THE WOLF.

Whoo—whoo—

The rain in the hollow

The wan gray sleet will follow,

The shaggy moor

Will lie at the door,

Heavy with mould,

Dead with cold,

Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.

36Whoo—whoo—

The wind in the willow,

The snow heaped up for a pillow,

The shell of ice,

Will crush in a trice,

An iron mould,

To have and to hold,

Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.

Whoo—whoo—

The frost in the furrow,

Heat takes long to burrow,

The fire on the hearth

Shakes its mirth

At one of God’s poor,

Outside the door,

Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.

Whoo—whoo—

Weary and worry him,

Gnaw him, tug him, and carry him;

Dig him a pit,

Shallow and fit,

In the colder cold

It will hold or unfold,

Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.

Whoo—whoo—

The steam from the thatches,

The casement tawny in patches;

Look not yet,

You might never forget

The ghost of breath,

Or the leper Death,

Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.

37