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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’ enlivening 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 swelld,
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 shivered 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 pressd, 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 inain
Descends th' ethereal force, and with strong gust
Turns from its bottom the discolour'd deep.
Through the black night that sits immense aronnd,
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 insiduous, break not their career,
And in loose fragments fling them floating round.

Nor less at hand the loosen'd tempest reigns :
The monntain 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-fairing 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, uttered 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
Amid tempestuous darkness dwells alone,
And on the wings of the careering wind
Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm :
Then straight, air, sea, and earth, are hush'd at once.

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds,
Slow meeting, mingle into solid gloom.
Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep,
Let me associate with the serious Night,
And Contemplation, her sedate compeer;
Let me shake off th' intrusive cares of day,
And lay the meddling senses all aside.

Where now, ye lying vanities of lite !
Ye ever-tempting ! ever-cheating train!
Where are you now? and what is your amount?
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse.
Sad, sickening thought ! · And yet, deluded man,
A scene of crude disjointed visions past,
And broken slumbers, rises still resolv'd,
With new-flush'd hopes, to run the giddy round.

Father of light and life! thou Good Supreme !
O teach me what is good ! teach me thyself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit ! and feed my soul
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pare;
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss !

The keener tempests rise : and fuming dun
From all the livid east, or piercing north,
Thick clouds ascend; in whose capacious womb
A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congeal'da

Heavy they roll their fleecy world along;

A dire descent! beyond the power of frost :
And the sky saddens with the gather'd storm. Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge,
Through the hush'd air the whitening shower descends, Smooth'd up with snow; and, what is land, unknown,
At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes

What water, of the still unfrozen spring,
Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day, In the loose marsh or solitary lake,
With a continual flow. The cherish'd fields

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. Put on their winter-robe of purest white.

These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks 'Tis brightness all ! save where the new snow melts

Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, Along the mazy current. Low, the woods

Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, Bow their hoar head; and, ere the languid sun

Mix'd with the tender anguish Nature shoots Faint from the west emits his evening ray,

Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill,

His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries wide

In vain for him the officious wife prepares
The works of man. Drooping, the labourer-ox

The tire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm;
Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands In vain his little children, peeping out
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven,

Into the mingling storm, demand their sire,
Tam'd by the cruel season, crowd around

With tears of artless innocence. Alas!
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold;
Which Providence assigns them. One alone,

Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve The red-breast, sacred to the household gods,

The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense; Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky,

And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, In joyless fields, and thorny thickets, leaves

Lays him along the snows, a stiffen'd corse! His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man

Stretch'd ont, and bleaching in the northern blast. His annual visit. Half afraid, he first

Ah! little think the gay licentious proud, Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; On the warm hearth; then hopping o'er the floor,

They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, Eyes all the smiling family askance,

And wanton, often cruel, riot waste? And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is :

Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs

How many feel, this very moment, death,
Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds

And all the sad variety of pain.
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, How many sink in the devouring flood,
Though timorous of heart, and hard beset

Or more devouring flame. How many bleed,
By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs,

By shameful variance betwixt man and man. And more unpitying men, the garden seeks,

How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms ;
Urgʻd on by fearless want. The bleating kind Shut from the common air, and common use
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup
With looks of dumb despair; then, sad dispers’d, Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Dig for the wither'd herb through heaps of snow.

Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, ,
Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind. How many shrink into the sordid hut
Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens

Of cheerless poverty. How many shake
With food at will; lodge them below the storm, With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
And watch them strict; for from the bellowing east, Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse;
In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing

Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains

They furnish matter for the tragic Muse. At one wide waft, and o’er the helpless flocks,

Ev'en in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell, Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills,

With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd, The billowy tempest whelms; till, upward urg'd,

How many, rack'd wish honest passions, droop The valley to a shining mountain swells,

In deep-retir'd distress. How many stand

Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
Tipt with a wreath high-curling in the sky.
As thus the snows arise; and foul, and fierce,

And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man All Winter drives along the darken'd air ;

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, In his own loose revolving fields, the swain

That one incessant struggle render life, Disaster'd stands : sees other hills ascend,

One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,

Vice in his high career would stand appallid, Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain :

And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think; Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid

The conscious heart of Charity wonld warm, Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on

And her wide wish Benevolence dilate; From hill to dale, still more and more astray; The social tear would rise, the social sigh ; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of Refining still, the social passions work. home

And here can I forget the generous band,* Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth

Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive search'd In many a vain attempt. How sinks bis soul!

Into the horrors of the gloomy jail? What black despair, what horror fills his heart !

Unpitied, and unheard, where misery moans ; When for the dusky spot, which Fancy feign'd

Where sickness pines, where thirst and hunger burn, His tufted cottage rising through the snow,

And poor misfortune feels the lash of vice. He meets the roughness of the middle waste,

While in the land of liberty, the land Far from the track, and blest abode of man;

Whose every street and public meeting glow While round him night resistless closes fast,

With open freedom, little tyrants rag'd; And every tempest howling o'er his head,

Snatch'd the lean morsel from the stårving mouth ; Renders the savage wilderness more wild.

Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed ;
Then throng the busy shapes into his mind,
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep,

* The Jail Committee, in the year 1729.

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Thy willing victim,* Carthage, bursting loose In higher order; fitted and impelld
From all that pleading Nature could oppose,

By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all
From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith

In general good. The sage historic Muse
Imperious call'd, and honour's dire command. Should next conduct us through the deeps of time:
Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave,

Shew us how empire grew, declin'd, and fell,
Who soon the race of spotless glory ran,

In scatter'd states ; what makes the nations smile, ' And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade

Improves their soil, and gives them double sans ; With friendship and philosophy retir'd.

And why they pine beneath the brightest skies, Tully, whose powerful eloquence awhile

In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd, Restrain’d the rapid fate of rushing Rome.

Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme :

That portion of divinity, that ray And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart,

Of purest heaven, which lights the public soul Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urg'd,

Of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd, Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend.

In powerless humble fortune to repress
Thousands besides the tribute of a verse

These ardent risings of the kindling soul ;
Demand ; but who can count the stars of heaven? Then, even superior to ambition, we
Who sing their influence on this lower world? Would learn the private virtues ; how to glide

Behold, who yonder comes ! in sober state, Thro' shades and plains, along the smoothest stream
Fair, mild, and strong, as in a vernal sun:

Of rural life; or snatch'd away by hope, 'Tis Phæbus' self, or else the Mantuan swain ! Through the dim spaces of futurity, Great Homer too appears, of daring wing,

With earnest eye anticipate those scenes Parent of song; and equal, by his side,

Of happiness and wonder; where the mind,
The British Muse; join'd hand in hand they walk, In endless growth, and infinite ascent,
Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame.

Rises from state to state, and world to world.
Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch But when with these the serious thought is foild,
Pathetic drew th' impassion'd heart, and charm'd We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes
Transported Athens with the moral scene ;

Of frolic fancy; and incessant form
Nor those who, tuneful, wak'd th' enchanting lyre. Those rapid pictures, that assembled train
First of your kind! society divine !

Of fleet ideas, never join'd before,
Still visit thus my nights, for you reserv'd,

Whence lively Wit excites to gay surprise; And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like yours. Or folly-painting Humour, grave himself, Silence, thou lonely power ! the door be thine ;

Calls Laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve. See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude,

Meantime the village rouses up the fire; Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign

While well attested, and as well believ'd, To bless my humble roof, with sensė refin'd,

Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round; Learning digested well, exalted faith,

Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all. Unstudied wit, and humour ever gay.

Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake Or from the Muses' hill will Pope descend,

The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round ; To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile,

The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart, And with the social spirit warm the heart ?

Easily pleas’d; the long loud laugh, sincere ; For though not sweeter his own Homer sings,

The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the sidelong maid, Yet in his life the more endearing song.

On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep:
Where art thou, Hammond ? thou the darling pride, The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes
The friend and lover of the tuneful throng!

Of native music, the respondent dance.
Ah why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night.
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast

The city swarms intense. The public haunt,
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay,

Full of each theme, and warm with mix'd discourse, Why wert thou ravish'd from our hopes so soon!

Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow What now avails that noble thirst of fame,

Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy Which stung thy fervent breast ! that treasur'd store

To swift destruction. On the rankled soul Of knowledge, early gain'd ? that eager zeal

The gaming fury falls; and in one gulf To serve thy country, glowing in the band

Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace, Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name?

Friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink. What now, alas ! that life-diffusing charm

Up springs the dance along the lighted dome, Of sprightly wit ? that rapture for the Muse,

Mix'd, and evolv'd, a thousand sprightly ways.
That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy, The glittering court effuses every pomp ;
Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile? The circle deepens ; beam'd from gaudy robes,
Ah ! only shew'd, to check our fond pursuits, Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes,
And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain! A soft effulgence o'er the palace waves :

Thus in some deep retirement would I pass While, a gay insect in his summer-shine,
The winter glooms, with friends of pliant soul, The fop, light-fluttering, spreads his mealy wings.
Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspir'd:

Dread o'er the scene the ghost of Hamlet stalks ;
With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame Othello rages; poor Monimia mourns ;
Was call'd, late rising, from the void of night, And Belvidera pours her soul in love.
Or sprung eternal from th' eternal Mind;

Terror alarms the breast; the comely tear
Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end.

Steals o'er the cheek : or else the comic Muse
Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole Holds to the world a picture of itself,
Would, gradual, open on our opening minds; And raises sly the fair impartial laugh.
And each diffusive harmony unite

Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes
In full perfection, to th' astonish'd eye.

Of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind, Then would we try to scan the moral world, Or charm the heart, in generous Bevil * shew'd. Which, though to us it seems embroild, moves on

A character in The Conscions Lovers, written by Sir * Regulus.

