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GEORGE ELLIS, Esq.
Edinburgh. When dark December glooms the day, And takes our autumn joys away; When short and scant the sun-beam throws, Upon the weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard, Like patron on a needy bard ; When sylvan occupation's done, And o'er the chimney rests the gun, And hang, in idle trophy, near, The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ;
When wiry terrier, rough and grim, And greyhound, with his length of limb, And pointer, now employ'd no more, Cumber our parlour's narrow floor ; When in his stall the impatient steed Is long condemn’d to rest and feed; When from our snow-encircled home, Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, Since path is none, save that to bring The needful water from the spring ; When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn’d o'er, Beguiles the dreary hour no more. And darkling politician, crossid, Inveighs against the lingering post, And answering house-wife sore complains Of carriers' snow-impeded wains : When such the country cheer, I come, Well pleased, to seek our city home; For converse, and for books, to change The Forest's melancholy range,