VI.

SEPTEMBER, 1815.

WHILE not a leaf seems faded ; while the fields, With ripening harvest prodigally fair,

In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,

Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields

His icy scimitar, a foretasto yields

Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; And whispers to the silent birds, “Prepare Against the threatening for your trustiest shields." For me, who under kindlier laws belong

To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky, Announce a season potent to renew,

Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,

And nobler cares than listless summer knew.

VII.

NOVEMBER 1.

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright
The effluence from yon distant mountain's head,
Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed,
Shines like another sun-on mortal sight

Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,

And all her twinkling stars! Who now would tread, If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head— Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight

Of sad mortality's earth-sullying' wing,

Unswept, unstained? Nor shall the aërial Powers
Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure,
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure,

Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring

Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.

ONE who was suffering tumult in his soul,
Yet failed to seek the sure relief of prayer,
Went forth his course surrendering to the care
Of the fierce wind, while mid-day lightnings prow!
Insidiously, untimely thunders growl;

While trees, dim-scen, in frenzied numbers, tear
The lingering remnant of their yellow hair,

And shivering wolves, surprised with darkness, how!
As if the sun were not. He raised his eye
Soul-smitten; for, that instant, did appear

Large space (mid dreadful clouds) of purest sky,
An azure disk-shield of Tranquillity;
Invisible, unlooked-for, minister

Of providential goodness ever nigh!

IX.

TO A SNOW-DROP.

LONE Flower, hemmed in with snows, and white as they. But hardier far, once more I see thee bend

Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,

Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, way-lay
The rising sun, and on the plains descend ;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers ;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!

X.

TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER..

With a selection from the Poeme of Anne, Countess of Winchilsea: and extracts el similar character from other Writers; transcribet by a female friend

LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave

(But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore ;
And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store
Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave
The azure brooks, where Dian joys to lave
Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore
Dim shades-for reliques, upon Lethe's shore,
Cast
up at random by the sullen wave.

To female hands the treasures were resigned;
And lo, this Work !—a grotto bright and clear
From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind
May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere;
Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined
To holy musing, it may enter here.