 | Poems |  |
119
DECEMBER.
Where late the wild flower bloomed, the brown leaf lies;
Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain:
The famished birds forsake each leafless spray,
And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store.
Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain:
The famished birds forsake each leafless spray,
And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store.
Season of social mirth! of fireside joys!
I love thy shortened day, when, at its close,
The blazing tapers, on the jovial board,
Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face
Their cheering light, and harmless mirth abounds.
Now far be banished, from our social ring,
The party wrangle fierce, the argument
Deep, learned, metaphysical, and dull,
Oft dropt, as oft again renewed, endless:
Rather I'd hear stories twice ten times told,
Or vapid joke, filched from Joe Miller's page,
Or tale of ghost, hobgoblin dire, or witch;
Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown,
Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun; absurd
Although it be, and hard to be discerned,
It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides.
Now let the temperate cup inspire the song,
The catch, the glee; or list! the melting lays
Of Scotia's pastoral vales,—they ever please.
I love thy shortened day, when, at its close,
The blazing tapers, on the jovial board,
Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face
Their cheering light, and harmless mirth abounds.
Now far be banished, from our social ring,
The party wrangle fierce, the argument
Deep, learned, metaphysical, and dull,
Oft dropt, as oft again renewed, endless:
120
Or vapid joke, filched from Joe Miller's page,
Or tale of ghost, hobgoblin dire, or witch;
Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown,
Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun; absurd
Although it be, and hard to be discerned,
It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides.
Now let the temperate cup inspire the song,
The catch, the glee; or list! the melting lays
Of Scotia's pastoral vales,—they ever please.
Loud blows the blast; while, sheltered from its rage,
The social circle feel their joys enhanced.
Ah, little think they of the storm-tossed ship,
Amid the uproar of the winds and waves,
The waves unseen, save by the lightning's glare,
Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress.
The trembling crew each moment think they feel
The shock of sunken rock:—at last they strike:
Borne on the blast, their dying voices reach,
Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet; help is vain:
The morning light discloses to the view
The mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks
Or heaves the surge. The early village maid
Turns pale, like clouds when o'er the moon they glide;
She thinks of her true love, far, far at sea;
Mournful, the live long day she turns her wheel,
And ever and anon her head she bends,
While with the flax she dries the trickling tear.
The social circle feel their joys enhanced.
Ah, little think they of the storm-tossed ship,
Amid the uproar of the winds and waves,
The waves unseen, save by the lightning's glare,
Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress.
The trembling crew each moment think they feel
The shock of sunken rock:—at last they strike:
Borne on the blast, their dying voices reach,
Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet; help is vain:
The morning light discloses to the view
The mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks
Or heaves the surge. The early village maid
Turns pale, like clouds when o'er the moon they glide;
121
Mournful, the live long day she turns her wheel,
And ever and anon her head she bends,
While with the flax she dries the trickling tear.
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