356 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS. 



clamber over the heap of stones, they are very slippery ; 

 keep along the side of the hedge where the snow is drifted 

 off. Now you have a safe standing-place, tell me what 

 you want. 



Holly-tree, Holly-tree, listen to me, 



My mother lias sent me, with carols of glee ; 



The old church is grey, and the ivy is white, 



For the snow it fell fast on the branches last night. 



Oh, give me some houghs, and some berries all red, 



To fill the new basket I bear on my head ! 



It was made from the willow that grows by the rill, 



When the streamlet danced forth, in its glee, from the hill. 



My father is waiting ; my sister and brother 



Look forth o'er the snow waste ; and hark to my mother 



Her clear voice is singing, " Be pleased, Holly -tree, 



To send us some boughs, for our carols of glee." 



And thus from year to year have I heard that song, said 

 a patriarchal holly on Bockly-ridge ; at first in old 

 English, with rude uncouth lines ; then varied to suit the 

 fashion of times long past ; and now modernized by some 

 village poet. I remember thy great grandfather, my ruddy 

 boy, coming up from the old farmhouse in the valley. His 



