Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep Was it a vision, or a waking dream? (Keats's Poems, in “Smith's Standard Library.”) HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS. ELIZA COOK. HOME for the holidays, here we go; Two hours more! why, the sun will be down, And then, what a number of fathers and mothers, And now we'll have nothing but frolic and fun. But this fast train is really exceedingly slow ! We shall have sport when Christmas comes, And when Twelfth-night falls, we'll have such a cake, But this fast train is really exceedingly slow. And we'll go and see Harlequin's wonderful feats, And Columbine, too, with her beautiful tripping; Cramming all things in his pocket so big, And letting off crackers in Pantaloon's wig. The horses that danced, too, last year in the ring; Some cream and some piebald, some black and some white; And how Mr. Merryman made us all shout, When he fell from his horse, and went rolling about; Mr. Punch, we'll have him too, our famous old friend; With the flourishing stick that knocks all of them down; Home for the holidays, here we go! Huzza! huzza! I can see my papa! I can see George's uncle, and Edward's mamma! And Fred, there's your brother! look! look! there he stands; They see us, they see us, they're waving their hands; (By permission of the Author.) THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT. MICHAEL DRAYTON. [Michael Drayton, the poet, was born at Atherstone, in Warwickshire, about the year 1563. He was a very voluminous writer, and appears to have taken Spenser for his model-choosing pastoral subjects, and, like Spenser, personifying natural objects-as hills, rivers, woods, &c. Both Southey and Coleridge thought highly of his writings, but they are now little read. He appears, as was the fashion of poets of his period, to have depended upon patrons for his support, for we read that at the time of his death, in 1631, "he had found final shelter in the family of the Earl of Dorset." He was buried in Westminster Abbey. His works are a collection of Pastorals, 1593; "The Barons' Wars," and "England's Heroical Epistles," 1598; "The Polyolbion," first part, 1612; second, 1622. The latter is a work full of topographical and antiquarian details, but clothed in lively and harmonious verse; it is, perhaps, unique as a poem, and its perusal will well repay any one of antiquarian taste, the information it conveys being acknowledged to be very accurate.] FAIR stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, Longer will tarry; But putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, And taking many a fort, With those that stopped his way, Which in his height of pride, To the King sending. Which he neglects the while, And turning to his men, And for myself," quoth he, Victor I will remain, Loss to redeem me. Poictiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell; No less our skill is, |