Richard Steele.

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O thou, whose wisdom, solid yet refin'd,

A crystal pavement, by the breath of Heaven Whose patriot virtues, and consummate skill

Cemented firm ; till seiz'd from shore to shore, To touch the finer springs that move the world, The whole imprison'd river growls below. Join'd to whate'er the Graces can bestow,

Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects And all Apollo's animating fire,

A double noise ; while, at his evening watch, Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine

The village-dog deters the nightly thief : At once the guardian, ornament, and joy,

The heifer lows; the distant water-fall Of polish'd life : permit the rural Muse,

Swells in the breeze; and with the'hasty tread O Chesterfield, to grace with thee her song!

Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain Ere tu the shades again she humbly flies,

Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train,

Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, (For every Muse has in thy train a place)

Shines out intensely keen; and all one cope To mark thy various fall accomplish'd mind : Of starry glitter glows from pole to pole. To mark that spirit, which with British scorn From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, Rejects th’ allurements of corrupted power ;

Through the still night, incessant, heavy, strong, That elegant politeness, which excels,

And seizes nature fast. It freezes on; Even in the judgement of presumptuous France,

Till morn, late rising o'er the drooping world, The boasted manners of her shining court;

Lifts her pale eye unjoyons. Then appears That wit, the vivid energy of sense,

The various labour of the silent night : The truth of Nature, which, with Attic point,

Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, And kind well-temper'd satire, smoothly keen,

Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects.

The pendent icicle; the frost-work fairy Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame,

Where transient hues, and fancied figures rise; : O let me hail thee on some glorious day,

Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd

A livid tract, cold-gleaming on the morn; Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause.

The forest bent beneath the plamy wave; Then dress'd by thee, more amiably fair,

And, by the frost refin’d, the whiter snow, Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears :

Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread
Thou to assenting reason giv'st again

Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks
Her own enlighten'd thoughts ; call’d from the heart, His pining flock, or from the mountain top,
Th' obedient passions on thy voice attend;

Pleas'd with the slippery surface, swift descends. ; And ev’n reluctant party feels awhile

On blithsome frolics bent, the youthful swains, Thy gracious power : as through the varied maze While every work of man is laid at rest, Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong,

Fond o'er the river crowd in various sport Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood.

And revelry dissolv'd; where mixing glad, To thy lov'd haunt return, my happy Muse : Happiest of all the train ! the raptur'd boy For, now, behold, the joyous winter days,

Lashes the whirling top. Or, where the Rhine Frosty, succeed; and through the blue serene,

Branch'd out in many a long canal extends, Por sight too fine, the ethereal nitre flies;

From every province swarming, void of care, Killing infectious damps, and the spent air

Batavia rushes forth; and as they sweep, Storing afresh with elemental life.

On sounding skates, a thousand different ways, Close crowds the shining atmosphere; and binds In circling poise, swift as the winds, along, Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace,

The then gay land is maddened all to joy. Constringent; feeds, and animates our blood :

Nor less the northern courts, wide o'er the snow, Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves,

Pour a new pomp.

Eager, on rapid sleds, In swifter sallies darting to the brain ;

Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel Where sits the soul intense, collected, cool,

The long-resounding course. Meantime, to raise Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.

The manly strife, with highly blooming charms, Al Nature feels the renovating force

Flush'd by the season, Scandinavia's dames, Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye

Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around. In min seen. The frost-concocted glebe

Pure, quick, and sportful, is the wholesome day; Draws in abundant vegetable soul,

But soon elaps'd. The horizontal sun, And gathers vigour for the coming year.

Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon: , A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek

And, ineffecual, strikes the gelid cliff: Of ruddy fire: and luculent along

His azure gloss the mountain still maintains, The purer rivers flow; their sullen deeps,

Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale! Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze,

Relents awhile to the reflected ray ; And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost.

Or from the forest falls the cluster'd snow, What art thou, frost ? and whence are thy keen stores Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam Deriv'd, thou secret all-invading power,

Gay-twinkle as they scatter. Thick around, Whom even th' illusive fluid cannot fly?

Thunders the sport of those, who with the gun, Is not thy potent energy unseen,

And dog impatient bounding at the shot, Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shap'd

Worse than the season, desolate the fields ; Like double wedges, and diffus'd immense

And, adding to the ruins of the year, Through water, earth, and ether? Hence at eve, Distress the footed or the feather'd game. Steam'd eager from the red horizon round,

But what is this? Our infant Winter sinks, With the fierce rage of Winter deep suffus’d,

Divested of his grandeur, should our eye An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool

Astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone; Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career

Where, for relentless months, continual Night Arrests the bickering stream. The loosen'd ice, Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign. Let down the flood, and half dissolv'd by day,

There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, Rastles no more ; but to the sedgy bank

Barr'd by the hand of Nature from escape, Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around

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