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النشر الإلكتروني

With burning bolts he dashes Athos down,
Or Rhodope, in smoking ruins blown.

The proud Ceraunia lift their heads in vain,
The god has fell'd their mountains to the plain.
Thick falls the rain; the winds redoubled roar,
Now fill the woods, now, howling, lash the shore.
Thus the vex'd currents, when the tempests brood,
Heave their huge billows with a swelling flood;
The mountains spread a brittle crash around;
From far, the shores return a mingled sound;
While hoarser murmurs thicken through the trees,
Scarce from the ships refrain the merciless seas;
When from mid-ocean with their wonted screech,
The rapid cormorants fly to neighbouring beach;
With screams foreboding, make the shelter'd land ;
When sea coots sport upon
the sunny
sand;
When the tall heron leaves his well-known moors,
And o'er the rising cloud in triumph soars.
Oft too, when storms impend along the sky,
You see the stars with headlong fury fly;

Sweep their long trains through the dark realm of night,

Flash from behind, and cast a vivid light;

Light chaff and leaves, in falling eddies swim,
And feathers dance upon the water's brim.
Whene'er the stormy ruler of the north,

Fierce from his kingdom sends the lightning forth;
Or Eurus thunders from his dark abode,
Or Zephyr's domes with constant shakings nod,
Torrents on torrents swell the ditches full,

And all the lands seem one o'erspreading pool.

The prescient seamen, o'er the troubled main,
Now furl their sails, that flag beneath the rain.
Ne'er fell the storm without a warning given;
Cranes, as they saw it, darted from the heaven,
And shunn'd its fury in the lowly vale ;

Or heifers, grazing, snuff'd the informing gale;
Or twittering swallows round the lakes have flown;
Or frogs in mud croak'd out their ancient moan;
The loaded ant oft wears her narrow way,
Trailing her eggs brought out to feel the day.
Deep drinks the rainbow; ravens from their food
Fly in large flocks, and clap their wings aloud.
The ill-boding crow then calls the tempest down,
And slowly stalks the sandy beach alone.

HOGS IN THE FOREST.

Bloomfield.

No more the fields, with scatter'd grain supply
The restless wandering tenants of the sty.
From oak to oak they run, with eager haste,
And, wrangling, share the first delicious taste
Of fallen acorns; yet but thinly found,

Till the strong gale has shook them to the ground.
It comes; and roaring woods, obedient, wave:
Their home, well pleas'd, the bold adventurers leave.
The trudging sow leads forth her numerous young,
Playful and white, and clean, the briars among;
Till briars and thorns increasing, fence them round,
Where last year's mouldering leaves bestrew the
ground;

And o'er their heads, loud lash'd by furious squalls,
Bright from their cups the rattling treasure falls.
Hot, thirsty food; whence, doubly sweet and cool,
The welcome margin of some rush-grown pool,
The wild duck's lonely haunt, whose jealous eye
Guards every point; who sits prepared to fly
On the calm bosom of her little lake,

Too closely screen'd for ruffian winds to shake;
And as the bold intruders press around,
At once she starts, and rises with a bound.
With bristles raised the sudden noise they hear,
And ludicrously wild, and wing'd with fear,
The herd decamp with rude tumultuous speed;
And snorting, dash through sedge, and rush, and
reed;

Through tangling thickets headlong on they go;
Then stop and listen for their fancied foe.

Their groundless terrors gradually decrease,
And night's dark reign restores their wonted peace;
For now the gale subsides, and from each bough
The roosted pheasant's short but frequent crow
Invites to rest; and huddling side by side,
The herd in closest ambush seek to hide;

Seek some warm slope with shagged moss o'erspread,

Dried leaves their copious covering and their bed. In vain may Giles, through gathering glooms that fall,

And solemn silence, urge his piercing call;

Whole days and nights they tarry midst their store Nor quit the woods till oaks can yield no more.

AUTUMNAL COUNTRY EMPLOYMENTS AND

EXERCISES.

Bloomfield.

SHORN of their flowers that shed the untreasur'd

seed,

The withering pasture and the fading mead,
Less tempting grown, diminish more and more
The dairy's pride; sweet summer's flowing store.
New cares succeed, and gentle duties press
Where the fireside, a school of tenderness,
Revives the languid chirp, and warms the blood
Of cold-nipt chickens of the later brood ;-
That from the shell just bursting into day,
Through yard or pond, pursue their venturous way.
Far weightier cares and wider scenes expand;
What devastation marks the new-sown land!
From hungry woodland foes, 'tis fit to guard
The rising wheat; ensure its great reward;
A future sustenance, a summer's pride,
Demand strict vigilance, then be it tried.
Exert the voice, and wield the shotless gun;
And tarry there from morn till setting sun.
Keen blows the blast, or pelting rain descends;
The half-stript hedge a sorry shelter lends.
Oh! for a hovel, e'er so small or low,

Whose roof, repelling winds and early snow,
Might bring home's comfort to the wandering eyes!
No sooner thought, than see the structure rise
In some sequester'd nook, embank'd around;
Sods for its walls, and straw in bundles bound :

Dry fuel hoarded is its richest store,

And circling smoke obscures the little door,
Whence creeping forth, the hind to duty yields,
And strolls, with sluggish pace, the lonely fields.
Bereft of song and ever cheering green,
The soft endearments of the summer scene,
New harmony pervades the solemn wood,
Dear to the heart and healthful to the blood;
For bold exertion follows on the sound
Of distant sportsmen and the chiding hound.
In earliest hours of dark and hooded morn,
Ere yet one rosy cloud bespeaks the dawn,
While far abroad the fox pursues his prey,
He's doom'd to risk the perils of the day;
From his strong hold block'd out; perhaps to bleed,
Or owe his life to fortune or to speed.

For, now, the pack impatient rushing on,

Range through the darkest coverts one by one,
Trace every spot; while down each grassy glade
That guides the eye beneath a changeful shade,
The loitering hunter feels the instinctive flame,
And checks his steed to mark the springing game.
'Mid intersecting cuts, and winding ways,
The huntsman cheers his dogs, and anxious strays
Where every narrow riding, even shorn,
Gives back the echo of the mellow horn;
Till fresh and lightsome, every power untried,
The starting fugitive leaps by his side;

His lifted finger to his ear he plies,

And the view-halloo bids a chorus rise

Of dogs quick-mouth'd, and shouts that mingle loud

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