That Hour O' Night's Black Arch The

At Length His Lonely Cot Appears In View, Beneath The Shelter Of An Aged Tree; Th' Expectant Wee-things, Toddling, Stacher Thro' To Meet Their Dad, Wi' Flichterin Noise An' Glee.

All-cheering Plenty, With Her Flowing Horn, Led Yellow Autumn, Wreath'd With Nodding Corn.

Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread: You Seize The Flow'r, Its Bloom Is Shed.

Again Rejoicing Nature Sees Her Robe Assume Its Vernal Hues Her Leafy Locks Wave In The Breeze, All Freshly Steep'd In The Morning Dews.

When Matters Are Desperate We Must Put On A Desperate Face.