That when the summer days were bright,
Have cheered Sky Farm with music light
To warmer climes have gone.

The icicles now fringe the trees
That swayed in summer's gentle breeze,
When summer days were fair ;

That spread their branches far and high
Against her sunny, azure sky,

Now they are brown and gray.

Now sunlight glimmers, pale and shy,
And now the winter winds are high,
The winter winds are bold;

We loved the springtime's sun and rain,
We longed for summer's rose again,
We loved the autumn's golden grain,
We love the winter's cold!

IT

Towards the end of the sunny month of June,
When the north wind congregates in crowds
The floating mountains of the silver clouds
From the horizon and the stainless sky
Opens beyond them like eternity.

All things rejoiced beneath the sun, the weeds,
The river, and the corn-fields, and the reeds;
The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze,
And the firm foliage of the larger trees.

It was a winter such as when birds die
In the deep forests; and the fishes lie
Stiffened in the translucent ice, which makes
Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes
A wrinkled clod, as hard as brick; and when
Among their children comfortable men
Gather about great fires, and yet feel cold;
Alas, then, for the homeless beggar old!

- Percy Bysshe Shelley.

WINTER.

LD Winter is a sturdy one,

OLD

And lasting stuff he's made of;

His flesh is firm as ironstone;
There's nothing he's afraid of.

He spreads his coat upon the heath,
Nor yet to warm he lingers;

He scouts the thought of aching teeth,
Or chilblains on his fingers.

Of flowers that bloom or birds that sing
Full little cares or knows he;

He hates the fire and hates the spring,
And all that's warm and cozy.

But when the foxes bark aloud
On frozen lake and river;

When round the fire the people crowd,
And rub their hands and shiver;

When frost is splitting stone and wall,
And trees come crashing after, —
That hates he not he loves it all;
Then bursts he out in laughter.

His home is by the north pole's strand,
Where earth and sea are frozen;
His summer-house, we understand,
In Switzerland he's chosen.

Now from the North he's hither hied
To show his strength and power;
And when he comes we stand aside,
And look at him and cower.

-

- From the German.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET.

G

REEN little vaulter in the sunny grass,

Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass!
O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,

Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth
To sing in thoughtful ears their natural song,-

In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth.

-James Leigh Hunt.

There's snow on the housetops, there's ice on the ways; But the keener the season

The stronger's the reason

Our ceiling should flicker and glow in thy blaze.
So fire, piled fire,

Leap, fire, and shout;

Be it warmer within

As 'tis colder without.

And as curtains we draw and around the hearth close,
As we glad us with talk of great frosts and deep snows,
As redly thy warmth on the shadowed wall plays,
We'll say Winter's evenings outmatch Summer's days,
And a song, jolly roarer, we'll shout in thy praise;
So crackle and blaze,
Crackle and blaze,

While roaring the chorus goes round in thy praise.

Crackle and blaze,
Crackle and blaze;

There's ice on the ponds, there are leaves on the ways; But the barer each tree

The more reason have we

To joy in the summer that roars in thy blaze.

So fire, piled fire,

The lustier shout

The louder winds shriek

And roar by without;

And as, red through the curtains, go out with thy light Pleasant thoughts of warm firesides across the dark night,

Passers-by, hastening on, shall be loud in thy praise;
And while spark with red spark in thy curling smoke plays,
Within, the loud song to thy honor we'll raise.

So crackle and blaze,

Crackle and blaze,

While roaring the chorus goes round in thy praise.

THE

And hail and rain does blaw;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth

The blinding sleet and snaw;

While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

And roars frae bank to brae;

And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,

The joyless winter day,

Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May;

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!