HEN winter winds are piercing chill,

And through the hawthorn blows the gale,

With solemn feet I tread the hill

That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden those deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,

The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the silence broke, The crystal icicle is hung.

Where from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,

And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,

When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day.

But still wild music is abroad,

Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds in hoarse accord Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs, and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year—

I listen, and it cheers me long.

LONGFELLOW.

A WINTER SABBATH WALK.

OW dazzling white the snowy scene! deep, deep,
The stillness of the winter Sabbath-day,-

Not even a foot-fall heard. Smooth are the fields,
Each hollow pathway level with the plain :

Hid are the bushes, save that here and there
Are seen the topmost shoots of brier or broom.
High-ridged, the whirlèd drift has almost reached
The powdered key-stone of the churchyard porch;
Mute hangs the hooded bell; the tombs lie buried:
No step approaches to the house of prayer.

The flickering fall is o'er; the clouds disperse,
And show the sun hung o'er the welkin's verge,
Shooting a bright but ineffectual beam
On all the sparkling waste. Now is the time
To visit nature in her grand attire ;
Though perilous the mountainous ascent,
A noble recompense the danger brings.
How beautiful the plain stretched far below!
Unvaried though it be, save by yon stream
With azure windings, or the leafless wood.
But what the beauty of the plain, compared
To that sublimity which reigns enthroned,
Holding joint rule with solitude divine,
Among yon rocky fells that bid defiance
To steps the most adventurously bold!
There silence dwells profound; or if the cry
Of high-poised eagle break at times the calm,
The mantled echoes no response return.

But let me now explore the deep sunk dell :
No foot-print, save the covey's or the flock's,
Is seen along the rill, where marshy springs
Still rear the grassy blade of vivid green.
Beware, ye shepherds, of these treacherous haunts,
Nor linger there too long: the wintry day
Soon closes; and full oft a heavier fall,
Heaped by the blast, fills up the sheltered glen,
While, gurgling deep below, the buried rill
Mines for itself a snow-coved way. Oh! then,
Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot,
And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side,
Where night-winds sweep the gathering drift away:

So the Great Shepherd leads the heavenly flock
From faithless pleasures, full into the storms
Of life, where long they bear the bitter blast,
Until at length the vernal sun looks forth,
Bedimmed with showers: then to the pastures green
He brings them, where the quiet waters glide,
The streams of life, the Siloah of the soul.

JUNE.

HE summer-time has come again,
With all its light and mirth,

And June leads on the laughing hours
To bless the weary earth.

The sunshine lies along the street,
So dim and cold before,
And in the open window creeps,

And slumbers on the floor.

The country was so fresh and fine,
And beautiful in May,

It must be more than beautiful-
A Paradise to-day!

If I were only there again,
I'd seek the lanes apart,

And shout aloud in mighty words,
To ease my happy heart.

STODDARD.