My LibriVox recordings & my reading journal (solo Litblog).

The Frost Spirit by John Greenleaf Whittier

LibriVox logoLibriVox volunteers bring you 11 recordings of The Frost Spirit by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892).

This was the Fortnightly Poetry project for October 28th to November 11th, 2012.

John Greenleaf Whittier was an influential American Quaker poet. He is considered one of the Fireside Poets and was influenced by Robert Burns.
(Summary by David Lawrence)

http://www.archive.org/download/frostspirit_1211_librivox/frostspirit_whittier_rn_64kb.mp3″Running time=2m 46s (mp3@64kb)


Download locations: mp3 128kb : mp3 64kb : ogg vorbis.
Catalogue pages: LibriVox, Internet Archive.
Zip of the entire book (12.4MB@64kb), featuring all 11 readers of this poem, with a total running time of 25m 54s.

In addition to the readers, this audio book was produced by:
Book Coordinator: David Lawrence
Meta-Coordinator/Cataloging: David Lawrence

The Frost Spirit
He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes
You may trace his footsteps now
On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the
brown hill’s withered brow.
He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees
where their pleasant green came forth,
And the winds, which follow wherever he goes,
have shaken them down to earth.

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.

He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!
Let us meet him as we may,
And turn with the 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!

This fortnight’s poem can be found here.

Author: raven

Anonymous ;-)

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