So the freed spirit flies !

She will mix these pleasures up
From its surrounding clay Like three fit wines in a cup,
It steals away

And thou shalt quaff it,—thou shalt hear
Like the swallow from the skies. Distant harvest-carols clear-

Rustle of the reaped corn;
Whither? wherefore doth it go ? Sweet birds antheming the morn;
'Tis all unknown;

And, in the same moment–hark !
We feel alone

'Tis the early April lark,-
That a void is left below.

Or the rooks, with busy caw,
WILLIAM HOWITT. Foraging for sticks and straw.

Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
The daisy and the marigold ;

White-plumed lilies, and the first
FANCY.

Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;

Shaded hyacinth, alway Ever let the Fancy roam ;

Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; Pleasure never is at home:

And every leaf, and every flower At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth

Pearled with the self-same shower. Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ;

Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep Then let winged Fancy wander

Meagre from its celled sleep;
Through the thought still spread beyond her; And the snake, all winter-thin,
Open wide the mind's cage-door-

Cast on sunny bank its skin;
She 'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
O sweet Fancy ! let her loose!

Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,

When the hen-bird's wing doth rest And the enjoying of the Spring

Quiet on her mossy nest; Fades as does its blossoming.

Then the hurry and alarm Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too,

When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
Blushing through the mist and dew,

Acorns ripe down-pattering
Cloys with tasting. What do then? While the autumn breezes sing.
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,

Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose!
Spirit of a winter's night;

Every thing is spoilt by use;
When the soundless earth is muffled, Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
And the caked snow is shuffled

Too much gazed at? Where's the maid From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;

Whose lip mature is ever new? When the Night doth meet the Noon Where's the eye, however blue, In a dark conspiracy

Doth not weary? Where's the face To banish Even from her sky.

One would meet in every place? Sit thee there, and send abroad,

Where's the voice, however soft,
With a mind self-overawed,

One would hear so very oft ?
Fancy, high-commissioned :-send her! At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
She has vassals to attend her ;

Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
She will bring, in spite of frost,

Let, then, winged Fancy find Beauties that the earth hath lost ;

Thee a mistress to thy mind : She will bring thee, all together,

Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter All delights of summer weather;

Ere the god of Torment taught her All the buds and bells of May,

How to frown and how to chide ; From dewy sward or thorny spray;

With a waist and with a side All the heaped Autumn's wealth ;

White as Hebe's when her zone With a still, mysterious stealth ;

Slipt its golden clasp, and down

Dear babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, FROST AT MIDNIGHT.

Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep

calm, Tue frost performs its secret ministry, Fill up the interspersed vacancies Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry

And momentary pauses of the thought! Came lond—and hark again! loud as before. My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, Have left me to that solitude which suits And think that thou shalt learn far other lore Abstruser musings: save that at my side And in far other scenes! For I was reared My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. In the great city, pent ’mid cloisters dim, 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. And vexes meditation with its strange But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags This populous village!--sea, and hill, and wood, Of ancient mountains, and beneath the clouds, With all the numberless goings on of life Which image in their bulk both lakes and Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame

shores Lies on my low burnt fire, and quivers not; And mountain crags. So shalt thou see and Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, hear Still futters there, the sole unquiet thing. The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Methinks its motion in this hush of Nature

Of that eternal language which thy God Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Utters, who from eternity doth teach Making it a companionable form,

Himself in all, and all things in himself. Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit Great universal Teacher! he shall mould By its own moods interprets, everywhere Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. Echo or mirror seeking of itself,

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee: And makes a toy of thought.

Whether the Summer clothe the general earth

But O! how oft, With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branchi Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars

Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft, Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eve. With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt

drops fall, Of my sweet birthplace, and the old church- Heard only in the trances of the blast, tower,

Or if the secret ministry of frost
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, Quietly shining to the quiet moon.
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things I dreamt
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND.

dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn, Blow, blow, thou winter wind-
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye Thou art not so unkind
Fixed with mocked study on my swimming

As man's ingratitude;
book-

Thy tooth is not so keen, Save if the door half opened, and I snatched Because thou art not seen, A hasty glance; and still my heart leaped up, Although thy breath be rude. For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, Heigh hol sing heigh ho! unto the green Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,

holly : My playmate when we both were clothed Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere alike!

folly;

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

ROBERT SOUTIEY.

Then, heigh ho! the holly!

And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, This life is most jolly.

Some harshness show,

All vain asperities, I, day by day, Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky

Would wear away, Thou dost not bite so nigh

Till the smooth temper of my age should be As benefits forgot;

Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp

And as, when all the summer trees are seen As friend remembered not.

So bright and green, Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green

The holly leaves their fadeless hues display holly:

Less bright than they; Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere

But when the bare and wintry woods we see, folly;

What then so cheerful as the holly tree? Then, heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly!

SHAKESPEARE. So, serious should my youth appear among

The thoughtless throng;
So would I seem, amid the young and gay,

More grave than they;

That in my age as cheerful I might be
THE HOLLY TREE.

As the green winter of the holly tree.
O READER! hast thou ever stood to see

The holly tree?
The eye that contemplates it well, perceives

Its glossy leaves
Ordered by an intelligence so wiso

TO A PINE TREE.
As might confound the atheist's sophistries.

Far up on Katahdin thou towerest,
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen
Wrinkled and keen;

Purple-blue with the distance, and vast;

Like a cloud o'er the lowlands thou lowerest, No grazing cattle, through their prickly round,

That bangs poised on a lull in the blast, Can reach to wound; But as they grow where nothing is fear,

To its fall leaning awful. Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves

In the storm, like a prophet o'ermaddened, appear.

Thou singest and tossest thy branches; I love to view these things with curious eyes, Thy heart with the terror is gladdened ; And moralise;

Thou forebodest the dread avalanches And in this wisdom of the holly tree

When whole mountains swoop valeward. Can emblems see Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant In the calm thou o'erstretchest the valleys rhyme,

With thine arms, as if blessings imploring, One which may profit in the after-time. Like an old king led forth from his palace,

When his people to battle are pouring Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might From the city beneath him. appear Harsh and austere

To the lumberer asleep 'neath thy glooming To those who on my leisure would intrude, Thou dost sing of wild billows in motion, Reserved and rude;

Till he longs to be swung 'mid their booming Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, In the tents of the Arabs of ocean, Like the high leaves upon the holly tree.

Whose finned isles are their cattle.