7 A WINTER WREATH. MRS. WILLIAM HEY. TALK not of Winter as a dotard old, He bids the winds go forth, and forests quake, He doth unchain the floods, and in their might Adown the hills they rush, and through the vale, With deaf'ning clamour, till they reach the main. The main! how awful in its maddened ire! It looks as if 'twould never know again The gentleness which summer airs inspire. Yet, like most tyrants, Winter sometimes shows A softness foreign to his wonted mood; Then would you deem he borrow'd Fancy's wand, Such wondrous shapes he fashions of the snows. Anon he casts his hoar-frost on the wood, And, when the sun breaks forth, each tree doth stand A sparkling marvel, which, could Summer see, The leafy goddess sure would envious be. But short-lived is his grace. This very morn The winds were laid; the skies, serene and clear, Wore April's tint; and, though the meads were shorn Of flowers and verdure, yet the hedges glow'd With scarlet fruitage of the rose and thorn. The holly, too, its blushing berries show'd With seeming pride; and ivy never sere, That dreads no changes, deems no season drear, Deck'd forest tree, grey rock, and ruin'd shedNay, even on the ground its drapery spread. Of each we took; and from the yielding bough The forked branch of spectral misletoe, How wild, how rude The sky how dark! As was most meet, we added to our store; And fetch the trophies cull'd this morn, Of warriors arm'd with spear and brand. It seems to shield from north wind keen But Time, who never stays his flight, His voice; and through the hall it sends "Good night! good night!" from fond lips fall. How silent now the lonely hall! (By permission of the Author.) THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. DR. JOHN WOLCOTT (PETER PINdar). A BRACE of sinners, for no good, Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, And, in a fair white wig, looked wondrous fine. Fifty long miles had these sad rogues to travel, With something in their shoes much worse than gravel; In short, their toes, so gentle, to amuse, The priest had ordered peas into their shoes · A nostrum famous in old Popish times, For purifying souls when foul with crimes; A sort of apostolic salt That Popish priests did for its powers exalt, For keeping souls of sinners sweet, The knaves set off on the same day, Peas in their shoes, to go and pray : Light as a bullet from a gun; The other limped as if he had been shot. One saw the Virgin soon-" peccavi” cried— Had his soul whitewashed all so clever; Like a rose embower'd By warm winds deflower'd, Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy winged Sound of vernal showers Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass: Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt,— A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields or waves, or mo |