THE FIRST OF DECEMBER. 
295 
And pleasant to the sobered soul 
The silence of the wintry scene, 
When Nature shrouds herself, entranced 
In deep tranquillity. 
Not undelightful now to roam, 
The wild heath sparkling on the sight; 
Not undelightful now to pass 
The forest’s ample rounds ;— 
And see the spangled branches shine, 
And mark the moss of many a hue 
That varies the old tree’s brown bark, 
Or o’er the gray stone spreads;— 
And see the clustered berries bright 
Amid the holly’s gay green leaves ; 
The ivy round the leafless oak 
That clasps its foliage close. 
So Virtue, diffident of strength, 
Clings to Religion’s former aid; 
So by Religion’s aid upheld 
Endures calamity. 
Nor void of beauties now the spring, 
Whose waters, hid from Summer sun, 
Have soothed the thirsty pilgrim’s ear 
With more than melody. 
