Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise, Scarce staining ether; but by swift degrees, In heaps on heaps the doubled vapour sails Along the loaded sky, and, mingling deep, Sits on the horizon round, a settled gloom; Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed, Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind, And full of every hope, of every joy, The wish of nature. Gradual sinks the breeze Into a perfect calm, that not a breath Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods, diffused In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse Forgetful of their course. "Tis silence all, And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye The falling verdure. Hushed in short suspense, The plumy people streak their wings with oil To throw the lucid moisture trickling off, And wait the approaching sign to strike at once Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales, And forests, seem impatient to demand The promised sweetness. Man superior walks Amid the glad creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude. At last The clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow In large effusion o'er the freshened world. The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard. By such as wander through the forest-walks, Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.
Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds Assembled gay, a richly-gorgeous train, In all their pomp attend his setting throne. Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And now, As if his weary chariot sought the bowers Of Amphitrite and her tending nymphs, (So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb; Now half-immersed; and now a golden curve
Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. * * Confessed from yonder slow-extinguished clouds, All ether softening, sober evening takes
Her wonted station in the middle air; A thousand shadows at her beck. She sends on earth: then that of deeper dye Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still, In circle following circle, gathers round, To close the face of things. A fresher gale Begins to wave the wood and stir the stream, Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn: While the quail clamours for his running mate. Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, A whitening shower of vegetable down Amusive floats. The kind impartial care Of nature naught disdains: thoughtful to feed Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year, From field to field the feathered seeds she wings. His folded flock secure, the shepherd home Hies merry-hearted; and by turns relieves The ruddy milkmaid of her brimming pail ; The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart- Unknowing what the joy-mixed anguish means— Sincerely loves, by that best language shown Of cordial glances and obliging deeds. Onward they pass o'er many a panting height, And valley sunk and unfrequented; where At fall of eve the fairy people throng, In various game and revelry to pass The summer night, as village stories tell. But far about they wander from the grave Of him whom his ungentle fortune urged Against his own sad breast to lift the hand Of impious violence. The lonely tower
Is also shunn'd; whose mournful chambers hold- So night-struck fancy dreams—the yelling ghost. Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge
The glowworm lights his gem; and through the dark A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields The world to night; not in her winter robe Of massy Stygian woof, but loose arrayed In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, Glanced from the imperfect surfaces of things, Flings half an image on the straining eye; While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, And rocks, and mountain-tops, that long retained
The ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven
Thence weary vision turns; where, leading soft The silent hours of love, with purest ray Sweet Venus shines; and from her genial rise, When daylight sickens till it springs afresh, Unrivalled reigns, the fairest lamp of night.
But see the fading many-coloured woods, Shade deepening over shade, the country round Imbrown; a crowded umbrage dusk and dun, Of every hue, from wan declining green
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse, Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, And give the season in its latest view.
Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm Fleeces unbounded ether: whose least wave Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn The gentle current: while, illumined wide, The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, And through their lucid veil his softened force Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time For those whom virtue and whom nature charm To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, And soar above this little scene of things: To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet; To soothe the throbbing passions into peace; And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks.
Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead,
And through the saddened grove, where scarce is heard One dying strain to cheer the woodman's toil.
Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse; While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late Swelled all the music of the swarming shades, Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock: With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, And naught save chattering discord in their note. O let not, aimed from some inhuman eye, The gun the music of the coming year Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey, In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground! The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf Incessant rustles from the mournful grove; Oft startling such as studious walk below, And slowly circles through the waving air. But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams; Till, choked and matted with the dreary shower, The forest-walks at every rising gale
Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak. Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields; And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remained Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree; And woods, fields, gardens, orchards,—all around The desolated prospect thrills the soul.
The western sun withdraws the shortened day, And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky In her chill progress to the ground condensed The vapour throws. Where creeping waters ooze, Where marshes stagnate and where rivers wind, Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along
The dusky-mantled lawn. Meanwhile the moon, Full-orbed, and breaking through the scattered clouds, Shows her broad visage in the crimson'd east. Turned to the sun direct, her spotted disk, Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales descend, And caverns deep, as optic tube descries; A smaller earth gives us his blaze again, Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day. Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop, Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild O'er the skied mountain to the shadowy vale, While rocks and floods reflect the quivering gleam; The whole air whitens with a boundless tide Of silver radiance trembling round the world.
The lengthened night elapsed, the morning shines
Serene in all her dewy beauty bright, Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. And now the mounting sun dispels the fog; The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam; And, hung on every spray, on every blade Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round.
Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, At first thin-wavering, till at last the flakes Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day With a continual flow. The cherished fields Put on their winter robe of purest white: 'Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low the woods Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun, Faint from the west, emits his evening ray; Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill, Is one wide dazzling waste that buries wide The works of man. Drooping, the labourer-ox Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around The winnowing store, and claim the little boon Which Providence assigns them. One alone, The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first Against the window beats; then brisk alights On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance,
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is: Till more familiar grown, the table-crumbs Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, Though timorous of heart, and hard beset By death in various forms,-dark snares, and dogs, And more unpitying men,-the garden seeks, Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kine Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, With looks of dumb despair; then, sad dispersed, Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow.
As thus the snows arise, and foul and fierce All winter drives along the darkened air, In his own loose revolving fields the swain Disastered stands; sees other hills ascend Of unknown joyless brow, and other scenes Of horrid prospect shag the trackless plain; Nor finds the river nor the forest, hid Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
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