With brifker air the filken courtiers gaze, Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart, DR. JOHNSON A SE C T. XXXVII. ON AUTUMN. LAS! with fwift and filent pace, Impatient time rolls on the year; The feafons change, and nature's face 'Twas spring, 'twas fummer, all was gay, The verdant leaves that play'd on high, As Boreas ftrips the bending trees. The fields that wav'd with golden grain, Nor health nor pleasure wanders there. No No more while thro' the midnight shade From this capricious clime she soars : Vain wish! me fate compels to bear What blifs to life can autumn yield, If glooms, and fhowers, and ftorms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field, And flowers, and fruits, and Phœbus fail? Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, To cheer me in the darkening hour? The grape remains the friend of wit, In love and mirth of mighty power. Hafte-prefs the clusters, fill the bowl; Still-ftill the jocund ftrain fball flow, The pulfe with vigorous rapture beat; My My Stella with new charms fhall glow, DR. JOHNSON. S E C T. `XXXVIII. ON WINTER. O more the morn with tepid rays Νο Unfolds the flower of various hue; The lingering hours prolong the night, By gloomy twilight half reveal'd, No mufic warbles thro' the grove, No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious steps I rove Aloud the driving tempeft roars, Congeal'd impetuous fhowers defcend; Hafte, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. In nature's aid let art fupply With light and heat my little sphere; Let mufic found the voice of joy! Yet time life's dreary winter brings, Nor mufic charm tho' Stella fings; Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore. Catch then, O! catch the transient hour, Life's a fhort fummer-man a flower, DR. JOHNSON SECT. XXXIX. THE WINTER'S WALK. BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove What dreary prospects round us rise; The naked hill, the leaflefs grove, Nor only through the wafted plain, Still Still wider spreads thy horrid reign, Enlivening hope, and fond defire, Refign the heart to fpleen and care; Scarce frighted love maintains her fire, And rapture faddens to despair. In groundlefs hope, and causeless fear, Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms, DR. JOHNSON. SECT. XL. THE VANITY OF WEALTH. No more, thus brooding o'er yon heap, Still unenjoy'd the prefent ftore, Still endless fighs are breath'd for more. In |