THE FROST. BY H. F. GOULD. THE Frost looked forth one still, clear night, In silence I'll take my way. I will not go on like that blustering train,— Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest In diamond beads; and over the breast Of the quivering lake, he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear He went to the windows of those, who slept, By the light of the morn, were seen Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees; There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities with temples and towers; and these All pictured in silver sheen! But he did one thing that was hardly fair He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there, Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit,” said he, Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!" GREECE. BY J. G. BROOKS. LAND of the brave! where lie inurned In whom the fire of valour burned, Land of the Muse! within thy bowers Till every grove and every hill, Land of dead heroes! living slaves! Shall glory gild thy clime no more? Her banner float above thy waves Where proudly it hath swept before? To break the fetter and the chain; No! coward souls! the light which shone With helmet shattered, spear in rust; Where sleeps the spirit, that of old Dashed down to earth the Persian plume; When the loud chant of triumph told, How fatal was the despot's doom? Tyrants have trampled on the clay, Where death has hushed them into rest. Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill, A glory shines of ages fled; GREECE. And fame her light is pouring still, Greece! yet awake thee from thy trance; In might, in majesty revealed. In vain, in vain the hero calls; In vain he sounds the trumpet loud; His banner totters; see, it falls In ruin, freedom's battle shroud: Lost land! where Genius made his reign, * Ypsilanti. 109 |