Pay contribution to the ftore he gleans;
He fucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return, a rich repast for me.
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,
Afcend his topmaft, through his peering eyes
Discover countries, with a kindred heart
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is ftill at home.
Oh Winter! ruler of th' inverted year, Thy fcatter'd hair with fleet like afhes fill'd, Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fring'd with a beard made white with other fnows Than thofe of age; thy forehead wrapt in clouds, A leafless branch thy fceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urg'd by ftorms along its flipp'ry way;
I love thee, all unlovely as thou feem'st,
And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'ft the fun
A pris'ner in the yet undawning East,
Short'ning his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
Down to the rofy Weft; but kindly still
Compenfating his lofs with added hours
Of focial converse and instructive eafe,
And gathering at fhort notice, in one group,
The famil difpers'd, and fixing thought,
Not lefs difpers'd by day-light and its cares.
I crown thee King of intimate delights,
Fire-fide enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
No ratt'ling wheels ftop fhort before these gates;
No powder'd pert proficient in the art
Of founding an alarm, affaults these doors
Till the street rings; no ftationary steeds
Cough their own knell, while, heedlefs of the found,
The filent circle fan themselves, and quake:
But here the needle plies its bufy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow'r,
Wrought patiently into the fnowy lawn,
Unfolds its bofom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully difpos'd,
Follow the nimble finger of the fair;
A wreath that cannot fade, of flow'rs that blow
With most fuccefs when all befides decay.
The poet's or hiftorian's page, by one
Made vocal for th' amusement of the reft;
The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out;
And the clear voice fymphonious, yet diftinct,
And in the charming ftrife triumphant still,
Beguile the night, and fet a keener edge
On female induftry; the threaded steel
Flies fwiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds.
The volume clos'd, the customary rites
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal;
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoy'd, fpare feast! a radish and an egg.
Difcourfe enfues, not trivial, yet not dull,
Nor fuch as with a frown forbids the play
Of fancy, or profcribes the found of mirth;
Nor do we madly, like an impious, world,
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God
That made them an intruder on their joys,
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise
A jarring note.
Themes of a graver tone,
Exciting oft our gratitude and love,
While we retrace with mem'ry's pointing wand,
That calls the paft to our exact review,
The dangers we have 'fcap'd, the broken fnare,
The difappointed foe, deliv'rance found
Unlook'd for, life preferv'd and peace reftor'd,
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.
Oh evenings worthy of the Gods! exclaim'd
The Sabine bard. Oh evenings, I reply,
More to be priz❜d and coveted than yours,
As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths,
That I and mine, and those we love, enjoy.
Is winter hideous in a garb like this?
Needs he the tragic fur, the fmoke of lamps,
The pent-up breath of an unfav'ry throng,
To thaw him into feeling, or the smart
And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits
Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile?
The felf-complacent actor, when he views
(Stealing a fide-long glance at a full house)
The flope of faces, from the floor to th' roof,
(As if one mafter-fpring controul'd them all)
Relax'd into an univerfal grin,
Sees not a count'nance there that speaks a joy
Half fo refin'd or fo fincere as ours.
Cards were fuperfluous here, with all the tricks
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