When shall my soul, in silent peace, No fear more, no tear more, A WINTER NIGHT. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure,1 Dim dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r, Aem night the storm the steeples rocked, Or thro' the mining outlet bocked,P Down headlong hurl. List'ning the doors and winnocks¶ rattle, And thro' the drift, deep-lairings sprattle, Ilk happing" bird, wee, helpless thing, i Sullen. • Curve. k Glimmer. The Sky. m One. n Rivuleta p Gushed. 9 Windows. r Shivering. Wading, and sinking in snow, or mud. A cliff, or precipice. u Each hopping. Delighted me to hear thee sing, What comes o' thee? Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chitt'ring wing, E'en you on murd'ring errands toil'd, While pityless the tempest wild Sore on you beats. Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, When on my ear this plaintive strain, Blow, blow ye winds with heavier gust! Vengeful malice, unrepenting, [bestows! Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man 'See stern oppression's iron grip, Or mad ambition's gory hand, Sending, like bloodhounds from the slip, Woe, want, and murder o'er a land! 'E'en in the peaceful rural vale, Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side, The parasite empoisoning her ear, With all the servile wretches in the rear, Looks o'er proud property, extended wide; And eyes the simple rustic hind, Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, |