Her brittle toys, reftores me to myself. How calm is my recefs; and how the froft, I faw far off the weedy fallows fmile By flocks, faft feeding, and selecting each That skirt th' horizon, wore a fable hue, Scarce notic'd in the kindred dufk of eve. Faft falls a fleecy fhow'r; the downy flakes, Defcending, and with never-ceafing lapfe, Softly alighting upon all below, Affimilate all objects. Earth receives Gladly the thick'ning mantle; and the green And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blaft, Escapes unhurt beneath fo warm a veil, In fuch a world; fo thorny, and where none Finds happiness unblighted; or, if found, Without fome thiftly forrow at its fide; It seems the part of wisdom, and no fin Against the law of love, to measure lots With lefs diftinguifh'd than ourselves; that thus We may with patience bear our mod❜rate ills, And fympathize with others, fuff'ring more. Ill fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks In pond'rous boots befide his reeking team. The wain goes heavily, impeded fore By congregated loads adhering close To the clogg'd wheels; and in its fluggish pace, Noiseless, appears a moving hill of fnow. The toiling steeds expand the noftril wide, Upon their jutting chefts. He, form'd to bear With half-fhut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth One hand fecures his hat, fave when with both Thy vig'rous pulfe; and the unhealthful eaft, That breathes the spleen, and searches ev'ry bone Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. Thy days roll on, exempt from household care; Poor, yet induftrious, modeft, quiet, neat; Such claim compaffion in a night like this, And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. Warm'd, while it lafts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad and fed but fparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her fcanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear, But dying foon, like all terreftrial joys. The few fmall embers left fhe nurfes well; And, while her infant race, with outspread hands And crowded knees, fit cow'ring o'er the fparks, To winter, and the current in his veins, Juft when the day declin'd, and the brown loaf With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care Ingenious parfimony takes but just Saves the fall inventory, bed, and stool, Skillet, and old carv'd cheft, from public sale.. From grudging hands; but other boast have none |