ABOVE.
First Mason:
Look up at the pointers: they 're drawing close together;
'T is here we get the earliest news of sun, and moon, and weather;
We can hear time's pulse a-ticking, with the whistling weathercock.
Drop your mortar-boards, my lads, it's coming twelve o'clock.
Third Mason:
Oh! it's hungry that I am with working in the wind,
But there's a shawl and bonnet—below there: do you mind?
It's Molly with the dinner-pail: she's coming in the door.
Faith, my belly thinks my throat is cut this half an hour and more.
(The church clock strikes the noon.)
A MEMORY
I came across the marsh to-night,
And though the wind was cold,
I stayed a moment on the bridge
To note the paly gold
That lingered on the darkening bay;
The creek which ran below
Was frozen dumb; the dreary flats
Were overspread with snow.