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THE WINTER'S WAL K.
EHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove, What dreary prospects round-us rise ; The naked hill, the leafless grove,
The hoary ground, the frowning lies!
Nor only thought the wasted plain,
Stern Winter in thy force.confess’d; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power usurp my breaft.
Enlivening hope, and fond defire,
Resign the heart to spleen and care ; Scarce frighted love maintains her fire,
And rapture faddens to despair.
In groundless hope, and caufeless fear,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom; Still changing with the changeful year,
The flave of funshine and of gloom.
Tird with vain joys, and falfe alarms,
With mental and corporeal ftrife, Snatch me, my
Stella, to thy arms, And screen me from the ills of life.
Not the soft fighs of vernal gales,
Not all the gems on India's shore,
Yet nature's charms allure my eyes,
Hafte-press the clusters, fill the bowl ;
Apollo ! shoot thy parting ray: This gives the sunshine of the soul,
This god of health, and verse, and day.
The pulse with vigorous rapture beat;
bliss in wine shall meet.
No more the morn, with tepid rays,
o Unfolds the flower of various hue; Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve distills the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night,
Usurping darkness shares the day; Her mists reftrain the force of light, And Phæbus holds a doubtful fway.
:1 By gloomy twilight half reveal’d,
With fighs we view the hoary hill, The leafless wood, the naked field,
The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No music warbles thro' the
grove, No vivid colours paint the plain ; No more with devious steps I rove
Thro' verdant paths now fought in vain.
Aloud the driving tempest roars,
Congeald, impetuous showers descend ; Hafte, close the window, bat 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 music found 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,
tale shall please no more ; Nor music charm--tho' Stella fings;
Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore.
Catch then, O! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies ; ; Life's a short Summer-man a flower,
He dies-alas! How soon he dies !
To S T E L L A.
VENING now from purple wings