WINTER.

The subject proposed. Address to the Earl of Wilmington. First approach of Winter. According to the natural course of the season, various storms described. Rain. Wind Snow The driving of the snows: a man perishing among them; whence reflections on the wants and miseries of human life. The wolves descending from the Alps and Apennines. A winter-evening described; as spent by philosophers; by the country people; in the city. Frost. A view of Winter within the polar circle. A thaw. The whole concluding with moral reflections on a future state.

SEE, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;

Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,

And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindrea glooms!
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nurs'd by careless solitude I liv'd,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,

Pleas'd have I wander'd through your rough domain,
Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep fermenting tempest brew'd,

In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time,

Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smil'd.
To thee, the patron of her first essay,

The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimn'd the gay Spring; on eagle pinions borne,
Attempted through the Summer-blaze to rise;
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale;
And now among the wintry clouds again,
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar;
To swell her note with all the rushing winds;
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods;
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great:
Thrice happy, conld she fill thy judging ear
With bold description, and with manly thought.

Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone,
And how to make a mighty people thrive;
But equal goodness, sound integrity,

A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul,
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong,
Not vainly blazing for thy country's weal,
A steady spirit, regularly free;

These, each exalting each, the statesman light
Into the patriot; these the public hope
And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse
Record what envy dares not flattery call.

Now when the cheerless empire of the sky
To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields,
And fierce Aquarius stains th' inverted year;
Hung o'er the farthest verge of heaven, the sun
Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines,
Through the thick air; as cloth'd in cloudy storm
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon descending, to the long dark night,
Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns.
Nor is the night unwish'd; while vital heat,
Light, life, and joy, the dubious day forsake.
Meantime, in sable tincture, shadows vast,
Deep ting'd and damp, and congregated clouds,
And all the vapoury turbulence of heaven,
Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls
A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world,
Through Nature shedding influence malign,
And rouses up the seeds of dark disease.
The soul of man dies in him, loathing life,
And black with more than melancholy views.
The cattle droop; and o'er the furrow'd land,
Fresh from the plough, the dun discolour'd flocks,
Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root,
Along the woods, along the moorish fens,
Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm;
And up along the loose disjointed cliffs,

And fractur'd mountains wild, the brawling brook, And cave presageful, send a hollow moan, Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear.

Then comes the father of the tempest forth, Wrapt in black glooms. First joyless rains obscure Drive through the mingling skies with vapour foul; Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, That grumbling wave below. Th' unsightly plain Lies a brown deluge; as the low bent clouds Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still Combine, and deepening into night shut up The day's fair face. The wanderers of heaven, Each to his home, retire; save those that love To take their pastime in the troubled air, Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. The cattle from th' untasted fields return, And ask with meaning low, their wonted stalls, Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. Thither the household feathery people crowd The crested cock, with all his female train, Pensive, and dripping; while the cottage-hind Hangs o'er th' enliv'ning blaze and taleful there Recounts his simple frolic: much he talks,

And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows Without, and rattles on his humble roof.

Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swell'd, And the mix'd ruin of its banks o'erspread,

At last the rous'd-up river pours along :

Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes,
From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild,
Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far;
Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads,
Calm, sluggish, silent; till again constrain'd
Between two meeting hills, it bursts away,
Where rocks and woods o'erhang the turbid stream;
There gathering triple force, rapid and deep,

It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders thro'.
Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand
Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year,
How mighty, how majestic, are thy works!
With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul,
That sees astonish'd! and astonish'd sings!
Ye too, ye winds! that now begin to blow
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you.
Where are your stores, ye powerful beings! say,

Where your aërial magazines reserv'd

To swell the brooding terrors of the storm?
In what far distant region of the sky,
Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 'tis calm?
When from the pallid sky the sun descends,
With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb
Uncertain wanders, stain'd; red fiery streaks
Begin to flush around. The reeling clouds
Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet
Which master to obey; while rising slow,
Blank, in the leaden-colour'd east the moon
Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns.
Seen through the turbid fluctuating air,
The stars obtuse emit a shiver'd ray;
Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom,
And long behind them trail the whitening blaze.
Snatch'd in short eddies, plays the wither'd leaf;
And on the flood the dancing feather floats.
With broaden'd nostrils to the sky upturn'd,
The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale.
Even as the matron, at her nightly task,
With pensive labour draws the flaxen thread,
The wasted taper and the crackling flame
Foretel the blast.

But chief the plumy race,
The tenants of the sky, its changes speak.
Retiring from the downs, where all day long
They pick'd their scanty fare, a blackening train
Of clamorous rooks thick urge their weary flight,
And seek the closing shelter of the grove;
Assiduous in his bower, the wailing owl

Plies his sad song. The cormorant on high

Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land.
Loud shrieks the soaring hern; and with wild wing
The circling sea-fowl cleave the flaky clouds.
Ocean, unequal press'd, with broken tide

And blind commotion heaves; while from the shore
Eat into caverns by the restless wave,

And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice,
That solemn sounding bids the world prepare.
Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst
And hurls the whole precipitated air
Down, in a torrent. On the passive main

Descends th' ethereal force, and with strong gust Turns from its bottom the discolour'd deep. Through the black night that sits immense around, Lash'd into foam, the fierce conflicting brine Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to burn: Meantime the mountain billows, to the clouds In dreadful tumult swell'd, surge above surge, Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, And anchor'd navies from their stations drive, Wild as the winds, across the howling waste Of mighty waters: now th' inflated wave Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot Into the secret chambers of the deep, The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. Emerging thence again, before the breath Of full-exerted heaven they wing their course, And dart on distant coasts; if some sharp rock, Or shoal insidious, break not their career, And in loose fragments fling them floating round. Nor less at hand the loosen'd tempest reigns: The mountain thunders; and its sturdy sons Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, The dark way-faring stranger breathless toils, And, often falling, climbs against the blast. Low waves the rooted forest, vex'd, and sheds What of its tarnish'd honours yet remain ; Dash'd down, and scatter'd by the tearing wind's Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, The whirling tempest raves along the plain; And on the cottage thatch'd, or lordly roof, Keen fastening, shakes them to the solid base. Sleep frighted flies, and round the rocking dome For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. Then too, they say, through all the burden'd air, Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant sighs, That, utter'd by the demon of the night,

Warn the devoted wretch of woe and death.

Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds commix'd With stars swift gliding sweep along the sky. All Nature reels. Till Nature's King who oft