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Thy tooth is not so keen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Then heigh-ho the holly!
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky!
As benefits forgot:
As friend remember'd not.
Then heigh-ho the holly!
THE dark green Summer with its massive
hues Fades into Autumn's tincture manifold; A gorgeous garniture of fire and gold The high slope of the ferny hill indues; The mists of morn in slumbering layers diffuse O'er glimmering rock,smooth lake, and spiked array Of hedgerow thorns, a unity of grey ; All things appear their tangible form to lose In ghostly vastness. But anon the gloom
Melts, as the Sun puts off his muddy veil ;
memory. HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.
E walk'd along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;
“ The will of God be done!”
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering grey ; As blithe a man as you could see
On a Spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills, We travell’d merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
“ Our work," said I, was well begun;
Then, from thy breast what thought,
So sad a sigh has brought ?”
A second time did Matthew stop ;
And fixing still his eye
To me he made reply:
“ Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
Full thirty years behind.
“ And just above yon slope of corn
Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky, that April morn, Of this the
66 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
A very nightingale.
And yet I loved her more,
I e'er had loved before.
“ And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the churchyard yew,
With points of morning dew.
" 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
That dances on the sea.
“ There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;
And did not wish her mine!”
Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks, I see him stand,
CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, “ Boatman, do not tarry! 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
Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen
My blood would stain the heather.
“ His horsemen hard behind us ride ;
Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover ?”
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I'll go, my chief– I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady.
In danger shall not tarry!
I'll row you o'er the ferry.”
apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men,
Their trampling sounded nearer. “ O haste thee, haste !” the lady cries,
Though tempests round us gather ;
But not an angry father.”
A stormy sea before her ;
The tempest gather'd o'er her.
Of waters fast prevailing :
His wrath was changed to wailing.
His child he did discover :
And one was round her lover.