A Winter Morning's Walk. Poem by William Billington

WEIRD Silence round the Earth her robe had wound,
'Twas Winter, and I wandered forth alone;
'Twas morning, and the hoar-frost on the ground,
Like silver frieze when smit by moonlight, shone;
Far in the East appeared the glimmering Dawn,
Whose broad glance made the stars' bright eyes grow tame
And faint in heaven's light azure; but, anon,
Above the mountain brows the bright Sun came,
To melt the candid meads and flush the skies with flame.

Aurora, having ushered in the Morn,
With bars of gold had bolted the blue doors
Of Dawn. Apollo's gleaming locks, unshorn,
Where trailed o'er silver seas and sandy shores,
And shining lakes, frost-paved with glassy floors,
And streams, whence Ocean his wide basin fills;
The mist fled from the valleys and the moors,
Down gushed the molten crystal from the hills,
And Music's voice arose from twice ten thousands rills.

Not Spring, with all her rainbows and her roses,
Green shoots, and buds, and blossoms rich and rare,
Nor Summer, though supernal power reposes
With life and light fused through the sultry air,
When earth and heaven, close meeting, as it were
In dreams of Paradise, appear to kiss,
Nor Autumn, with his ripe and mellow fare,
Can boast a scene whose grandeur equals this,
When from Death's icy chains earth bounds to life and bliss.