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No more the morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Nor gentle eve distils the dew..
Usurping Darkness shares the day;
And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway. By gloomy twilight half reveal’d,
With sighs we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field,
'The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill. No musick warbles through the grove,
No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious steps I rove
Through verdant paths, now sought in vain. Aloud the driving tempest roars,
Congeald, impetuous showers desce:d ; Haste, close the window, bar the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. In nature's aid, let art supply, '
With light and heat my little sphere; Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a constellation here. Let musick sound the voice of joy,
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale ; Let Love his wanton wiles employ,
And o’er the season wine prevail,
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
When Mirth's gay tale shall please no more; Nor musick charm-though Stella sings;
Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore. Catch, then, Oh! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies; Life's a short summer--man a flower;
He diesmalas ! how soon he dies !
THE WINTER'S WALK.
BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,
What dreary prospects round us rise ; The naked hill, the leafless grove,
The hoạry ground, the frowning skies! Nor only through the wasted plain,
Stern Winter! is thy force confess'd; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power usurp my breast, Enlivening hope, and fond desire,
Resign the heart to spleen and care; $carce frighted Love maintains her fire,
And rapture saddens to despair,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom;
The slave of sunshine and of gloom, Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,
With mental and corporeal strite, Snatch me, iny Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life,
TO MISS *****
On her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Net-Work
Purse of her own Weaving *
THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite
Spread out by me, the roving coin
TO MISS *****
with Flower-Pieces of her own Painting t.
* Printed among Mrs. William's Miscellanics.
Ah !' think not, in the dangerous hour,
When charms thus press on ev'ry sense,
Delighting as the youth draws nigh, ! To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art
But on those regions of delight,
Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes Thou seest one pleasing form arise, How active light, and thoughtful shade, In greater scenes each other aid; Mark, when the different notes agree In friendly contrariety, How passion's well-accorded strife Gives all the harmony of life; Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, Consistent still, though not the same; Thy music teach the nobler art, To tune the regulated heart.
EVÉNING: AN ODE.
EVENING now from purple wings
TO THE SAME.