SLEEPY HOLLOW.

BENEATH these gold and azure skies

The river winds through leafy glades,

Save where, like battlements, arise

The gray and tufted Palisades.

The fervor of this sultry time

Is tempered by the humid earth,

And zephyrs, born of summer’ s prime,

Give a delicious coolness birth.

They freshen this sequestered nook

With constant greetings bland and free,

The pages of the open book

All flutter with their wayward glee.

As quicker swell their breathings soft,

Cloud-shadows skim along the field;

And yonder dangling woodbines oft

Their crimson bugles gently yield.

The tulip-tree majestic stirs

Far down the water’ s marge beside,

And now awake the nearer firs,

And toss their ample branches wide.

How blithely trails the pendent vine!

The grain-slope lies in green repose;

Through the dark foliage of the pine

And lofty elms the sunshine glows.

Like sentinels in firm array

The trees-of-life their shafts uprear;

Red cones upon the sumach play,

And ancient locusts whisper near.

From wave and meadow, cliff and sky,

Let thy stray vision homeward fall;

Behold the mist-bloom floating nigh,

And hollyhock white-edged and tall;

Its gaudy leaves, though fanned apart,

Round thick and mealy stamens spring,

And nestled to its crimson heart

The sated bees enamored cling.

Mark the broad terrace flecked with light

That peeps through trellises of rose,

And quivers with a vague delight

As each pale shadow comes and goes.

The near, low gurgle of the brook,

The wren’ s glad chirp, the scented hay,

And e’ en the watch-dog’ s peaceful look

Our vain disquietudes allay.