Pale autumn spreads o'er him the leaves of the forest, The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest, And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest, And moisten'st the heath-bell that weeps on his breast. THE HOLLY TREE. BY ROBERT SOUTHEY. 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 the wisdom of this 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 To those who on my leisure would intrude Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, 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 The holly leaves a sober hue display Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, So serious should my youth appear among So would I seem among the young and gay More grave than they, That in my age as cheerful I might be As the green winter of the holly tree, A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. BY THOMAS HOOD. Ah! that I were once more a careless child! COLERIDGE. Oн when I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure. In those days I found And careful thoughts the string! My marbles - once my bag was stored, Now I must play with Elgin's lord, With Theseus for a taw! My playful horse has slipped his string, Forgotten all his capering, And harnessed to the law! My kite, how fast and far it flew ! Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew My pleasure from the sky! 'T was papered o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote, my present dreams Will never soar so high! My joys are wingless all and dead; My fears prevail, my fancies droop, My football's laid upon the shelf; The world knocks to and fro; No more in noontide sun I bask, And friends grown strangely cool! The very chum that shared my cake It makes me shrink and sigh; No skies so blue, or so serene As then ; no leaves look half so green Oh, for the garb that marked the boy Well inked with black and red; Repose upon my head! Oh, for the riband round the neck! A boy of larger growth? |