The Polar Winter.

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An hostry now for waggons, which before
Tall ships of burthen on their bosom bore.
The brazen caldrons with the frost are flaw'd;
The garment, stiff with ice, at hearths is thaw'd;
With axes first they cleave the wine, and thence
By weight the solid portions they dispense.
From locks uncomb'd, and from the frozen beard,
Long icicles depend, and crackling sounds are
heard.

Meantime perpetual sleet, and driving snow,
Obscure the skies, and hang on herds below.
The starving cattle perish in their stalls,
Huge oxen stand inclos'd in wintry walls
Of snow congeal'd; whole herds are buried there
Of mighty stags, and scarce their horns appear.
The dextrous huntsman wounds not these afar
With shafts or darts, or makes a distant war
With dogs, or pitches toils to stop their flight,
But close engages in unequal fight;

And while they strive in vain to make their way
Through hills of snow, and pitifully bray,
Assualts with difft of sword, or pointed spears,
And homeward, on his back, the burthen bears.

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The Alps at Day-break.

The men to subterranean caves retire,

Secure from cold, and crowd the cheerful fire: With trunks of elms and oaks the hearth they load,

Nor tempt th' inclemency of heav'n abroad. Their jovial nights in frolic, and in play, They pass, to drive the tedious hours away. DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.

THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.

THE sunbeams streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow:
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roebuck through the snow.

The goats wind slow their wonted way
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,

From desert cave or hanging wood.

And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,
Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.

ROGERS

The Olive.--A Wish.

པ་

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THE OLIVE.

SEE the young olive in the sylvan scene, Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green, Lifts the gay head in snowy flow'rets fair, And plays and dances to the gentle air; When lo! awhirlwind from high heav'n invades The tender plant, and withers all its shades; It lies uprooted from its genial bed,

A lovely ruin, now defaced and dead.

A WISH.

MINE be a cot beside a hill;

POPE'S HOMER.

A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.

The swallow oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

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Pity-Ascending the Alps..

Around my ivied porch shall spring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;

And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,

In russet gown and apron blue.

PITY.

ROGERS.

No radiant pearl which crested Fortune wears, No gem that twinkling hangs from Beauty's ears, Not the bright stars which night's blue arch adorn,

Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn, Shine with such lustre as the tear that breaks, For other's woe, down Virtue's manly cheeks.

ASCENDING THE ALPS.

DARWIN

PLEASED at the first the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal snows appear already past,

And the first clouds are mountains seem the last:
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

POPE.

The Four Seasons.

THE FOUR SEASONS.

SPRING.

WHEN early primroses appear,
And vales are deck'd with daffodils,
I hail the new-reviving year,

And soothing hope my bosom fills;
The lambkin bleating on the plain,
The swallow seen with gladden'd eye,
The welcome cuckoo's merry strain,
Proclaim the joyful summer nigh.

The ploughman whistling o'er the lea,
The clacking of yon distant mill,
The throstle on the budding tree,

The tow'ring sky-lark's early thrill :
The whispers of the western breeze,
The prattling brook that winds along ;
Such sylvan sounds my fancy please,
Supply my theme of rural song.

The fruitful orchard's lovely bloom

Now ushers in the sprightly May; The skies have lost their wintry gloom, The chilly gales are flown away:

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