"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer, To keep the cold away." O Richard! if my brother died, For darkling was the battle tried, "If pall and vair* no more I wear, As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray, "And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand." II. 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who woned within the hill, Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, "Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen? Or who may dare on wold to wear "Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, "Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part Nor yet find leave to die." III. 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Though the birds have stilled their singing; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, And, as he crossed and blessed himself, "Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood, The blood of Ethert Brand." Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, "And if there's blood on Richard's hand, "And I conjure thee, demon elf, IV. ""Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing: "And gaily shines the Fairy-land But all is glistening show, Like the idle gleam that December's beam Can dart on ice and snow. "And fading, like that varied gleam, Is our inconstant shape, Who now like knight and lady seem, "It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away To the joyless Elfin bower. "But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mould, As fair a form as thine." She crossed him once she crossed him twice That lady was so brave; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; The fairest knight on Scottish mould, Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing. THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. Washington Irving. FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, Forever flushing round a summer sky. - Castle of Indolence. In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity. I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that |