THE POETRY OF WINTER.

WINTER.

SEE! Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train ;

Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms!
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,

When nursed by careless solitude I lived,

And sung of nature with unceasing joy,

Pleased have I wandered through your rough domain; Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure.

THOMSON.

FARM-YARD IN WINTER.

WHEN now, unsparing as the scourge of war,
Blasts follow blasts, and groves dismantled roar,
Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows,
No nourishment in frozen pastures grows;
Yet frozen pastures every morn resound
With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.
For though on hoary twigs no buds peep out,
And e'en the hardy brambles cease to sprout,
Beneath dread Winter's level sheets of snow
The sweet nutritious turnip deigns to grow;
Till now imperious want and wide-spread dearth
Bid Labor claim her treasures from the earth.
On driving gales sharp hail indignant flies,
And sleet, more irksome still, assails his eyes;
Snow clogs his feet; or if no snow is seen,
The field with all its juicy store to screen,
Deep goes the frost, till every root is found
A rolling mass of ice upon the ground.
No tender ewe can break her nightly fast,
Nor heifer strong begin the cold repast,
Till Giles with pond'rous beetle foremost go,
And scatt'ring splinters fly at every blow:

FARM-YARD IN WINTER.

When pressing round him, eager for the prize,
From their mixed breath warm exhalations rise.

Though night approaching bids for rest prepare,
Still the flail echoes through the frosty air,
Nor stops till deepest shades of darkness come,
Sending at length the weary laborer home.
From him, with bed and nightly food supplied,
Throughout the yard, housed round on every side,
Deep-plunging cows their rustling feast enjoy,
And snatch sweet mouthfuls from the passing boy,
Who moves unseen beneath his trailing load,
Fills the tall racks and leaves a scattered road;
Where oft the swine from ambush warm and dry
Bolt out, and scamper headlong to their sty,
When Giles, with well-known voice, already there,
Deigns them a portion of his evening care.
From the fireside with many a shrug he hies,
Glad if the full-orbed moon salute his eyes,
And through th' unbroken stillness of the night
Shed on his path her beams of cheering light.
With saunt'ring step he climbs the distant stile,
Whilst all around him wears a placid smile;

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There views the white-robed clouds in clusters driven, And all the glorious pageantry of Heaven.