But let us leave the warm and cheerful house,
To view the bleak and dreary scene without,
And mark the dawning of a winter day. 
For now the morning vapour, red and grumly,
Rests heavy on the hills; and o’er the heav’ns
Wide spreading forth in lighter gradual fliades,
Just faintly colours the pale muddy sky. 
Then slowly from behind the southern hills,
Inlarg’d and ruddy looks the rising sun,
Shooting his beams askance the hoary waste,
Which gild the brow of ev’ry swelling height,
And deepen every valley with a shade. 
The crusted window of each scatter’d cot,
The icicles that fringe the thatched roof,
The new swept slide upon the frozen pool,
All lightly glance, new kindled with his rays;
And e’en the rugged face of scowling Winter
Looks somewhat gay.  But for a little while
He lifts his glory o’er the bright’ning earth,
Then hides his head behind a misty cloud,

The birds now quit their holes and lurking sheds,
Most mute and melancholy, where thro’ night
All nestling close to keep each other warm,
In downy sleep they had forgot their hardships;
But not to chant and carol in the air,
Or lightly swing upon some waving bough,
And merrily return each other’s notes;
No; silently they hop from bush to bush,
Yet find no seeds to stop their craving want,
Then bend their flight to the low smoking cot,
Chirp on the roof, or at the window peck,
To tell their wants to those who lodge within. 
The poor lank hare flies homeward to his den,
But little burthen’d with his nightly meal
Of wither’d greens grubb’d from the farmer’s garden;
A poor and scanty portion snatch’d in fear;
And fearful creatures, forc’d abroad by want,
Are now to ev’ry enemy a prey.

The husbandman lays bye his heavy flail,
And to the house returns, where on him wait
His smoking breakfast and impatient children;
Who, spoon in hand, and longing to begin,
Towards the door cast many a weary look
To see their dad come in.——­
Then round they sit, a chearful company,
All eagerly begin, and with heap’d spoons
Besmear from ear to ear their rosy cheeks. 
The faithful dog stands by his matter’s side
Wagging his tail, and looking in his face;
While humble puss pays court to all around,
And purs and rubs them with her furry sides;
Nor goes this little flattery unrewarded. 
But the laborious sit not long at table;
The grateful father lifts his eyes to heav’n
To bless his God, whose ever bounteous hand
Him and his little ones doth daily feed;
Then rises satisfied to work again.

The chearful rousing noise of industry
Is heard, with varied sounds, thro’ all the village. 
The humming wheel, the thrifty housewife’s tongue,
Who scolds to keep her maidens at their work,
Rough grating cards, and voice of squaling children
Issue from every house.——­
But, hark!—­the sportsman from the neighb’ring hedge
His thunder sends!—­loud bark each village cur;
Up from her wheel each curious maiden starts,
And hastens to the door, whilst matrons chide,
Yet run to look themselves, in spite of thrift,
And all the little town is in a stir.