A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o’er the wood with startling sound;
Then–all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
Where leafless oaks towered high above,
I sat within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green;
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With withered leaves is covered o’er,
And all the year the bower is green.
But see! where’er the hailstones drop
The withered leaves all skip and hop;
There’s not a breeze–no breath of air–
Yet here, and there, and everywhere
Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin Good-fellow were there,
And all those leaves, in festive glee,
Were dancing to the minstrelsy.
You May Also Like:
- The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons – Canto Third
- The Passing Of The Elder Bards
- The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons – Canto First
- The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons – Canto Seventh
- The Waggoner – Canto Second
- The Female Vagrant
- The Redbreast Chasing the Butterfly
- The Waggoner – Canto Third