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- pass on.

and noon,

Is to conduct it to the destined inn, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
And having dropped the expected bag
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted O Winter! ruler of the inverted year,

Thy scattered air with sleet like ashes Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of filled, grief

Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to cheeks some,

Fringed with a beard made white with To him indifferent whether grief or joy. other snows Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet in clouds, With tears that trickled down the writer's A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy cheeks

throne Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, Or charged with amorous sighs of absent But urged by, storms along its slippery swains,

way; Or nymphs responsive, equally affect I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest, His horse and him, unconscious of them And dreaded as thou art. Thou holdest all.

the sun But oh the important budget ! ushered in A prisoner in the yet undawning east, With such heart-shakir.g music, who can Shortening his journey between morn

say What are its tidings? have our troops And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, awaked?

Down to the rosy west; but kindly still Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, Compensating his loss with added hours Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic Of social converse and instructive ease, wave?

And gathering, at short notice, in one Is India free? and does she wear her group plumed

The family dispersed, and fixing thought, And jewelled turban with a smile of Not less dispersed by daylight and its

peace, Or do we grind her still? The grand | I crown thee King of intimate delights, debate,

Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiThe popular harangue, the tart reply, The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, And all the comforts that the lowly roof And the loud laugh - I long to know Of undisturbeà retirement, and the them all;

hours I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers Of long uninterrupted evening know. free,

No rattling wheels stop short before And give them voice and utterance once

these gates; again.

No powdered pert, proficient in the art Now stir the fire, and close the shutters Of sounding an alarm, assaults these fast,

doors Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa Till the street rings; no stationary steeds round,

Cough their own knell, while, heedless And while the bubbling and loud hissing of the sound,

The silent circle fan themselves, and Throws up a steamy column, and the quake: cups

But here the needle plies its busy task, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on The pattern grows, the well-depicted each,







Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, | Descending, and, with never-ceasing Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, lapse, and sprigs,

Softly alighting upon all below, And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, Assimilate all objects. Earth receives Follow the nimble finger of the fair; Gladly the thickening mantle, and the A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers green that blow

And tender blade that feared the chillWith most success when all besides

ing blast decay.

Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. The poet's or historian's page, by one In such a world, so thorny, and where Made vocal for the amusement of the rest;

Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of Without some thistly sorrow at its side, sweet sounds

It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin The touch from many a trembling chord Against the law of love, to measure lots shakes out;

With less distinguished than ourselves, And the clear voice symphonious, yet that thus distinct,

We may with patience bear our moderAnd in the charming strife triumphant ate ills, still

And sympathize with others, suffering Beguile the night, and set a keener edge On female industry: the threaded steel Ill fares the traveller now, and he that Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task pro- stalks ceeds.

In ponderous boots beside his reeking


The wain goes heavily, impeded sore SNOW.

By congregated loads adhering close

To the clogged wheels; and in its slugI saw the woods and fields at close of day

Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. A variegated show; the meadows green, The toiling steeds expand the nostril Though faded; and the lands, where wide, lately waved

While every breath, by respiration The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, strong Upturned so lately by the forceful share: Forced downward, is consolidated soon

Upon their jutting chests. He, formed

to bear By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting The pelting brunt of the tempestuous each

night, His favorite herb; while all the leafless With half-shut eyes and puckered groves

cheeks, and teeth That skirt the norizon, wore a sable hue, Presented bare against the storm, plods Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of

One hand secures his hat, save when To-morrow brings a change, a total with both change!

He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Which even now, though silently per- Resounding oft, and never heard in formed

vain. And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face O happy! and in my account, denied Of universal nature undergoes.

That sensibility of pain with which Fast falls a fleecy shower : the downy Refinement is endued, thrice happy flakes


gish pace

With verdure not "unprofitable, grazed Up



every bone

hold care;

the great,

Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels in. Ere yet her ear was mistress of their deed

powers. The piercing cold, but feels it unim- No bard could please me but whose lyre paired.

was tuned The learned finger never need explore To Nature's praises. Heroes and their Thy vigorous pulse; and the unhealth- feats ful east,

Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe That breathes the spleen, and searches Of Tityrus, asser ling, as he sang,

The rustic throng beneath his favorite Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. beech. Thy days roll on exempt from house- Then Milton had indeed a poet's

charms: The wagon is thy wife; and the poor New to my taste, his Paradise surpassed beasts

The struggling efforts of my boyish That drag the dull companion to and tongue fro,

To speak its excellence; I danced for Thine helpless charge, dependent on joy: thy care.

I marvelled much that, at so ripe an age Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou As twice seven years, his beauties had appearest,

then first Yet show that thou hast mercy, which Engaged my wonder, and admiring still,

And still admiring, with regret supposed With needless hurry whirled from place The joy half lost because not sooner to place,

found. Humane as they would seem, not al- Thee too, enamored of the life I loved,

Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit
Determined, and possessing it at last
With transports such as favored lovers


I studied, prized, and wished that I had EARLY LOVE OF THE COUN


Ingenious Cowley! and though now reBut slighted as it is, and by the great claimed Abandoned, and, which still I more re- By modern lights from an erroneous gret,

taste, Infected with the manners and the I cannot but lament thy splendid wit modes

Entangled in the cobwebs of the It knew not once, the country wins me schools; still.

