University of Virginia Library

THE VINE.

'Twas holiday-time, and young Harry was gay,
Though bleak the wide landscape around;
'Twas Christmas, and homeward he tripped it away,
For hard was the frost-bitten ground.
He ran through the garden, the pleasure-grounds too,
The walks and dark alleys he traced;
Admired the tall cypress, the privet, and yew,
And holly with red berries graced:
The laurel and bay, and such fine evergreens,
In verdure and beauty arose;
He stopped at a tree, and he cried out, “What means
This leafless old tree among those?

119

“Dig it up, pull it down—not a leaf on its spray,
No shelter is here for the birds!”
But his father replied, “I hear what you say;
Next autumn remember your words.”
And now, as was promised, that autumn was come,
Young Harry left school for a week;
And ripe was the nectarine, ripe was the plum,
And peach too, with down on its cheek.
When straight to the garden our schoolboy repaired,
Where fruit hung all tempting and fine,
“What tree,” he exclaimed, “can at all be compared,
Papa, with this beautiful vine?
“What bunches! what clusters! the sight is a treat!
So charming I never did see:
The sight is deliclous; the flavour how sweet!
Papa, what a beautiful tree!”

120

“This tree,” said papa, “is the one you despised,
Which then looked so withered and bare;
But you see, by exterior few things can be prized:
Of hasty decisions beware.
“Remember, my child, not to judge by the eye,
Of those who in form do not shine;
And now gain a lesson, of use by and by,
From your folly in spurning the vine.”