Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho unto the green holly! II. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky! As benefits forgot: As friend remember'd not. Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho unto the green holly! SHAKESPEARE. THE SONNET. SEPTEMBER. HE dark green Summer with its massive hues Fades into Autumn's tincture manifold; A gorgeous garniture of fire and gold The mists of morn in slumbering layers diffuse All things appear their tangible form to lose Melts, as the Sun puts off his muddy veil; In Spring they piped of love on every tree, HARTLEY COLERIDGE. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE ́E walk'd along, while bright and red And Matthew stopp'd, he look'd and said, A village schoolmaster was he, And on that morning, through the grass, And by the steaming rills, We travell'd merrily, to pass "Our work," said I, 66 was well begun ; Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun, So sad a sigh has brought ?" A second time did Matthew stop; "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft A day like this which I have left “And just above yon slope of corn "With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the churchyard come, stopp'd short Beside my daughter's grave. "Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale ; And then she sang;-she would have been “Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; "And, turning from her grave, I met, A blooming Girl whose hair was wet "A basket on her head she bare; Her brow was smooth and white: To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight! "No fountain from its rocky cave Ere tripp'd with foot so free; She seem'd as happy as a wave “There came from me a sigh of pain I look'd at her, and look'd again: Matthew is in his grave, yet now, WORDSWORTH. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry." "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "And by my word, the bonny bird So though the waves are raging white, By this the storm grew loud apace, But still as wilder blew the wind, Their trampling sounded nearer. 66 "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, When, oh! too strong for human hand, And still they row'd amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover : One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. |