No! take him in, and blaze the oak,
And pour the wine, and warm the ale;
His sides shall shake to many a joke,
His tongue shall thaw in many a tale,
His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay,
And even his palsy charm’d away. 
What heeds he then the boisterous shout
Of angry winds that scowl without,
Like shrewish wives at tavern door? 
What heeds he then the wild uproar
Of billows bursting on the shore? 
In dashing waves, in howling breeze,
There is a music that can charm him;
When safe, and sheltered, and at ease,
He hears the storm that cannot harm him.

But hark! those shouts! that sudden din
Of little hearts that laugh within. 
Oh! take him where the youngsters play,
And he will grow as young as they! 
They come! they come! each blue-eyed Sport,
The Twelfth-Night King and all his court—­
’Tis Mirth fresh crown’d with misletoe! 
Music with her merry fiddles,
Joy “on light fantastic toe,”
Wit with all his jests and riddles,
Singing and dancing as they go. 
And Love, young Love, among the rest,
A welcome—­nor unbidden guest.

But still for Summer dost thou grieve? 
Then read our Poets—­they shall weave
A garden of green fancies still,
Where thy wish may rove at will. 
They have kept for after-treats
The essences of summer sweets,
And echoes of its songs that wind
In endless music through the mind: 
They have stamp’d in visible traces
The “thoughts that breathe,” in words that shine—­
The flights of soul in sunny places—­
To greet and company with thine. 
These shall wing thee on to flow’rs—­
The past or future, that shall seem
All the brighter in thy dream
For blowing in such desert hours. 
The summer never shines so bright
As thought-of in a winter’s night;
And the sweetest loveliest rose
Is in the bud before it blows;
The dear one of the lover’s heart
Is painted to his longing eyes,
In charms she ne’er can realize—­
But when she turns again to part. 
Dream thou then, and bind thy brow
With wreath of fancy roses now,
And drink of Summer in the cup
Where the Muse hath mix’d it up;
The “dance, and song, and sun-burnt mirth,”
With the warm nectar of the earth: 
Drink! ’twill glow in every vein,
And thou shalt dream the winter through: 
Then waken to the sun again,
And find thy Summer Vision true!

THE SEA OF DEATH.

A FRAGMENT.

——­Methought I saw
Life swiftly treading over endless space;
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace,
The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave,
Swallow’d her steps like a pursuing grave.

Sad were my thoughts that anchor’d silently
On the dead waters of that passionless sea,
Unstirr’d by any touch of living breath: 
Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death,
Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings
On crowded carcases—­sad passive things
That wore the thin gray surface, like a veil
Over the calmness of their features pale.