drawn by Mr. Harry Fenn from sketches made by him during a visit to the scene of the poem. The engraving has been done by Mr. A. V. S. Anthony, under whose supervision the book has been prepared, and Mr. W. J. Linton. The Publishers are confident that the drawing, engraving, and printing will commend themselves to the approval of the critic and the connoisseur- while to those unfamiliar with the locale of the poem, the following note from the author will be the best guaranty of the artists’ fidelity. It gives me pleasure to commend the illustrations which accompany this edition of “Snow-Bound,” for the faithfulness with which they present the spirit and the details of the passages and places that the artist has designed them to accompany. J. G. W. “As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of VVood doth the same.” Cor. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v. “Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,Arrives the snow- and, driving o’er the fields,Seems nowhere to alight- the whited airHides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feetDelayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sitAround the radiant fireplace, enclosedIn a tumultuous privacy of storm.”--Emerson. the opening of the poem: THE sun that brief December dayRose cheerless over hills of gray,And, darkly circled, gave at noonA sadder light than waning moon.Slow tracing down the thickening skyIts mute and ominous prophecy,A portent seeming less than threat,It sank from sight before it set.A chill no coat, however stout,Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,A hard, dull bitterness of cold,That checked, mid-vein, the circling raceOf life-blood in the sharpened face,The coming of the snow-storm told.The wind blew east: we heard the roarOf Ocean on his wintry shore,And felt the strong pulse throbbing thereBeat with low rhythm our inland air.Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,—Brought in the wood from out of doors,Littered the stalls, and from the mowsRaked down the herd’s-grass for the cows-Heard the horse whinnying for his corn-And, sharply clashing horn on horn,Impatient down the stanchion rowsThe cattle shake their walnut bows-While, peering from his early perchUpon the scaffold’s pole of birch,The cock his crested helmet bentAnd down his querulous challenge sent. SNOW-BOUND by John Greenleaf Whittier
