(Written on the FIRST of DECEMBER, 1793.)

  Tho' now no more the musing ear

  Delights to listen to the breeze

  That lingers o'er the green wood shade,

    I love thee Winter! well.

  Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,

  Sweet is the summer's evening gale,

  Pleasant the autumnal winds that shake

    The many-colour'd grove.

  And pleasant to the sober'd soul

  The silence of the wintry scene,

  When Nature shrouds her in her trance

  Not undelightful now to roam

  The wild heath sparkling on the sight;

  Not undelightful now to pace

    The forest's ample rounds;

  And see the spangled branches shine,

  And mark the moss of many a hue

  That varies the old tree's brown bark,

    Or o'er the grey stone spreads.

  The cluster'd berries claim the eye

  O'er the bright hollies gay green leaves,

  The ivy round the leafless oak

    Clasps its full foliage close.

  So VIRTUE diffident of strength

  Clings to RELIGION'S firmer aid,

  And by RELIGION'S aid upheld

    Endures calamity.

  Nor void of beauties now the spring,

  Whose waters hid from summer sun

  Have sooth'd the thirsty pilgrim's ear

    With more than melody.

  The green moss shines with icey glare,

  The long grass bends its spear-like form,

  And lovely is the silvery scene

    When faint the sunbeams smile.

  Reflection too may love the hour

  When Nature, hid in Winter's grave,

  No more expands the bursting bud

    Or bids the flowret bloom.

  For Nature soon in Spring's best charms

  Shall rise reviv'd from Winter's grave.

  Again expand the bursting bud,

    And bid the flowret bloom.

Written on SUNDAY MORNING.

    Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!

    I to the Woodlands wend, and there

  In lovely Nature see the GOD OF LOVE.

    The swelling organ's peal

    Wakes not my soul to zeal,

  Like the wild music of the wind-swept grove.

  The gorgeous altar and the mystic vest

  Rouse not such ardor in my breast,

    As where the noon-tide beam

    Flash'd from the broken stream,

  Quick vibrates on the dazzled sight;

    Or where the cloud-suspended rain

    Sweeps in shadows o'er the plain;

  Or when reclining on the clift's huge height

  I mark the billows burst in silver light.

    Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!

    I to the Woodlands shall repair,

    Feed with all Natures charms mine eyes,

    And hear all Natures melodies.

    The primrose bank shall there dispense

    Faint fragrance to the awaken'd sense,

    The morning beams that life and joy impart

    Shall with their influence warm my heart.

    And the full tear that down my cheek will steal,

    Shall speak the prayer of praise I feel!

    Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!

  I to the woodlands bend my way

    And meet RELIGION there.

  She needs not haunt the high-arch'd dome to pray

  Where storied windows dim the doubtful day:

  With LIBERTY she loves to rove.

    Wide o'er the heathy hill or cowslip'd dale;

  Or seek the shelter of the embowering grove,

  Sweet are these scenes to her, and when the night

  Pours in the north her silver streams of light,

  She woos Reflexion in the silent gloom,

  And ponders on the world to come.