Poems (Acton)/The Holly

THE HOLLY. ——

'Twas a holly all so lonely,
 In a winter garden grew,
Never sunbeam on it resting
 E'en a passing brightness threw;
Coldly sombre 'neath the gushing
 Of the golden noonday light,
Dark and gloomy when 'twas shaded
 By the coming hues of night.

Crocus bright, and polyanthus,
 From its presence shrank with dread,
As amid their dewy-blossoms
 High it rear'd its chilling head;
And the leaves that deck'd the border
 Turn'd their graceful stems with fear
From the frosty breath and bearing
 Of the prickly stranger near.

But it chanc'd, one bitter morning,
 When the driving snow fell fast,
And each bud crouch'd low for shelter
 From the keen and cutting blast,
That a pale and tender snow-drop,
 Newly-risen from its birth,
Bow'd its head beneath the whirlwind
 To the hard and frozen earth.

From the storm that swept the garden
 Naught could shield the fragile flower;
When the holly, downward bending,
 Lent its succour in that hour:
'Neath its boughs the snow-drop rested,
 Safely shelter'd on the ground
From the wind that raged with fury,
 And the snow that fell around.

And the holly nestled o'er it
 Through the weary winter's day,
Till the sky was bright and glowing,
 And the storm had passed away.
There are some in Life's wide garden,
 Who, with chilling look and tone,
'Mid the sweets that bloom around them
 Seem to wander on alone.

Pause, oh mortals! ere ye judge them;
 For ye know not but may dwell
Kindly thought and noble feeling
 Deep within their bosom's cell.
Like the holly, 'neath their coldness
 There may lurk a vein of gold,
Which, when sought by helpless sorrow,
 Priceless treasure shall unfold.
H. A.