That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep

To gather and tell o'er

Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain

Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike

Into that wondrous track of dreams again!

But no two dreams are like.

As when a soul laments, which hath been blest,

Desiring what is mingled with past years,

In yearnings that can never be exprest By signs or groans or ears;

Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art,

Failing to give the bitter of the sweet,

Wither beneath the palate, and the heart

Faints, faded by its heat.

THE BLACKBIRD.

O BLACKBIRD! sing me something well:

While all the neighbors shoot thee round,

I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,

Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.

The espaliers and the standards all Are thine; the range of lawn and

park: The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark,

All thine, against the garden wall.

Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring, Thy sole delight is, sitting still, With that gold dagger of thy bill To fret the summer jenneting.

A golden bill! the silver tongue, Cold February loved, is dry:

Plenty corrupts the melody That made thee famous once, when young:

And in the sultry garden-squares, Now thy flute notes are changed to

coarse,

I hear thee not at all, or hoarse As when a hawker hawks his wares.

Take warning! he that will not sing While yon sun prospers in the blue, Shall sing for want, ere leaves are

new,

Caught in the frozen palms of Spring.

THE DEATH OF THE OLD
YEAR.

FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing:

Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
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 froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the New-year blithe and bold my friend,

Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro :
The cricket chirps: the light burns
low:

'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands, before you die
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.

Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the floor,
my friend,

And a new face at the door, my
friend,

A new face at the door.

TO J. S.

THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows

More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentle mould.

And me this knowledge bolder made, Or else I had not dared to flow In these words toward you, and invade Even with a verse your holy woe.

'Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed,