That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in. Not such his evening, who with shining face Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, Outscolds the ranting actor on the| stage: Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. This folio of four pages, happy work! Which not even critics criticize; that holds Inquisitive attention, while I read, Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; What is it but a map of busy life, 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured It turns submitted to my view, turns round With all its generations; I behold | O winter, ruler of the inverted year, Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled, Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fringed with a beard made white with other snows Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slip pery way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun The tumult, and am still. The sound A prisoner in the yet undawning of war east, ease, in the charming strife triumphant still, And gathering at short notice, in one | Beguile the night, and set a keener edge On female industry: the threaded steel Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. [From The Task.] MERCY TO ANIMALS. I WOULD not enter on my list of friends, (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility,) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail Till the street rings; no stationary | That crawls at evening in the public I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestowed upon man. Oh, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth. Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth. Religion! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold, These valleys and rocks never Ne'er sighed at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared. Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore, Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. Thy needles, once a shining store, But well thou play' dst the housewife's And all thy threads with magic art, part, Have wound themselves about this Thy indistinct expressions seem |