THE HOLLY TREE. O READER! hast thou ever stood to see The eye that contemplates it well perceives Ordered by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist's sophistries. Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen No grazing cattle, through their prickly round, But as they grow where nothing is to fear, I love to view these things with curious eyes, And in this wisdom of the holly tree Can emblems see Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, One which may profit in the after-time. Thus, though abroad, perchance I might appear Harsh and austere; To those, who on my leisure would intrude, Reserved and rude; Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show; All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away; Till the smooth temper of my age should be And as, when all the summer trees are seen Holly leaves their sober hue display Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, A TRAGIC STORY. So serious should my youth appear among So would I seem, amid the young and gay, That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the holly tree. SOUTHEY, 1774-1843. 87 A TRAGIC STORY. FROM THE GERMAN OF CHAMISSO. THERE lived a sage in days of yore, He mused upon this curious case, Not dangling there behind him. Says he, "The mystery I've found! I'll turn me round." He turned him round, Then round and round, and out and in, And right and left, and round about, And though his efforts never slack, The pigtail hangs behind him. W. M. THACKERAY, 1811-1863. This piece is not so ridiculous as it seems; it laughs at the absurdity of spending time in attempting to do what is impossible. WINTER. THE mill-wheel's frozen in the stream, And hark! how the cold winds blow. There goes the squire to shoot at snipe, You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe, Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine, Old and young cough as they go, The round red sun forgets to shine, And hark! how the cold winds blow. JAMES SMITH, 1775-1839. CHEER UP. NEVER go gloomily, man with a mind, Gives with a smile what you take with a tear; Look to the light; Morning was ever the daughter of night; Many a foe is a friend in disguise, Many a trouble a blessing most true, Strive like a man! This is the bravest and cleverest plan; Trusting in God while you do what you can. MARTIN F. TUPPER. MY SISTER'S VOICE. Он, my sister's voice is gone away! We have lost its tones, that were so gay, So full of harmless mirth. We miss the glancing of her eye, The footsteps lightly glinting by, The hand so small and fair; And the wild, bright smile that lit her face, For oh! it was so soft and sweet, And lovely, when in measure soft There are a thousand pleasant sounds The torrent that before it bounds, The murmuring of the wood-dove's sigh, And the wind that sweeps a melody But they want my sister's voice again, MARY ANNE BROWNE, SUMMER RAIN. THE mountain streams are silent, And fall, O gentle rain! Awake the music of the bowers, It comes! The gushing wealth descends. The fainting corn-stalk lifts its head, CHARLES MACKAY. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. FATHER of all, in every age, By saint, by savage, or by sage, Thou great first cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind. |