VACATION. All now is confidence, the fresh o'erflow Warm is the welcome from each well known face, Of interest, that each inmate of the place Feels in me still, while all, with wonder, trace The charities of home and kindred race Revive once more, with tenfold pleasure fraught. But ah! how brief that pleasure soon the thought Of parting grieves: yet transient is that pain, The first home sickness never comes again; THE PLAY GROUND. Fearless they leap, and every youngster feels CRABBE. The sports of youth, and all the youthful train, Returns, renewed, in all its old delight, As through these haunts, with mingled joy and pain, I roam once more, they all are here again, Each spot so loved of yore; with dexterous sleight, The marble glancing to its destined aim, The kite, the cricket, and the hardier game Of foot ball, bounding o'er the trampled plain; The glowing brow, flushed cheek, and eye of flame, The toil to win, the effort to retain: And lo! yon youth, another, yet the same, My boy, with foot as restless in the chase, THE SWIMMER. Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, BYRON. The glowing fervours of the summer sun Lingering yet longing, fearful and yet brave, His Cæsar daring through the waves to glide, The stream they buffet now, with manly pride, *Julius Cæsar, Act I, Scene II. THE SNOW FOR T. Their sinews grow Firm mid the gladness of heroic sports. TALFOURD. Nor less our winter joys; 'tis now the time Contempt of danger, generous thirst for fame, SKATING. I. They ask no other gem, nor wealth, Save nature's gifts of youth and health. BYRON. 'Tis evening, and the winter's sky is fair; Our young limbs, hardened by the frosty air, Yon pool is open, but our thoughts defy II. In little bosoms such achievements strike COWPER. Hark to the shout, the challenge, the reply! Nor pause we now, in pity for the fall With peals of merry laugh, that rend the skies. Then up, and on But hark! with accent clear, Yon bell, loud sounding, checks our fleet career, And home we turn, obedient to its call, THE SWAMSCO T. Now reigns Full orbed the Moon, and with more pleasing light If none regard. MILTON. Frost bound river! o'er thy face, Clear as crystal, while I glide, And along thy smooth ice trace Mazy windings far and wide, Joy's wild impulse swells the force That propels my onward course. Care has dogged my steps all day, And in transport study drown: Lone I rove, yet not alone; Snow clad hill and silent wood, Spire and dome, now hid, now shown, Skies that sparkle, stars that burn - Burning cheek, and flashing eye, Quickened breath, and pulses wild; Rapture, ending in a sigh, Pain with pleasure reconciled |