And with her roses strew’d the russet ground.
XXXV.
Stain’d with the grape’s press’d juice, with steadier pace,
Still looking backward on preceding time,
Ripe Autumn next succeeded in his place;
Scatt’ring rich fruits, the growth of ev’ry clime.
XXXVI.
Last Winter comes, with heavy step and flow,
A hoary captive bound in icy chains;
With haggard eyes, and mantle dipp’d in snow,