Ode Written on the First of December
Tho' now no more the musing earDelights to listen to the breezeThat lingers o'er the green wood shade,I love thee Winter! well.
Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,Sweet is the summer's evening gale,Pleasant the autumnal winds that shakeThe many-colour'd grove.
And pleasant to the sober'd soulThe silence of the wintry scene,When Nature shrouds her in her trance
Not undelightful now to roamThe wild heath sparkling on the sight;Not undelightful now to paceThe forest's ample rounds;
And see the spangled branches shine,And mark the moss of many a hueThat varies the old tree's brown bark,Or o'er the grey stone spreads.
The cluster'd berries claim the eyeO'er the bright hollies gay green leaves,The ivy round the leafless oakClasps its full foliage close.
So VIRTUE diffident of strengthClings to RELIGION'S firmer aid,And by RELIGION'S aid upheldEndures calamity.
Nor void of beauties now the spring,Whose waters hid from summer sunHave sooth'd the thirsty pilgrim's earWith more than melody.
The green moss shines with icey glare,The long grass bends its spear-like form,And lovely is the silvery sceneWhen faint the sunbeams smile.
Reflection too may love the hourWhen Nature, hid in Winter's grave,No more expands the bursting budOr bids the flowret bloom.
For Nature soon in Spring's best charmsShall rise reviv'd from Winter's grave.Again expand the bursting bud,And bid the flowret bloom.
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