My whole at Christmas seasons with holly we entwine;
Upon the old Whig taverns ’t was painted as a sign;
But in its depths lurk dangers, from its floating cakes of ice
To its balmy breath of sugar-cane, its tropic fruits and spice.
[34]
ONCE I passed through my whole. ’T was beautiful;
’T was like a fairy-land, so gay, so glad,
So free from care and sorrow. For a time
I staid. Yet eagerly desired the day
When I might leave its simple joys. Ah me,
If but I might return to them again!
My first is always in my whole. Sometimes
My first is in my last. When, long ago,
Red Ridinghood on kindly errand bent,
Walked to her grandam’s cot across the wood,
My last was on my first.
[35]
A SPIRIT rising in the air, continued still to fight;
It was my first, who, when alive, put savage hordes to flight.
And for my total, years had filled the Romans with my last,
And at his grim and ghastly blade the conquerors looked aghast.
[36]
MY first a well known character on ancient history’s page;
His wooden effigy is sold for youth of tender age.
My second ’s very wicked, and Holy Writ declares
Of those who made my second and the punishing she bears.
My whole hangs from the branching trees,
Swayed lightly by a passing breeze.