The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
The Walker of the SnowCharles Dawson Shanly (1811–1875)
S
The camp lies far away;
We must cross the haunted valley
Before the close of day.
I will tell you as we go,
The blight of the Shadow Hunter
Who walks the midnight snow.
Came the pale moon and the stars,
As the yellow sun was sinking
Behind the purple bars.
Upon the ridges drear
That lay for miles between me
And the camp for which we steer.
And by the sombre wood,
No sound of life or motion
To break the solitude,
With a plaintive note and low,
And the skating of the red leaf
Upon the frozen snow.
And far the camp must be,
Yet my heart it would be lightsome
If I had but company.’
Keeping measure as I sped,
To the harp-twang of the snowshoe
As it sprang beneath my tread.
Had I dipped upon my way
When a dusky figure joined me,
In a capuchon of grey,
With a long and limber stride;
And I hailed the dusky stranger
As we travelled side by side.
Gave he by word or look,
And the fear-chill fell upon me
At the crossing of the brook.
As I followed, bending low,
That the walking of the stranger
Left no footmarks on the snow.
Like a shroud around me cast,
As I sank upon the snow-drift
Where the Shadow Hunter passed.
Before the break of day,
With my dark hair blanched and whitened
As the snow in which I lay.
For they knew that in the night
I had seen the Shadow Hunter,
And had withered in his blight.
The sun is falling low;
Before us lies the valley
Of the Walker of the Snow!