But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, "Now, Dasher now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen ! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, — and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, | He went to the windows of those who slept. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head And filled all the stockings; then turned with a And laying his finger aside of his nose, CLEMENT C. MOORE. THE FROST. THE Frost looked forth, one still, clear night, I will not go like that blustering train, Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast A coat of mail, that it need not fear By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees, There were cities, thrones, temples, and towers, and these All pictured in silver sheen! 66 But he did one thing that was hardly fair, THE CLOUD. MISS GOULD. I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fettered the thunder; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, When the morning star shines dead. As, on the jag of a mountain crag Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle, alit, one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings; FANCY IN NUBIBUS. O, IT is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea To make the shifting clouds be what you please, beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbéd maiden with white fire laden, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, Like a swarm of golden bees, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch, through which I march, Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Or, listening to the tide with closed sight, Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. THOU still unravished bride of quietness! A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loath? What mad pursuit? What struggles to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place. One would have thought (so cunningly the rude And scorned partes were mingled with the fine) That Nature had for wantonesse ensude Art, and that Art at Nature did repine; So striving each th' other to undermine, Each did the others worke more beautify; So diff'ring both in willes agreed in fine: So all agreed, through sweete diversity, This gardin to adorne with all variety. And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Through every channell running one might see; Most goodly it with curious ymageree Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemed with lively iollitee To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid ioyes. And over all of purest gold was spred A trayle of yvie in his native hew; For the rich metall was so coloured, That wight, who did not well avis'd it vew, Would surely deeme it to bee yvie trew: Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe, That, themselves dipping in the silver dew Their fleecy flowres they fearefully did steepe, Which drops of christall seemed for wantones to weep. Infinit streames continually did well Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see, see, That seemd the fountaine in that sea did sayle All pav'd beneath with iaspar shining bright, upright. |