THE ICE-KING.

The wrathful Winter prochynge on a pace,
With blust'ring blastes had al ybared the treen,
And old Saturnus with his frosty face

With chilling colde had pearst the tender green:
The mantles rent wherein enwrapped been
The gladsom groves that nowe longe overthrowen,
The tapets torn, and every blome down blowen.

The soyle that earst so semely was to seen,

Was all despoyled of her beauties hewe:

And soote freshe flowers (wherewith the summer's queen Had clad the earth) now Boreas blastes downe blewe,

And small fowles flocking in their song did rewe

The winter's wrath, wherewith eche thing defaste
In woful wise bewayled the summer past.

Hawthorne had lost his motley lyverye,

The naked twigges were shivering all for colde;

And dropping down the teares abundantly;

Eche thing (me thought), with weping eye me tolde

The cruell season, bidding me with-holde

My selfe within, for I was gotten out

Into the feldes, wheras I walkte about.

SACKVILLE.

SCOWLING WINTER looked grimly out

From the gate of his icy Hall;

But the forest-trees were still wrapped about
In their painted splendour, and in the route

Of the merry breeze waved they all.
Too gay and bright

Seemed their garb to him,

H H

Whose array is chill, and dark, and dim

It irked his sight,

And he longed to hold

His stern, harsh, cold

Dominion o'er all the shivering land,

And grasp it tight in his frosty hand.

He threw o'er the earth a wrathful look;

The Sun grew pale, and the strong trees shook, At the icy glance of his withering eye;

And then his loud voice came rushing by,

Calling to Autumn; he bade her fling

Prone to the earth each verdant thing

That bloomed in the path of the cold Ice-king.

Thy reign is o'er"-he sternly cried,

Passing away are thy power and pride,

Thy golden throne

Is carried away from the bare hill-side;

Thy flowers all flown

From field, wood, moorland, garden, and lea,
Then yield up thy desolate realm to me.

Yet, ere thou go

Shake the last brown leaves from the forest tree, And lay them low;

Lay them low, as a carpet spread

On the mossy ground

Strew them around,

Beneath my feet not o'er my head;

"For I shall bring

Curtains all wove of the silvery snow,

And drop them around- above- below,

While not a thing

That thou hast cherished its face shall show.

Fling away all

Thy fluttering leaves and faded flowers;

Too slight too small

Their forms would seem in my lofty bowers;
For wreaths and garlands are sculptured there.
Like marble, yet whiter than ever were
The chisel's triumphs-and all so light,
Like down, or gossamer streamers slight,
That a breeze can shake the branches bare.

"Oft in the night,

When wearied mortals lie warmly sleeping,

I o'er the world through the air am sweeping; Roaming about

And tricking out

Each familiar scene like a Fairy Land;
Hanging pendants of icicles clear

From roof, shed, window - there and here,

In many a crystal and diamond spear;

And flinging pearls with a lavish hand

O'er hedge, field, fence, bush, grove, and tree,

All set in a silvery filagree.

And my feats are ever so silently done

They're all unguessed, till the morning sun

Ruddy and round, 'mid vapours tost

Looks on a kingdom of white hoar-frost.
These are my sports- and oft I fling

A glassy floor from rim to rim

Of the lake that shines i' the valley low;

And then-how merrily, swiftly go

The skaiters along! They dart

Or circle in many a mazy ring;

they skim

Oh! these are the sports of the cold Ice-king.

And what hast thou to show,

In thy russet bower and leavy pall,

Can match with my boundless and glittering Hall?”

Queen of the sober shroud,

Haste thee away — begone—

For the Ice-king hurryeth on:

He travels along on a swift black cloud;
The strong winds his coursers are;

He travels along—and their roar so loud

Before him rolls afar

He comes-and the leafless woods bend down

Before the King of the Icy crown.

He comes in terror, and wrath, and dread;

Around him the storm and the blast outspread

Their awful wings-and the darken'd sky

Frowns on the earth most gloomily

Oh! the Ice-king's reign is dreary!

But though dreary without-'tis glad within,
For now the Christmas sports begin.

With merry meetings of kith and kin,

And hearts so light and cheery —

The wintry eves we will e'en prolong
With the bounding dance, and the festive song,
And the ancient goblin-story:

The great yule-log on the hearth shall blaze,
And old gossips chat of their by-gone days,
And England's Christmas glory;

The Holly's bright leaves and berries red
In wreaths o'er the picture-frames be spread,
And the Misletoe-bough above them

For maidens who covet, yet seem to dread,
A kiss from the lips who love them.

Farewell to the year!-the fair young Spring In Summer's glow did vanish;

Autumn fled from the stern Ice-king,

Whom Spring again will banish.

THE END.

UNIV. OF MICHIGAN

JAN 6 1915