Then fhall the fplendours of th' enliven❜d glass
Sink undistinguish'd in the burning mass.
And O! till earth and feas, and heaven decay,
Ne'er may that fair creation fade away;

May winds and forms those beauteous colours fpare,
Still may they bloom, as permanent as fair;

All the vain rage of wasting time repel,

And his tribunal fee, whofe crofs they paint fo well!

WHA

TO WINTER.

BY MR. WOTY.

'HAT! tho' thou com’st in sable mantle clad,
Yet, Winter! art thou welcome to my eye;
Thee here I hail, tho' terrors round thee wait,
And winds tempestuous howl along the sky.

But fhall I then fo foon forget the days,

When Ceres led me thro' her wheaten mines; When Autumn pluck'd me, with his tawny hand, Empurpled clusters from ambrofial vines !

So foon forget, when up the yielding pole
I faw afcend the filver-bearded hop;
When Summer, waving high her crown of hay,
Pour'd o'er the mead her odorif'rous crop!

I must forget them; and thee too, O Spring!
Tho' many a chaplet thou haft weav'd for me:
For now, prepar'd to quit th' enchanting fcene,
Cold, weeping Winter! I come all to thee.

Hail to thy rolling clouds, and rapid ftorms!

Tho' they deform fair Nature's lovely face: Hail to thy winds, that fweep along the earth! Tho' trees they root up from their solid base.

How ficklied over is the face of things!

Where is the fpice-kifs of the fouthern gale! Where the wild rofe, that fmil'd upon the thorn, The mountain flow'r, and lily of the vale!

How gloomy 'tis to caft the eye around,

And view the trees difrob'd of ev'ry leaf;
The velvet path grown rough with clotting fhow'rs,
And ev'ry field depriv'd of ev'ry fheaf!

How far more gloomy, o'er the rain-beat heath,
Alone to travel in the dead of night!

No twinkling star to gild the arch of heav'n,
No moon to lend her temporary light':

To fee the lightning fpread it's ample fheet,
And view the wild wafte thro' its liquid fire,
To hear the thunder rend the troubled air,
As Time itself and Nature would expire.

And yet, O Winter! has thy poet seen

Thy face as fmooth, and placid as the Spring; Has felt, with comfort felt the beam of heav'n, And heard thy vallies and thy woodlands ring;

What time the Sun with burnish'd locks arose,
The long-loft charms of Nature to renew,
When pearls of ice bedeck'd the graffy turf,
And tree-tops floated in the filver-dew.

Father of heav'n and earth! this change is thines

By thee the feasons in gradation roll; Thou great Omnifcient Ruler of the world! Thou Alpha and Omega of the whole !

Here humbly bow we down our heads to thee;'
'Tis ours the voice of gratitude to raise
Thine to diffuse thy bleffings o'er the land;
Thine to receive the incenfe of our praife!

Pure if it rifes from the confcious heart,.
With thee for ever does the fymbol live-
Tho' small for all thy love is man's return,
Thou afk'ft no more than he has pow'r to give.

THE

TUR

HERM IT.

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

URN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way

• To where yon taper chears the vale

• With hofpitable ray.

For here forlorn and loft I tread, With fainting fteps and flow; • Where wilds, immeafurably spread, • Seem length'ning as I go.'

• Forbear, my fon,' the Hermit cries, To tempt the dangʼrous gloom ; For yonder phantom only flies

To lure thee to thy doom..

• Here

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; • All earth-born cares are wrong:

* Man wants but little here below, ⚫ Nor wants that little long.'

Soft as the dew from heaven defcends,
His gentle accents fell:

The modeft ftranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obfcure

The lonely manfion lay;

A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led aftray.

Z 2

No

No ftores beneath it's humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care;

The wicket op'ning with a latch
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now when bufy crowds retire
To take their evening reft,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And chear'd his pensive gueft;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly prefs'd, and fmil'd;

And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.

Around in fympathetick mirth
It's tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart,
To foothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rifing cares the Hermit fpy'd,
With anfwering care opprefs'd:"

• And whence, unhappy youth,' he cry'd,
• The forrows of thy breast?

• From better habitations spurn'd,
• Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

Alas!