A WOOD IN WINTER. FROM THE ITALIAN. Sweet, lonely wood, that like a friend art found To soothe my weary thoughts that brood on woe, Thy time-worn, leafy locks seem all around, Now that thy sunny banks, where late did grow "LEAVES HAVE THEIR TIME TO FALL." Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath. And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. Day is for mortal care; Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth; Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set, but all Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. We know when moons shall wane When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grainBut who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home, And the world calls us forth to meet thee there. Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm, at rest; Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set, but all Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. SONNET. FELICIA HEMANS. Thrice happy he who by some shady grove, But doth converse with that Eternal Love. Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove, And sighs embalm'd, which new-born flowers unfold, Than that applause vain honor doth bequeath! How sweet are streams, to poisons drank in gold! The world is full of horrors, troubles, slights; Woods' harmless shades have only true delights. WILLIAM DRUMMOND, 1585-1649. FROM "FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD." ELCOME, pure thoughts, welcome, ye silent groves- Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring. SIE HENRY WOTTON, 1568-1639. FLIGHT OF CRANES. As when of many sorts the long-neck'd fowl And th' earth whereon they settle to resound; So when the Achaians went up from the fleet, Or leaves in spring, or multitude of flies Translated by HOBBES. THE SWALLOW AND THE GRASSHOPPER. FROM THE GREEK, 450 B. C. Attic maiden-honey-fed Chirping warbler, bear'st away 'Tis not fair-indeed, 'tis wrong, Translation of G. TREVOR. THE SAME ANOTHER TRANSLATION. Attic maiden, breathing still Of the fragrant flowers that blow Whence the streams of honey flow. Wherefore thus a captive bear Noisy prattler, cease to do To your fellow-prattler wrong; |