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She led him away over field and hill,
With lightsome step and free,
To be as gay as she.
But she passed away with her beauties rare,
And her sister, bright July,
For the harvest time was nigh.
And she was a gay, industrious maid,
With little time to waste;
The ripe wild fruit to taste.
And the flowers which June had kindly nurs'd
She scattered in high disdain,
Ripe sheaves of the yellow grain.
Though rest she gave him not,
For the sun shone fierce and hot.
But the merry barvest time was gone,
And Time, with weary sigh
With half-shut, drowsy eye.
With languid step did August come,
And look of weariness,
Was her bright, unbelted dress.
Among her hair she wove,
In meadow, field, and grove.
And her sunny face grew wan,
For September is coming on."
To his father's side with glee.
For a cheerful youth was he.
A heavy load did September bear,
Though his step was firm and light: The purple plum, the yellow pear, The ripe red peach with its fragrance rare; And he scattered his treasures here and there,
Like the gifts of a fairy sprite.
No wonder if Father Time should prize
His generous-hearted boy; But Time (as the proverb hath it) flies, And with hurried step and heavy sighs, Such as mortals heave when a bright hope dies,
Or they miss some promis'd joy.
Next came October, richly clad,
In robe of gorgeous dye;
For the vintage time drew nigh.
He looked about as if to see
What work was left to do.
Nor seemed his work to rue.
But yet his work was hardly done,
When November said in wrath-
Along this dreary path."
And he was, indeed, a shivering wight,
Nor robe nor cloak he wore.
His father's face before.
The squirrel he chased to its winter rest,
Within the hollow tree; The serpent crawl'd to his earthy nest, As the wind blew cold from the bleak north-west,
For averse to cold was he.
But Time went on with a quicker pace,
And a frown upon his brow; For how could he wear a smiling face, When a bloomless world was his dwelling-place, For he sought in vain to find a trace
Of his favourite beauties now.
December met him with noisy shout,
Like a schoolboy's heedless mirth,
As you journey'd round the earth ?"
Said Time, “I have seen my children all,
From the eldest, down to thee;
Are neither new to me.
“ The youngest one of all art thou,
And a jolly boy thou art ;
That you're numbered so far apart."
December laughed, and his white locks shook,
As he rushed to his brother's side;
As December hoarsely cried
- We are much alike, so our father said,
And faith, I believe 'tis true,
In bonds of friendship true.”
And so his frigid form he flung
On his brother's icy breast,
Ere he sunk to quiet rest.
But see, the evening is long past, and the hours are hurrying us on to midnight. There go the chimes from the bell-tower; it is time that we retire; yet one chant more ere we go. We meet not again till Christmas, with its merrymaking, shall have come and gone, and this old Year shall have died in the arms of his young heir. We will sing him out, even as we sang him into life :
A CHANT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR.
All day long the snow is drifting, drifting o'er the champaign white;
Ay, the holy Christmastide with its vivid joy is fled :
Tamely now the merle and mavis flutter in the hedges near;
Wearily the lusty teams smoke against the frosty hill;
Mighty One ! we bow before Thee, praising Thee for winter's chain—
Thou hast given, O Creator | Thou again mayest take away!
For the power of earth is passing, like the morning's glittering rime,
“Onward to the end of all things "yes, that is the irresistible decree of fate— the fiat of the Creator upon his whole creation. Move onward we must. Let us then do so submissively, carefully, cheerfully. Making the pathway smooth by our patience, pleasant by our cheeriness, and easy by our charity. Bearing one another's burthens, with a ready hand to help him who stumbles, and a kind one to dry the tears of him who weeps. And so now must we, in obedience to the great command, pass away for the present. Yet ere we go, give us our guerdon; and if we have cheered an hour of sadness at a season when none should be sad, if we have made your eye lighten with pleasure, or your lips smile at our sallies, then are we rewarded with the only meed that true minstrel ever coveted. Fare ye well, then, one and all, and till next we meet we give you a piece of good advice for winter weather—
“Heap on fresh fuel, make a blazing fire,
Fare ye well, once again, we say, gentle masters and mistresses all. Pledge us now, cre we cross the threshold, in one toast, and in a full cup of the best and brightest—
“HEALTH AND LoNG LIFE To MAGA!”
INDEX TO WOL. XXXVIII.
ALLo, the, described, 249.
Balfe, Michael W., our Portrait Gallery,
Calderon's Constant Prince analysed,
Day, the, after the Storm, 107.
De la Beche, Sir H. T., the Geological
Divination, Witchcraft, and Mesmerism,
Ebbing River, to an, 132.
Edgar, John, D. D., Irish Industry—
Footon, James, Lines for an Album,
Edwyn the Yerle, ane Auntient Ballade,
English Settler's Guide, the, through
Feltus, B.B., A Good Spec.—a Dramatic
Fife, a Legend of the East Neuk of,
Fisheries, Salmon and Sea, 509.
Geology, the present State of, 639.
George, Anita, Memoirs of the Queens
Glasgow in 1851, 628.
org, Account of a Visit to,
Great Exhibition, our, of Novels for
Green, Mary Anne Everett, Lives of