WINTER.

Locked in a close embrace, like that of Death,
Earth's pulseless heart reposes, mute and chill;
Within her frozen breast, her frozen breath,
In its forgotten fragrance, slumbereth still:
Sapless her veins, and numb her withered arms,
That still, outstretched, stand grim mementos drear
Of her once gorgeous and full-leavéd charms.
Of flower and fruit, all increase of the year:
Voiceless the river, in ice fretwork chained;
Hushed the sweet cadences of bird and bee;
Dumb the last echo to soft music trained,
And warmth and life are a past memory:
Thus, buried deep within dull Winter's rime,
Love dreamless sleeps through the long Winter-time.

* * * * *

LIFE IN THE WOODS.--A SONG.

BY GEO. P. MORRIS.

A merry life does the hunter lead!
He wakes with the dawn of day;
He whistles his dog--he mounts his steed,
And sends to the woods away!
The lightsome tramp of the deer he'll mark,
As they troop in herds along;