134
TO MR. BARBAULD,
NOVEMBER, 14, 1778.
Come, clear thy studious looks awhile,
’T is arrant treason now
To wear that moping brow,
When I, thy empress, bid thee smile.
What though the fading year
One wreath will not afford
To grace the poet's hair,
Or deck the festal board;
A thousand pretty ways we'll find
To mock old Winter's starving reign;
We'll bid the violets spring again,
