The Procession of the Seasons. So forth issued the Seasons of the year; And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures) That as some did him love, so others did him fear. Then came the jolly Summer, being dight Had hunted late the leopard or the boar, And now would bathe his limbs with labour heated sore. Then came the Autumn, all in yellow clad, As though he joyed in his plenteous store, Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad That he had banished hunger, which to-fore Had by the belly oft him pinched sore; To reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold. Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze, In his right hand a tipped staff he held, SPENSER. [From "The Faerie Queene."] The Ivy in the Dungeon. I. THE ivy in a dungeon grew Unfed by rain, uncheered by dew; Its pallid leaflets only drank Cave moistures foul, and odours dank. II. But through the dungeon-grating high It slept upon the grateful floor III. The ivy felt a tremor shoot IV. It grew, it crept, it pushed, it clomb— V. Its clinging roots grew deep and strong; And in the currents of the air Its tender branches flourished fair. VI. It reached the beam-it thrilled-it curledIt blessed the warmth that cheers the world; It rose towards the dungeon bars— It looked upon the sun and stars. VII. It felt the life of bursting Spring, And wooed the swallow to its leaves. VIII. By rains, and dews, and sunshine fed, And in the day beam waving free, It grew into a stedfast tree. IX. Upon that solitary place Its verdure threw adorning grace: X. Wouldst thou know the moral of the rhyme? Behold the heavenly light! and climb. To every dungeon comes a ray CHARLES MACKAY. La Belle Dame Sans Merci. Ан, what can ail thee, wretched wight, The sedge is withered from the lake, Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful, a fairy's child; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean and sing A fairy's song. |