Omniana.
THE SEASON OUT OF TOWN.
For the Table Book.
The banks are partly green; hedges and trees
Are black and shrouded, and the keen wind roars,
Like dismal music wand’ring over seas,
And wailing to the agitated shores.
The fields are dotted with manure—the sheep
In unshorn wool, streak’d with the shepherd’s red,
Their undivided peace and friendship keep,
Shaking their bells, like children to their bed.
The roads are white and miry—waters run
With violence through their tracks—and sheds, that flowers
In summer graced, are open to the sun,
Which shines in noonday’s horizontal hours.
Frost claims the night; and morning, like a bride,
Forth from her chamber glides; mist spreads her vest;
The sunbeams ride the clouds till eventide,
And the wind rolls them to ethereal rest.
Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the time;
Like hope, the prospect cheers; like breath it fades;
Life grows in seasons to returning prime,
And beauty rises from departing shades.
January, 1827. P.