REGRETS

Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave

Less scanty measure of those graceful rites

And usages, whose due return invites

A stir of mind too natural to deceive;

Giving toMemory help when she would weave

A crown for Hope!— I dread the boasted lights

That all too often are but fiery blights,

Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.

Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring,

The counter Spirit found in some gay church

Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch

In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,

Merry and loud and safe from prying search,

Strains offered only to the genial Spring.