296 
SOt'THEY. 
Green moss shines there, with ice encased; 
The long grass bends its spear-like form; 
And lovely is the silvery scene 
When faint the sunbeams smile. 
Reflection, too, may love the hour 
When nature, hid in Winter’s grave 
No more expands the bursting hud, 
Or bids the floweret bloom. 
For Nature soon, in Spring’s best charms, 
Shall be revived from Winter’s grave; 
Expand the bursting bud again, 
And bid the flowers re-bloom. 
