





204 FLORAL POESY. 
So, serious should my youth appear among 
The thoughtless throng, 
So would I seem among the young and gay 
More grave than they, 
That in my age as cheerful I might be 
As the green winter of the holly-tree. 
THE HOLLY. 
ELIZA COOK. 
THE holly ! the holly ! oh, twine it with the bay— 
Come, give the holly a song ; 
For it helps to drive stern Winter away, 
With his garments so somber and long. 
It peeps through the trees with its berries of red, 
And its leaves of burnished green, 
When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, 
And not even the daisy is seen. 
Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly, 
That hangs over peasant and king ; 
While we laugh and carouse ’neath its glittering boughs, 
To the Christmas holly we’ll sing. 
The gale may whistle, and frost may come 
To fetter the gurgling rill ; 
The woods may be bare and the warblers dumb— 
But the holly is beautiful still. 
In the revel and light of princely halls 
The bright holly-branch is found ; 
And its shadow falls on the lowhest—falls 
While the brimming horn goes round. 
