A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throneblotnÜ
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,er fɔ báð
But urg'd by storms along it's slipp'ry way, wollo¶
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, testw A
And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun W
A pris'ner in the yet undawning east,
T
Short'ning his journey between morn and noon&M
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, renqe sdfT
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still doʊot adT
Compensating his loss with added hours of sɗt bá
Of social converse and instructive ease, ed ai ba
And gath'ring, at short notice, in one groupslurged
The family dispers'd, and fixing thought, alsms? no
Not less dispers'd by daylight and it's caresiwa asil
I crown thee king of intimate delights, smlov sďT
Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness,i od 10
And all the comforts, that the lowly roof es donê
Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours anomilsⱭ
Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.m vd 208h199
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ;A
No powder'd pert proficient in the arts, zojað
Of sounding an alarm assaults these doors1098((
Till the street rings; no stationary steeds dou2 TOй
Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound,
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake ph 107
But here the needle plies it's busy task, ob odW
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flowry 38dT
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,20 18 31612

Unfolds it's bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, A And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd,

Follow the nimble finger of the fair;

A wreath, that cannot fade, of flow'rs, that blow
With most success when all besides decay.
The poet's or historian's page by one

Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest;

A

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out;
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still;
Beguile the night, and set a keener edgenetik
On female industry the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. -
The volume clos'd, the customary rites.
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal;
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoy'd, spare feast! a radish and an egg.
Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull,
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play
Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth : 63-67
Nor do we madly, like an impious World,

Who deem religion frenzy, and the God,
That made them, an intruder on their joys,
Start at his, awful name, or deem his praise

A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone, bi tьdT Exciting oft our gratitude and love, ad fint of While we retrace with Mem'ry's pointing wand, 'I That calls the past to our exact review,m?T The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare, {} The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found #od to Unlook'd for, life preserv'd, and peace restor'd,i l' Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. ar

O ev'nings worthy of the gods! exclaim'd move M The Sabine bard. O ev'nings, I reply, dif More to be priz'd and coveted than yours,884ZĪ As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths,ua baA That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy td N

Is Winter hideous in a garb like this? Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, 201 The pent-up breath of an unsav'ry throng, To thaw him into feeling; or the smarty And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits. Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile 2 The self-complacent actor, when he views (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof,...) (As if one master-spring controll'd them all)...... Relax'd into a universal grin,

Sees not a count'nance there, that speaks of joy Talf so refin'd or so sincere as ours, de 197 ards were superfluous here, with all the tricks, A

That idleness has ever yet contriv❜d® ́
To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain,
To palliate dulness, and give time a shove.
Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing,
Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound;
But the World's Time is Time in masquerade!
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledg'd
With motley plumes; and, where the peacock shows
His azure eyes, is tinctur'd black and red
With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguin'd hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblem of untimely graves.
What should be, and what was an hourglass once,
Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard mace

Well does the work of his destructive sithe.

Thus deck'd, he charms a World whom Fashion

To his true worth, most pleas'd when idle most;
Whose only happy are their wasted hours.
Ev'n misses, at whose age their mothers wore
The backstring and the bib, assume the dress
Of womanhood, fit pupils in the school
Of card-devoted Time, and night by night
Plac'd at some vacant corner of the board, 2:
Learn ev'ry trick, and soon play all the game.
But truce with censure. Roving as I rove,
Where shall I find an end, or how proceed?
As he that travels far oft turns aside,

To view some rugged rock or mould'ring tow'r,¡ oT
Which seen delights him not; then coming home
Describes and prints it, that the world may know
How far he went for what was nothing worth ;
So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread,

With colours mix'd for a far diff'rent use,
Paint cards, and dolls, and ev'ry idle thing,
That Fancy finds in her excursive flights.

JA

Come Ev'ning, once again, season of peace; Return sweet Ev'ning, and continue long ! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, to'q yM With matron step slow moving, while the Night Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose #obate On bird and beast, the other charg'd for manyant f With sweet oblivion of the cares of day Not sumptuously adorn'd, not needing aid, Like homely-featur'd Night, of clust'ring gems; A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow, Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine. No less than hers, not worn indeed on high With ostentatious pageantry, but set With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. Come then, and thou shalt find thy vot'ry calm, Or make me so. Composure is thy gift: And, whether I devote thy gentle hours