THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.
He may knock at the door, we 'll not let him in ; May drive at the windows, - we 'll laugh at his din; Let him seek his own home wherever it be ;
Here's a cosey warm house for Edward and me.
THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.
SEE the kitten on the wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves, one two
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning, bright and fair,
Eddying round and round, they sink
Softly, slowly; one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or fairy hither tending,
To this lower world descending;
Each invisible and mute
In his wavering parachute.
But the kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts,
First at one, and then its fellow,
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now
Now they stop, and there are none.
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap, half-way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again.
Were her antics played i' the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!
I THOUGHT my branch of coral
A pretty shrub might be,
Until I learned a little worm
Had made it in the sea.
Down, down so deep,
Where dark waters sleep,
The coral insect lives;
But rests not there,
With toil and care
It upward, upward strives.
It builds its coral palaces
Than lofty hills more high,
And then the structure to complete,
The little worm must die;
Thus teaching me,
When coral I see,
That dying I should leave
Some good work here
My friends to cheer,
When o'er my tomb they grieve.
A BRIGHT little rogue jumped out of his bed,
With his rose-flushed cheek, and his golden hair
Curling and floating all over his head,
As if slumber had only been frolicking there.
He sprung to the window, and clapped his hands,
And a smile came up in his deep-blue eyes,
For a vision of other, and lovelier lands,
In still, dim beauty, before him lies!
The fairy garden - the glittering mosque,
The graceful bower and gay kiosk,
The lake, that sparkles in light serene,
Might mark the picture a Persian scene:
That cataract foaming! A drop of light!
Those cloud-capt mountains in miniature!
Why, a fly, in a twinkling, could climb the height,
Where Eastern idolaters knelt of yore!
But close to the temple - how came it there?
Is something that looks like a great white bear!
And gliding away on the sunniest edge
Of the garden bright, is a Lapland sledge!
The graceful reindeer is white as snow,-
And the reins and his antlers are silver, I know!
And see! on the seat of the gossamar car,
A dear little Laplander shines like a star,
With a cunning white boa, on her tiny blue dress—
What! fur among roses! she 'll melt, I guess.
She is rather too brilliant for nature; no matter,
We believe 't is the license of painters to flatter.
Willy knew by the tracing, strange and fair,
That a queer little artist, called Frost, had been there; He thought, too, he spied him, outside of the pane That funny old man when he looked again,
With his twinkling eyes, keen, cold, and bright,
His pallet of pearl and pencil of light,
His pinions of fleece, with moonbeams inlaid,
And his three-cornered cap, of a diamond made.
He looked hard at Willy, as much as to say,
"I would give the best gem in my casket, to play
With your wild, bright curls, and your lip of rose,
Or to bite off the end of your dear little nose!
"No! no! Mr. Frost, you may peep if you please,
Over the mountains, and through the trees!
You may float in the clouds, through the deep midnight,
And play with your jewels of rainbow light!
You may dance on the lake with your twinkling feet,
Till it hardens beneath them, a silver sheet!
You may wave your wings o'er the woodland bloom,
And sprinkle their sparkles amid the gloom,
Till the whole wide forest, from towering pine
To baby-bush, with your snow-plumes shine!
You may look on the rivulet, murmuring by,
Till you charm it to sleep with your clear, cold eye,
And bid it forget its flowing.
You may do what you will, and I will not fear —
No! no! Mr. Frost, you shall not come here.
Mother, how cold it is growing!
No! no! Mr. Frost, you may bite, if you please,
The poor little shivering birds on the trees;
You may dig with the point of your cap in the earth, Till you come to the place where the flowers have birth, And tell them they must n't come up,
You'll pinch them all, till they 're black and blue !
You may frighten the lilies and roses;
You may bite the bush, the vine, the tree,
But, Mr. Jack Frost, you shall not bite me!
Mother, how cold my nose is!
No! no! Mr. Frost, you may eat the grass;
You may try your teeth upon window-glass,
Since you must do some mischief or other;
You may swallow the brooks, and the deep, full sea, You thirsty old fellow! your drink may be,
But, dear Mr. Jack Frost! please don't eat me!
O, give me my breakfast mother!"
The milk was lifted, for Willy to sip;
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