The fam'ly cares call next upon the wife To quit her mean but comfortable bed. And first she stirs the fire, and blows the flame, Then from her heap of sticks, for winter stor'd, An armful brings; loud crackling as they burn, Thick fly the red sparks upward to the roof, While slowly mounts the smoke in wreathy clouds. On goes the seething pot with morning cheer, For which some little wishful hearts await, Who, peeping from the bed-clothes, spy, well pleas'd, The cheery light that blazes on the wall, And bawl for leave to rise.---- Their busy mother knows not where to turn, Her morning work comes now so thick upon her. One she must help to tye his little coat, Unpin his cap, and seck another's shoe. When all is o'er, out to the door they run, With new comb'd sleeky hair, and glist'ning cheeks, Each with some little project in his head. One on the ice must try his new sol'd shoes: To view his well-set trap another hies, In hopes to find some poor unwary bird (No worthless prize) entangled in his snare; Whilst one, less active, with round rosy face, Spreads out his purple fingers to the fire, And peeps, most wishfully, into the pot. 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.