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3
WINTER.
The air is cold and chilling now,
On the trees not a leaf is remaining;
And barren Winter, crowned with snow,
In desolate grandeur is reigning.
On the trees not a leaf is remaining;
And barren Winter, crowned with snow,
In desolate grandeur is reigning.
Like a dream, those lovely flowers are past,
Though many and blooming we found them,
Which, laughing in rich luxuriance, cast
The glow of their beauties around them.
Though many and blooming we found them,
Which, laughing in rich luxuriance, cast
The glow of their beauties around them.
The rose has blushed for the last, last time
And sweet, from its lowly bed,
The violet's blue no more glistens through
The dew-drop that weighed down its head.
And sweet, from its lowly bed,
The violet's blue no more glistens through
The dew-drop that weighed down its head.
The light winds sigh so mournfully by,
They seem o'er the flow'rets weeping;
The hard-fixed ground with the frost is bound,
And Nature herself is sleeping.
They seem o'er the flow'rets weeping;
The hard-fixed ground with the frost is bound,
And Nature herself is sleeping.
But Spring will soon call, and wake her again,
She will come in her beauty bounding!
Pleasure and Joy will dance in her train,
Her welcome return resounding!
She will come in her beauty bounding!
Pleasure and Joy will dance in her train,
Her welcome return resounding!
4
The sun will smile on the flowers once more,
Their leaves will unfold to receive him;
His beams will illumine the earth as before,
And Nature with joy will perceive him!
Their leaves will unfold to receive him;
His beams will illumine the earth as before,
And Nature with joy will perceive him!
So when affliction saddens the heart,
And man of his crosses is weary;
When hope is fled, and desires are dead,
And all within is dreary;
And man of his crosses is weary;
When hope is fled, and desires are dead,
And all within is dreary;
His passions asleep, the world he detests,
And despair succeeds to sorrow;—
But hope returns, in his bosom she burns,
And he smiles again to-morrow!
And despair succeeds to sorrow;—
But hope returns, in his bosom she burns,
And he smiles again to-morrow!
December, 1826.
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