DECEMBER 



'Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 

 An' weary winter comin' fast, 

 An' cosie here, beneath the blast, 



Thou thought to dwell, 

 Till crash ! the cruel coulter past 

 Out thro' thy cell.' 



Burns, To a Mouse. 



JANUARY 



' When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 

 Sharp shivers thro' the leafy bow'r ; 

 When Phabus gies a short-IivM glow'r, 



Far south the lift, 

 Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r 

 Or whirling drift.' 



BURNS, A Winter Night. 



