Fast falls a fleecy show'r: the downy flakes,

Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse,
Softly alighting upon all below,

Assimilate all objects. Earth receives

Gladly the thick'ning mantle; and the green And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil.

In such a world; so thorny, and where none Finds happiness unblighted; or, if found, Without some thistly sorrow at its side; It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin Against the law of love, to measure lots With less distinguish'd than ourselves; that thus We may with patience bear our mod rate ills, And sympathise with others, suff'ring more. Ill fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team. The wain goes heavily, impeded sore By congregated loads adhering close

To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace,
Noiseless, appears a moving hill of snow.

The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide,
While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong
Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon

Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night,

With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth

Presented bare against the storm, plods on.
One hand secures his hat, save when with both
He brandishes his pliant length of whip,
Resounding oft, and never heard in vain.
Oh happy; and, in my account, denied
That sensibility of pain with which
Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou!
Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd.
The learned finger never need explore

Thy vig'rous pulse; and the unhealthful east,

That breathes the spleen, and searches ev'ry bone
Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee.

Thy days roll on, exempt from household care;
Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beasts,
That drag the dull companion to and fro,
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care.
Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou appear'st,
Yet show that thou hast mercy! which the great,
With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place,
Humane as they would seem, not always show.

Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat; Such claim compassion in a night like this, And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear, But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys.

The few small embers left she nurses well;

And, while her infant race, with outspread hands
And crowded knees, sit cow'ring o'er the sparks,
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd.
The man feels least, as more inur'd than she
To winter, and the current in his veins
More briskly mov'd by his severer toil;

Yet he, too, finds his own distress in their's.
The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw

Dangled along at the cold finger's end

Just when the day declin'd, and the brown loaf
Lodg'd on the shelf, half eaten, without sauce
Of sav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier still;
Sleep seems their only refuge: for, alas,
Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd,
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few!
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care
Ingenious parsimony takes but just

Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool,

Skillet, and old carv'd chest, from public sale.

They live, and live without extorted alms

From grudging hands; but other boast have none To sooth their honest pride, that scorns to beg,

Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love.

I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair,
For ye are worthy; choosing rather far

A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd,
And eaten with a sigh, than to endure
The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs
Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Of distribution; lib'ral of their aid

To clam'rous importunity in rags,

But oft-times deaf to suppliants, who would blush To wear a tatter'd garb however coarse,

Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth:

These ask with painful shyness, and, refus'd

Because deserving, silently retire!

But be

ye of good courage! Time itself

Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase; And all your num'rous progeny, well-train'd, .