I still revere thee, courtly though retired, I never framed a wish, or formed a Though stretched at ease in Chertsey's plan,

silent bowers, That flattered me with hopes of earthly Not unemployed, and finding rich bliss,

amends But there I laid the scene. There early For a lost world in solitude and verse.

strayed My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free.

MEDITATION IN WINTER. My very dreams were rural, rural too [From Book VI. The Winter Walk at The firstborn efforts of my youthful

Noon.] muse,

The night was winter in his roughest Sportive, and jingling her poetic bells mood,

ways show.


The morning sharp and clear. But now And learning wiser grow without his at noon,

books. Upon the southern side of the slant Knowledge and wisdom, far from being hills,

one, And where the woods fence off the Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge northern blast,

dwells The season smiles, resigning all its rage, In heads replete with thoughts of other And has the warmth of May. The men, vault is blue

Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Without a cloud, and white without a Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, speck

The mere materials with which wisdom The dazzling splendor of the scene be- builds, low.

Till smoothed and squared and fitted to Again the harmony comes o’er the vale,

its place, And through the trees I view the em- Does but encumber whom it seems to enbattled tower

rich. Whence all the music. I again per- Knowledge is proud that he has learned ceive

so much; The soothing influence of the wafted Wisdom is humble that he kncws no

strains, And settle in soft musings as I tread Books are not seldom talismans and The walk, still verdant, under oaks and spells, elms,

By which the magic art of shrewder wits Whose outspread branches overarch the Holds an unthinking multitude englade.

thralled. The roof, though moveable through all Some to the fascination of a name its length

Surrender judgment hoodwinked. As the wind sways it, has yet well suf- Some the style ficed,

Infatuates, and through labyrinths and And intercepting in their silent fall

wilds The frequent flakes, has kept a path for Of error leads them, by a tune entranced.

While sloth seduces more, too weak to No noise is here, or none that hinders bear thought.

The insupportable fatigue of thought, The redbreast warbles still, but is content And swallowing therefore, without pause With slender notes, and more than half or choice, suppressed:

The total grist unsifted, husks and all. Pleased with his solitude, and flitting But trees, and rivulets whose rapid

light From spray to spray, where'er he rests Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, he shakes

And sheepwalks populous with bleating From many a twig the pendant drops of lambs, ice,

And 'anes in which the primrose ere her That tinkle in the withered leaves be

time low.

Peeps through the moss that clothes the Stillness, accompanied with sounds so hawthorn root, soft,

Deceive no student. Wisdom there, Charms more than silence. Meditation and Truth, here

Not shy as in the world, and to be won May think down hours to moments. By slow solicitation, seize at once Here the heart

The roving thought, and fix it on them. May give a useful lesson to the head,




the year,

THE POET IN THE WOODS. Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
HERE unmolested, through whatever

Who, nursed with tender care,

And to domestic bounds confined, sign The sun proceeds, I wander; neither

Was still a wild Jack hare. mist, Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me, Though duly from my hand he took Nor stranger interineddling with my joy. His pittance every night, Even in the spring and playtime of

He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite.
That calls the unwonted villager abroad
With all her little ones, a sportive train, His diet was of wheaten bread,
To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, And milk, and oats, and straw;
And prink their hair with daisies, or to Thistles, or lettuces instead,

With sand to scour his maw.
A cheap but wholesome salad from the

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, These shades are all my own. The On pippins' russet peel, timorous hare,

And, when his juicy salads failed, Grown so familiar with her frequent Sliced carrot pleased him well.

guest, Scarce shuns me; and the stockdove A Turkey carpet was his lawn, unalarmed

Whereon he loved to bound, Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor sus- To skip and gambol like a fawn, pends

And swing his rump around.
His long love-ditty for my near approach.
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely His frisking was at evening hours,

For then he lost his fear,
That age or injury has hollowed deep, But most before approaching showers,
Where on his bed of wool and matted Or when a storm drew near.

leaves He has outslept the winter, ventures

Eight years and five round-rolling forth To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm He thus saw steal away, sun,

Dozing out all his idle noons,
The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of

And every night at play.
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, I kept him for his humor's sake,
Ascends the neighboring beech; there

For he would oft beguile
whisks his brush,

My heart of thoughts that made it And perks his ears, and stamps and

scolds aloud,

And force me to a smile.
With all the prettiness of feigned alarm,
And anger insignificantly fierce.

But now beneath this walnut shade

He finds his long last home,

And waits, in snug concealment laid, EPITAPH ON A HARE.

Till gentler Puss shall come. HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pur. sue,

He, still more agèd, feels the shocks, Nor swifter greyhound follow,

From which no care can save, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, And, partner once of Tiney's box,

Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo; Must soon partake his grave.


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