O er the tangled slopes where the hazels spring. 



The witches cast charms, I am told. 

 And the rays of sunshine must twist and cling 



Till stiffened by snow and cold. ■ 



Each little brown pod is the home of an elf 

 Which peeps from its window in glee; 



While I stand bewitched in a spell myself. 

 They leap i ut with a laugh at me. 



M. B. F. 



