"WHERE Canada spreads forth her deserts hoar
Chilled by the polar frosts of Labrador,
Where mighty lakes their azure wastes expand,
And swell their wat❜ry empire o'er the land;
What tribes or wing the air or tread the plain,
What herbage springs, what nations hold their
reign?"

Enormous forests stretch their shadows wide
And rich savannas skirt the mountain's side;
There bounds the moose, and shaggy bisons graze
Scared by the wolf the hardy rein-deer brays;
The clambering squirrel tumbles from on high
Fix'd by the rattlesnake's rapacious eye.
Unnumbered pigeons fill the darkened air,
Glut the tired hawk, the loaded branches tear:
Fair swans majestic on the waters glide;
The mason beaver checks the flowing tide.
Gigantic rivers shake the thundering shore :
Dread Niagara's foaming cataracts roar.
In light canoe the painted Indian rows,
Or hunts the floundering elk thro' melting snows;

The Thames frozen over.

159

Wields his huge tomahawk in deadly fray,
And rends with shouts the reeking scalp away,
Or smokes the fragrant calumet of peace,
And bound in wampum leagues bids savage dis-

cord cease.

ORIGINAL,

THE THAMES FROZEN OVER.

O ROVING Muse! recall that wondrous year,
When winter reigned in bleak Britannia's air;
When hoary Thames, with frosted osiers crown'd,
Was three long moons in icy fetters bound.
The waterman forlorn, along the shore,
Pensive reclines upon his useless oar,

Sees harness'd steeds desert the stony town
And wander roads unstable, not their own;
Wheels o'er the harden'd waters smoothly glide,
And rase with whiten'd tracks the slipp'ry tide.
Here the fat cook piles high the blazing fire,
And scarce the spit can turn the ox entire ;
Booths sudden hide the Thames, long streets

appear,

And num'rous games proclaim the crowded fair.

P 2

GAY.

160 The Squirrel.-The Shepherd's Home.

THE SQUIRREL.

-Hast thou never seen

A squirrel spend his little rage

In jumping round a rolling cage?
The cage, as either side 's turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells a-top:

Mov'd in the orb, pleased with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs;
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.

THE SHEPHERD'S HOME.
My banks they are furnish'd with bees
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottos are shaded with trees,
And my hills are white over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow;
My fountains all border'd with moss
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
Not a pine in my grove is there seen
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound
Not a beech's more beautiful green
But a sweet-brier entwines it around.

;

PRIOR.

The Town in a Salt Mine.

Not my fields in the prime of the year
More charms than my cattle unfold;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

161

SHENSTONE.

THE TOWN IN A SALT MINE.

-CAVERN'D round in Cracow's mighty mines,
With crystal walls a gorgeous city shines;
Scoop'd in the briny rock long streets extend
Their hoary course, and glittering domes ascend;
Down the bright steeps emerging into day,
Impetuous fountains burst their headlong way,
O'er milk-white vales in ivory channels spread,
And wand'ring seek their subterraneous bed.
Far gleaming o'er the town transparent fanes
Rear their white towers and wave their golden

vanes;

Long lines of lustres pour their trembling rays And the bright vault returns the mingled blaze.

DARWIN.

C. Squire, Printer, Furnival's-Inn-Court, Holborn.