The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life, and light,

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The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves

Ordered by an Intelligence so wise,

As might confound the atheist's sophistries.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen

Wrinkled and keen;

No grazing cattle through their prickly round

Can reach to wound;

But, as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.

I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize;

And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree

Can emblems see,

Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme,
One which may profit in the after-time.

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Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear

Harsh and austere;

To those who on my leisure would intrude,

Reserved and rude ;

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,

Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

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And should my youth, as youth is apt I know,
Some harshness show,

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All vain asperities I day by day

Would wear away,

Till the smooth temper of my age should be

Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.

And as when all the summer trees are seen

So bright and green,

The Holly leaves a sober hue display

Less bright than they;

But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree?

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
As the green winter of the Holly Tree.

Robert Southey.

CLXXIV

THE SQUIRE'S PEW.

A slanting ray of evening light
Shoots through the yellow pane:
It makes the faded crimson bright,
And gilds the fringe again;
The window's gothic framework falls
In oblique shadows on the walls.

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And since those trappings first were new,

How many a cloudless day,

To rob the velvet of its hue,

Has come and passed away!
How many a setting sun hath made
That curious lattice-work of shade!

Crumbled beneath the hillock green

The cunning hand must be,

That carved this fretted door, I ween,

Acorn and fleur-de-lis;

And now the worm hath done her part
In mimicking the chisel's art.

In days of yore (as now we call)
When the First James was king,
The courtly knight from yonder Hall
His train did hither bring,

All seated round in order due,
With broidered suit and buckled shoe.

On damask cushions decked with fringe,
All reverently they knelt;

Prayer-books, with brazen hasp and hinge,
In ancient English spelt,

Each holding in a lily hand,

Responsive to the priest's command.

Now, streaming down the vaulted aisle,

The sunbeam, long and lone, Illumes the characters awhile

Of their inscription-stone:

And there, in marble hard and cold,
The knight with all his train behold.

Outstretched together are exprest
He and my lady fair,

ΙΟ

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With hands uplifted on the breast,

In attitude of prayer:
Long-visaged, clad in armour, he—
With ruffled arm and bodice she.

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Brought many a distant county through,
To join the final rendezvous.

And when the race is swept away,
All to their dusty beds,
Still shall the mellow evening ray
Shine gaily o'er their heads;
While other faces, fresh and new,
Shall fill the Squire's deserted pew.
Jane Taylor.

CLXXV

A DREAM.

Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, 'wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'Oh, my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.'

Pitying, I dropped a tear:
But I saw a glowworm near,
Who replied, 'What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

'I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round.
Follow now the beetle's hum,
Little wanderer, hie thee home!'

William Blake.

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