Now winter's wind sweeps o'er the mountains,
Deeply clad in drifting snow;
Soundly sleep the frozen fountains;
Ice-bound streams forget to flow:
The piercing blast howls loud and long,
The leafless forest oaks among.

Down the glen, lo! comes a stranger,
Wayworn, drooping, all alone;--
Haply, 'tis the deer-haunt Ranger!
But alas! his strength is gone!
He stoops, he totters on with pain,
The hill he 'll never climb again.

Age is being's winter season,
Fitful, gloomy, piercing cold;
Passion weaken'd, yields to reason,
Man feels _then_ himself grown old;
His senses one by one have fled,
His very soul seems almost dead.