WINTER. The owl sits huddling by himself, The cold has pierced his body thorough ; The patient cattle hang their head; The deer are 'neath their winter shed: The ruddy squirrel's in his bed, In rich men's halls the fire is piled, In And ermine robes keep out the weather ; poor men's huts the fire is low, Through broken panes the keen winds blow, Oh poverty is disconsolate!- Its pains are many, its foes are strong: The rich man in his jovial cheer, The poor man 'mid his wants profound, With all his little children round, Prays God that winter be not long! One silent night hath passed, and lo! All aspect of decay is gone, The hills have put their vesture on, And clothed is the forest bough. Say not 't is an unlovely time! Turn to the wide, white waste thy view; Turn to the silent hills that rise In their cold beauty to the skies; And to those skies intensely blue. Silent, not sad, the scene appeareth ; And fancy, like a vagrant breeze, Ready a-wing for flight, doth go The land of ice, the land of snow, The land that hath no summer flowers, Where never living creature stood The wild, dim, polar solitude: How different from this land of ours! Walk now among the forest trees, Said'st thou that they were stripped and bare? Each heavy bough is bending down With snowy leaves and flowers-the crown Which Winter regally doth wear. "Tis well-thy summer garden ne'er Was lovelier with its birds and flowers, Than is this silent place of snow, With feathery branches drooping low, Wreathing around thee shadowy bowers! MARY HOWITT. THIS is now the winter time, My merry gentlemen, Yule logs are burning in your hall, Remember, gentles, then, That none shall starve while you shall dine; That none shall thirst who grow the vine. Yet give no alms in mean award, But spread the just, the well-earned board. WINTER. This is now the winter time, My noble gentlemen. This is now the winter time, My reverend clergymen ; Christ came to save in winter time, Remember, clerks all, then, The bread His body, and the wine My Christian clergymen. This is now the winter time, My honest working men, "Weave truth with trust," ye weavers, then ; Remember, workers, then, That none should starve while others have. Accept your rights on New Year's day. This is now the winter time, My gallant working men. GOODWYN BARMBY. (WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.) WOULD that our scrupulous sires had dared to leave A stir of mind too natural to deceive; The counter Spirit found in some gay church In which the linnet or the thrush might sing, Merry and loud, and safe from prying search, Strains offered only to the genial spring. THE HOLLY TREE. (ROBERT SOUTHEY.) O READER! hast thou ever stood to see The The holly tree? 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 moralize: 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, |