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YOUTH.

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.

LITTLE Ellie sits alone
Mid the beeches of a meadow,

By a stream-side, on the grass, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow. Now she holds them nakedly In her hands all sleek and dripping, While she rocketh to and fro.

Little Ellie sits alone,
And the smile she softly uses

Fills the silence like a speech,
While she thinks what shall be done,
And the sweetest pleasure chooses
For her future within reach.

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Which shall seem to understand
Till I answer, 'Rise and go!

For the world must love and fear him
Whom I gift with heart and hand.'

"Then he will arise so pale,

I shall feel my own lips tremble With a yes I must not say; Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell,'

I will utter, and dissemble;

'Light to-morrow with to-day.'

"Then he'll ride among the hills To the wide world past the river, There to put away all wrong; To make straight distorted wills, And to empty the broad quiver Which the wicked bear along.

"Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain

And kneel down beside my feet;'Lo, my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity's counting! What wilt thou exchange for it?'

"And the first time, I will send A white rosebud for a guerdon, And the second time, a glove; But the third time, I may bend From my pride, and answer, ‘Pardon, If he comes to take my love.'

"Then the young foot-page will run, Then my lover will ride faster, Till he kneeleth at my knee: 'I am a Duke's eldest son! Thousand serfs do call me master, But, O Love, I love but thee!'

"He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover

Through the crowds that praise his deeds; And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto him I will discover

That swan's nest among the reeds."

Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gayly,

Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, And went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily,

What more eggs were with the two.

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When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them
by name:

THE FROST.

THE Frost looked forth, one still, clear night,
And he said, "Now I shall be out of sight;
So through the valley and over the height
In silence I'll take my way.

I will not go like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they !"

Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest,

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and He climbed up the trees, and their boughs he

Vixen !

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall !

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the
sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas

too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and

soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how
merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the

snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of
jelly.

He was chubby and plump, -a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a
jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

CLEMENT C. MOORE.

dressed

With diamonds and pearls, and over the breast
Of the quivering lake he spread

A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane like a fairy crept :
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,

By the light of the moon was seen Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees,

There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees, There were cities, thrones, 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
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,

Now, just to set them a thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he ;
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three,
And the glass of water they 've left for me
Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking."

A PORTRAIT.

HANNAH F. GOULD.

"One name is Elizabeth."-- BEN JONSON,

I WILL paint her as I see her,
Ten times have the lilies blown
Since she looked upon the sun.

And her face is lily-clear,

Lily-shaped, and dropped in duty To the law of its own beauty. Oval cheeks encolored faintly, Which a trail of golden hair Keeps from fading off to air;

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You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the

changes,

How many soever they be,

And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me.

Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys,

And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days.

heart,

And a thousand dreary fancies into busy being start;

And a thousand recollections weave their bright hues into woof,

As I listen to the patter of the soft rain on the roof.

There in fancy comes my mother, as she used to years agone,

"Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily To survey the infant sleepers ere she left them While a boy listened alone :

till the dawn.

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