Piercing a wood, and skirting a narrow and natural causeway Under the rocky wall that hedges the bed of the streamlet, Rounded a craggy point, and saw on a sudden before them Slabs of rock, and a tiny beach, and perfection of water, Picture-like beauty, seclusion sublime, and the goddess of bathing. There they bathed, of course, and Arthur, the glory of headers, Leapt from the ledges with Hope, he twenty feet, he thirty; There, overbold, great Hobbes from a ten-foot height descended, Prone, as a quadruped, prone with hands and feet protending; There in the sparkling champagne, ecstatic, they shrieked and shouted. 66 'Hobbes's gutter," the Piper entitles the spot, profanely, Hope "the Glory" would have, after Arthur, the glory of headers: But, for before they departed, in shy and fugitive reflex Here in the eddies and there did the splendor of Jupiter glim Was set, and, visible for many a mile, The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, I heeded not the summons: happy time It was indeed for all of us; for me It was a time of rapture. Clear and loud The village clock tolled six. I wheel'd about, Proud and exulting, like an untired horse That cares not for its home. All shod with steel, We hiss'd along the polish'd ice in games Confederate, imitative of the chase And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn, The pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle: with the din Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud; The leafless trees and every icy Crag Tingled like iron; while the distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien sound Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars, Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, To cut across the image of a star That gleam'd upon the ice; and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The rapid line of motion, then at once FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are weari- Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, Old year, you must not die; He lieth still: he doth not move: He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go; So long as you, have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go. He frothed his bumpers to the brim; A jollier year we shall not see. Old year, you shall not die; He was full of joke and jest; But he'll be dead before. Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my And the New-year blithe and How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. What is it we can do for you? His face is growing sharp and thin. And waiteth at the door. And a new face at the door, my A new face at the door. TENNYSON. THE RIVULET. AND I shall sleep; and on thy side, Gayly shalt play and glitter here: |