With rapture view the smiling fields.
Adorn the mountain and the plain,
Each, on the eve of Autumn, yields
A large supply of golden grain.
ON WINTER.
When smiling Summer's charms are past,
The voice of music dies;
Then Winter pours his chilling blast
From rough inclement skies.
The pensive dove shuts up her throat,
The larks forbear to soar,
Or raise one sweet, delightful note,
Which charm'd the ear before.
The screech-owl peals her shivering tone
Upon the brink of night;
As some sequestered child unknown,
Which feared to come in sight.
The cattle all desert the field,
And eager seek the glades
Of naked trees, which once did yield
Their sweet and pleasant shades.
The humming insects all are still,
The beetles rise no more,
