The Patowmac Guardian, And Berkeley Advertiser

THE MUSE

WINTER.

"Sore pinch'd by winter winds,
How many sink into the frozen hut
Of chearless poverty!"

BLEAK, o'er the plain, the winds tremendous blow,
Of purest white the fleecy show'r descends:
The tyrant frost forbids the stream to flow
And all its horrors rig'rous winter spends.
The howling wolf his hunger loud proclaims.
From far is heard the savage panther's cry ;
The rav'nous bear growls o'er the dreary plains :--
To fate their fury num'rous victims die.
The keenest hunter dares not take the field :
To man the forests are impervious grown,
Save when the Indian bids the climate yield,
And makes the pathless, dreary wilds his own.
Now ye, who fortune's various gifts enjoy.
Who bask in sunshine of her warmest rays :
Ye whom nor tempest, cold, nor want annoy,
Whose days glide on in affluence and ease
Think on the poor, the destitute, forlorn--
Extend your bounty to the wretch distress'd :
Pluck from the tortur'd breast the cank'ring thorn,
By mis'ry pointed, and by care impress'd.
* Let not our hearts, by gaiety misled,
Be render'd callous to the tale of woe;
But clothe the naked, give the hungry bread,
Forbid the tears of wretchedness to flow.
For oh! the rigours of the year require
Some soft'ring hand, the ling'ring wretch to save:
Leave for a while your mirth, your social fire,
To rescue suff'ring mortals from the grave.
For know your fortune is the gift of heav'n,
But not by heav'n for you alone design'd :
In trust for gen'rous purposes 'twas giv'n,
And proves a blessing to a gen'rous mind.
Prove yourselves worthy of the sacred trust :
From dire oppression rescue the opprest ;
Relieve your fellow creatures, 'tis but just,
And you in blessing will be ever blest.