Transcription:
8 I see the mill-ponds snowy face, Wrapped also, in the cold embrace, Of winters stern unyielding clasp, Holding all nature,
in its grasp. There's much, which to this lovely scene, Adds, life and beauty, that would seem, Scarce worth our notice;
but from here, Where now I sit, they e'em appear, Clothed in the sun's bright golden ray, Beauty and grandeur, to display.
The sun, is sinking 'yond the hill; And now, the air grows cold and chill, So I'll return; but soon, from here, When, at my
feet, sweet flowers appear, And, verdant leaves adorn each bough; I'll sit, where I am seated now, And, sketch this scene,
that when no more I tread these hills, I still may soar, In fancy, from my pictured scene, Back to this hill, and often seems
To sit upon this old gray stone, And view, this sunset scene, alone. 00406 5 The Sunset Scene This sweet indeed, thought
all alone, To rest upon this old gray stone, And watch in all his splendor dressed, The sun just setting in the west. Silent
and still, is all around, Save now and then the rustling sound Of breezes, mid the withered leaves, Which still to those tall
branches cleave, As if unwilling yet to yield Their lofty throne, and lie concealed Among the grass, but still would be, Though
dried and withered, on the tree. But, swelling birds will bid them fly, Not heeding, where they soon must lie Already in
each warm bright ray, The sun, in silence seems to day, E're long, the verdant leaves you'll see On every shrub, and every
tree, And, tender flowerets on the hill, And in the valley; soon will fill,