"For me who under kindlier laws." This conclusion has more than
once, to my great regret, excited painfully sad feelings in the
hearts of young persons fond of poetry and poetic composition, by
contrast of their feeble and declining health with that state of
robust constitution which prompted me to rejoice in a season of
frost and snow as more favourable to the Muses than summer itself.
WHILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields,
With ripening harvest prodigally fair,
In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air,
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields
His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields
Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware;
And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields."
For me, who under kindlier laws belong
To Nature's tuneful quire, this rustling dry
Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky,
Announce a season potent to renew,
'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song,
And nobler cares than listless summer knew.