THE

POETICAL CALENDAR.

ODE TO JANUARY..

UN

Inflexam diffundit Aquarius urnam.

Nfold the gates of ever-flowing time-
Lo! mantled in a showery cloud,

While round him rough winds thunder loud,
Aquarius fprinkles o'er

Of winter's hoary clime

The adamantine floor:

He pours the Tyber and the Nile,

To recompence the laft year's spoil.

"Tis he! the two-fac'd Janus comes in view ;
Wild hyacinths his robe adorn,
And fnow-drops, rivals of the morn:

He fpurns the Goat afide,

But fmiles upon the new

Emerging year with pride:

And now unlocks, with agat key,

The ruby gates of orient day.

Mars and Bellona now fufpend the war!
Their red hoof'd steeds, with battle worn,

To their long vacant ftalls return:

In icy fetters bound,

Beneath th' Antartic star,

Seas burft their frozen mound,

Far fouthern feas, releas'd and free,
Efcape, and rush to liberty.

Thus let my foul, beleaguer'd long with care,
Find virtue's calm, fequefter'd feat,

And trace the vestige of her feet:

May each impaffion'd thought
Meet a fafe harbour there,

Deem the low world as nought,
And freed from folly's magic chain,
To wisdom's lore return again.

WINTER.

WINTER.

N°

AN O D E.

O more the morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flow'rs of various hue;
Noon fpreads no more the genial blaze;
Nor gentle eve diftils the dew:
The lingering hours prolong the night,
Ufurping darkness shares the day;
Her mifts reftrain the force of light,
And Phœbus holds a doubtful fway :
By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,

With fighs we view the hoary hill,
The leaflefs wood, the naked field,
The fnow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No mufic warbles thro' the grove,

No vivid colours paint the plain,

No more with devious steps I rove

Thro' verdant paths, now fought in vain!
Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous show'rs defcend;
Hafte, close the window, bar the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature's aid, let art fupply

With light and heat my little sphere;
Roufe, roufe the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a conftellation here.

Let

Let mufic found, the voice of joy,
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale:
Let love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
When mirth's gay tale shall please no more,
Nor mufic charm, tho' Stella fings,

Nor love nor wine the spring restore.
Catch then, O! catch the tranfient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies ;
Life's a fhort fummer, man a flow'r,
He dies! alas! how foon he dies!

WINTER.

W

WH

IN TE R.

A PASTORAL BALLAD.

Felices ter, & amplius

Quos irrupta tenet copula.

HOR.

Hen the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen, And the meadows their beauty have loft; When nature's difrob'd of her mantle of green, And the ftreams are fast bound with the froft: While the peasant, inactive, stands shivering with As bleak the winds northerly blow; [cold, And the innocent flocks run for eafe to the fold,

With their fleeces besprinkled with snow : In the yard when the cattle are fodder'd with straw, And they fend forth their breath like a steam; And the neat looking dairy-maid fees she must thaw Flakes of ice that fhe finds in the cream:

When the sweet country maiden, as fresh as a rose, As fhe carelefly trips, often flides;

And the ruftics laugh loud, if by falling fhe fhows All the charms that her modesty hides :

When the lads and the laffes for company join'd,

In a crowd round the embers are met;

Talk of fairies and witches that ride on the wind, And of ghofts, till they're all in a sweat :