81
CHRISTMAS.
The sunbeams glitter on the mountain snow,
And o'er the summit cast a transient glow;
Now silver frost adorns the drooping bower,
My favourite seat in summer's happy hour.
'Twas there, when spring the mantling blossoms shed,
The sweet liburnum cluster'd o'er my head;
And there the robin form'd a mossy nest,
And gaily caroll'd in retirement blest;
Still memory loves to paint the glowing scene,
When autumn tints enrich'd the foliage green.
Even yet the bower is lovely in decay,
Gilt by the "sunbeam of a winter's day;"
For now the frost befringes every thorn,
And sparkles to the radiant smile of morn:
The lucid ice has bound the mountain rill,
No more it murmurs by the cheerful mill.
I hear the village bells upon the gale;
And merry peasants wander thro' the vale;
In gay convivial bands they rove along,
With genuine pleasure and inspiring song;
I meet the rustic troop, and love to trace
The smile of health in every rosy face.
