FODDERING CATTLE.

THE cattle mourn in corners, where the fence
Screens them; and seem half petrified to sleep
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait
Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man,
Fretful if unsupplied; but silent, meek,
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay.
He from the stack carves out the accustomed load,
Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging, oft,
His broad keen knife into the solid mass;
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands,
With such undeviating and even force
He severs it away; no needless care,
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight.

COWPER.

SKATING.

AND in the frosty season, when the sun
Was set, and, visible for many a mile,
The cottage-windows through the twilight blazed,
I heeded not the summons: happy time

SKATING.

It was indeed for all of us; for me

It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud.
The village-clock tolled six-I wheeled about,
Proud and exulting, like an untired horse
That cares not for his home. All shod with steel
We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase

And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn,
The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle: with the din
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud;

The leafless trees and every icy crag

Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars,
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.

Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively

Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,
To cut across the reflex of a star;

Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed

Upon the glassy plain and oftentimes,

117

When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side

Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining back upon my heels,

Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs

Wheeled by me-even as if the earth had rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round!

Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.

THOUGH now no more the musing ear

Delights to listen to the breeze,

That lingers o'er the green-wood shade,
I love thee, Winter! well.

Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,
Sweet is the Summer's evening gale,

And sweet the Autumnal winds that shake

The many-colored grove.

REFLECTIONS UPON WINTER.

119

And pleasant to the sobered soul.

The silence of the wintry scene,

When Nature shrouds herself, entranced
In deep tranquillity.

Not undelightful now to roam

The wild heath sparkling on the sight;

Not undelightful now to pace

The forest's ample rounds,

And see the spangled branches shine,
And mark the moss of many a hue
That varies the old tree's brown bark,
Or o'er the gray stone spreads.

And mark the clustered berries bright,
Amid the holly's gay green leaves;
The ivy round the leafless oak,
That clasps its foliage close.

So Virtue, diffident of strength,
Clings to Religion's firmer aid,
And by Religion's aid upheld,
Endures calamity.

Nor void of beauties now the spring,
Whose waters hid from Summer sun,

Have soothed the thirsty pilgrim's ear
With more than melody.

The green moss shines with icy glare,
The long grass bends its spear-like form,
And lovely is the silvery scene

When faint the sunbeams smile.

Reflection, too, may love the hour
When Nature, hid in Winter's grave,
No more expands the bursting bud,

Or bids the flow'ret bloom.

For Nature soon in Spring's best charms,
Shall rise revived from Winter's grave,
Expand the bursting bud again,

And bid the flower re-bloom.

SOUTHEY.

THE REDBREAST.

THE cherished fields

Put on their winter robe of purest white:

'Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts

Along the mazy current.).