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The Procession of the Seasons.

So forth issued the Seasons of the year;
First lusty Spring, all dight in leaves of flowers
That freshly budded, and new blooms did bear,
In which a thousand birds had built their bowers,
That sweetly sung to call forth paramours;
And in his hand a javelin he did bear,

And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
A gilt engraven morion he did wear,

That as some did him love, so others did him fear.

Then came the jolly Summer, being dight
In a thin silken cassock coloured green,
That was unlined all, to be more light,
And on his head a garland well beseen
He wore, from which, as he had chafed been,
The sweat did drop, and in his hand he bore
A bow and shafts, as he in forest green

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;

Upon his head a wreath, that was enrolled
With ears of corn of every sort, he bore,
And in his hand a sickle he did hold,

To reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold.

Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze,

Clattering his teeth for cold that did him chill,
Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze,
And the dull drops that from his purpled bill
As from a limbeck did adown distil;

In his right hand a tipped staff he held,
With which his feeble steps he stayed still,
For he was faint with cold and weak with eld,
That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld.

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
There fell a sunbeam from the sky;

It slept upon the grateful floor
In silent gladness evermore.

III.

The ivy felt a tremor shoot
Through all its fibres to the root:
It felt the light, it saw the ray,
It strove to blossom into day.

IV.

It grew, it crept, it pushed, it clomb-
Long had the darkness been its home;
But well it knew, though veiled in night,
The goodness and the joy of light.

V.

Its clinging roots grew deep and strong;
Its stem expanded firm and long;

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,
It heard the happy sky-lark sing,
It caught the breath of morns and eves,

And wooed the swallow to its leaves.

VIII.

By rains, and dews, and sunshine fed,
Over the outer wall it spread;

And in the daybeam waving free,

It grew into a stedfast tree.

IX.

Upon that solitary place

Its verdure threw adorning grace:
The mating birds became its guests,
And sang its praises from their nests.

X.

Wouldst thou know the moral of the rhyme?

Behold the heavenly light! and climb.

To every dungeon comes a ray
Of God's interminable day.

CHARLES MACKAY.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci.

Aн, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?

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
Fast withereth too.

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.

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