<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416333" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Four Seasons : Autumn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, <br>While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, <br>Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more, <br>Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost <br>Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring <br>Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns <br>Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view, <br>Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme. <br>Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name, <br>To grace, inspire, and dignify her song, <br>Would from the public voice thy gentle ear <br>A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows, <br>The patriot virtues that distend thy thought, <br>Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow; <br>While listening senates hang upon thy tongue, <br>Devolving through the maze of eloquence <br>A roll of periods, sweeter than her song. <br>But she too pants for public virtue, she, <br>Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will, <br>Whene'er her country rushes on her heart, <br>Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries <br>To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame. <br>When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, <br>And Libra weighs in equal scales the year; <br>From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook <br>Of parting Summer, a serener blue, <br>With golden light enliven'd, wide invests <br>The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise, <br>Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds <br>A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below <br>Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. <br>Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale <br>Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain: <br>A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air <br>Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. <br>Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky; <br>The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun <br>By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field, <br>And black by fits the shadows sweep along. <br>A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view, <br>Far as the circling eye can shoot around, <br>Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. <br>These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power! <br>Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain; <br>Yet the kind source of every gentle art, <br>And all the soft civility of life: <br>Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast, <br>Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods <br>And wilds, to rude inclement elements; <br>With various seeds of art deep in the mind <br>Implanted, and profusely pour'd around <br>Materials infinite, but idle all. <br>Still unexerted, in the unconscious breast, <br>Slept the lethargic powers; Corruption still, <br>Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand <br>Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year: <br>And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd <br>With beasts of prey; or for his acorn-meal <br>Fought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch! <br>Aghast, and comfortless, when the bleak north, <br>With Winter charged, let the mix'd tempest fly, <br>Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost: <br>Then to the shelter of the hut he fled; <br>And the wild season, sordid, pined away. <br>For home he had not; home is the resort <br>Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where, <br>Supporting and supported, polish'd friends, <br>And dear relations mingle into bliss. <br>But this the rugged savage never felt, <br>E'en desolate in crowds; and thus his days <br>Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along: <br>A waste of time! till Industry approach'd, <br>And roused him from his miserable sloth: <br>His faculties unfolded; pointed out, <br>Where lavish Nature the directing hand <br>Of art demanded; show'd him how to raise <br>His feeble force by the mechanic powers, <br>To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth, <br>On what to turn the piercing rage of fire, <br>On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast; <br>Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe; <br>Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, <br>Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose; <br>Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, <br>And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, <br>Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn; <br>With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'd <br>The generous glass around, inspired to wake <br>The life-refining soul of decent wit: <br>Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity; <br>But still advancing bolder, led him on <br>To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace; <br>And, breathing high ambition through his soul, <br>Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, <br>And bade him be the Lord of all below. <br>Then gathering men their natural powers combined, <br>And form'd a Public; to the general good <br>Submitting, aiming, and conducting all. <br>For this the Patriot-Council met, the full, <br>The free, and fairly represented Whole; <br>For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws, <br>Distinguish'd orders, animated arts, <br>And with joint force Oppression chaining, set <br>Imperial Justice at the helm; yet still <br>To them accountable: nor slavish dream'd <br>That toiling millions must resign their weal, <br>And all the honey of their search, to such <br>As for themselves alone themselves have raised. <br>Hence every form of cultivated life <br>In order set, protected, and inspired, <br>Into perfection wrought. Uniting all, <br>Society grew numerous, high, polite, <br>And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'd <br>In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head; <br>And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew, <br>From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew <br>To bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons. <br>Then Commerce brought into the public walk <br>The busy merchant; the big warehouse built; <br>Raised the strong crane; choked up the loaded street <br>With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames, <br>Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods! <br>Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, <br>Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts <br>Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between <br>Possess'd the breezy void; the sooty hulk <br>Steer'd sluggish on; the splendid barge along <br>Row'd, regular, to harmony; around, <br>The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings; <br>While deep the various voice of fervent toil <br>From bank to bank increased; whence ribb'd with oak, <br>To bear the British thunder, black, and bold, <br>The roaring vessel rush'd into the main. <br>Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific, heaved <br>Its ample roof; and Luxury within <br>Pour'd out her glittering stores: the canvass smooth, <br>With glowing life protuberant, to the view <br>Embodied rose; the statue seem'd to breathe, <br>And soften into flesh; beneath the touch <br>Of forming art, imagination-flush'd. <br>All is the gift of Industry; whate'er <br>Exalts, embellishes, and renders life <br>Delightful. Pensive Winter cheer'd by him <br>Sits at the social fire, and happy hears <br>The excluded tempest idly rave along; <br>His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring; <br>Without him Summer were an arid waste; <br>Nor to the Autumnal months could thus transmit <br>Those full, mature, immeasurable stores, <br>That, waving round, recall my wandering song. <br>Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, <br>And, unperceived, unfolds the spreading day; <br>Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, <br>In fair array, each by the lass he loves, <br>To bear the rougher part, and mitigate <br>By nameless gentle offices her toil. <br>At once they stoop, and swell the lusty sheaves; <br>While through their cheerful band the rural talk, <br>The rural scandal, and the rural jest, <br>Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, <br>And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. <br>Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks; <br>And, conscious, glancing oft on every side <br>His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. <br>The gleaners spread around, and here and there, <br>Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick. <br>Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling <br>From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, <br>The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think! <br>How good the God of Harvest is to you; <br>Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields; <br>While these unhappy partners of your kind <br>Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven, <br>And ask their humble dole. The various turns <br>Of fortune ponder; that your sons may want <br>What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give. <br>The lovely young Lavinia once had friends; <br>And Fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth. <br>For, in her helpless years deprived of all, <br>Of every stay, save Innocence and Heaven, <br>She with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, <br>And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired <br>Among the windings of a woody vale; <br>By solitude and deep surrounding shades, <br>But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. <br>Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn <br>Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet <br>From giddy passion and low-minded pride: <br>Almost on Nature's common bounty fed; <br>Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, <br>Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. <br>Her form was fresher than the morning rose, <br>When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure <br>As is the lily, or the mountain snow. <br>The modest Virtues mingled in her eyes, <br>Still on the ground dejected, darting all <br>Their humid beams into the blooming flowers: <br>Or when the mournful tale her mother told, <br>Of what her faithless fortune promised once, <br>Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star <br>Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace <br>Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs, <br>Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, <br>Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness <br>Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, <br>But is when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. <br>Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self, <br>Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. <br>As in the hollow breast of Appenine, <br>Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, <br>A myrtle rises, far from human eye, <br>And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild; <br>So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all, <br>The sweet Lavinia; till, at length, compell'd <br>By strong Necessity's supreme command, <br>With smiling patience in her looks, she went <br>To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains <br>Palemon was, the generous, and the rich; <br>Who led the rural life in all its joy <br>And elegance, such as Arcadian song <br>Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times; <br>When tyrant custom had not shackled man, <br>But free to follow Nature was the mode. <br>He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes <br>Amusing, chanced beside his reaper-train <br>To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye; <br>Unconcious of her power, and turning quick <br>With unaffected blushes from his gaze: <br>He saw her charming, but he saw not half <br>The charms her down-cast modesty conceal'd. <br>That very moment love and chaste desire <br>Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown; <br>For still the world prevail'd and its dread laugh, <br>Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn, <br>Should his heart own a gleaner in the field; <br>And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd:— <br>“What pity! that so delicate a form, <br>By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense <br>And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell, <br>Should be devoted to the rude embrace <br>Of some indecent clown! She looks, methinks, <br>Of old Acasto's line; and to my mind <br>Recalls that patron of my happy life, <br>From whom my liberal fortune took its rise; <br>Now to the dust gone down; his houses, lands, <br>And once fair-spreading family, dissolved. <br>'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat, <br>Urged by remembrance sad, and decent pride, <br>Far from those scenes which knew their better days, <br>His aged widow and his daughter live, <br>Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. <br>Romantic wish! would this the daughter were!” <br>When, strict inquiring, from herself he found <br>She was the same, the daughter of his friend, <br>Of bountiful Acasto; who can speak <br>The mingled passions that surprised his heart, <br>And through his nerves in shivering transport ran? <br>Then blazed his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold; <br>And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er, <br>Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. <br>Confused, and frighten'd at his sudden tears, <br>Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom, <br>As thus Palemon, passionate and just, <br>Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul: <br>“And art thou then Acasto's dear remains? <br>She, whom my restless gratitude has sought, <br>So long in vain? O heavens! the very same, <br>The soften'd image of my noble friend; <br>Alive his every look, his every feature, <br>More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring! <br>Thou sole surviving blossom from the root <br>That nourish'd up my fortune! say, ah where, <br>In what sequester'd desert hast thou drawn <br>The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven? <br>Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair; <br>Though Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain <br>Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years? <br>O let me now into a richer soil <br>Transplant thee safe! where vernal suns and showers <br>Diffuse their warmest, largest influence; <br>And of my garden be the pride and joy! <br>Ill it befits thee, oh, it ill befits <br>Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores, <br>Though vast, were little to his ampler heart, <br>The father of a country, thus to pick <br>The very refuse of those harvest fields, <br>Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy. <br>Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand, <br>But ill applied to such a rugged task; <br>The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine; <br>If to the various blessings which thy house <br>Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss, <br>That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee!” <br>Here ceased the youth: yet still his speaking eye <br>Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul, <br>With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love, <br>Above the vulgar joy divinely raised. <br>Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm <br>Of goodness irresistible, and all <br>In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent. <br>The news immediate to her mother brought, <br>While, pierced with anxious thought, she pined away <br>The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate; <br>Amazed, and scarce believing what she heard, <br>Joy seized her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam <br>Of setting life shone on her evening-hours: <br>Not less enraptured than the happy pair; <br>Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd <br>A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves, <br>And good, the grace of all the country round. <br>Defeating oft the labours of the year, <br>The sultry south collects a potent blast. <br>At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir <br>Their trembling tops; and a still murmur runs <br>Along the soft-inclining fields of corn. <br>But as the aërial tempest fuller swells, <br>And in one mighty stream, invisible, <br>Immense, the whole excited atmosphere <br>Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world; <br>Strain'd to the root, the stooping forest pours <br>A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. <br>High beat, the circling mountains eddy in, <br>From the bare wild, the dissipated storm, <br>And send it in a torrent down the vale. <br>Exposed, and naked, to its utmost rage, <br>Through all the sea of harvest rolling round, <br>The billowy plain floats wide; nor can evade, <br>Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force; <br>Or whirl'd in air, or into vacant chaff <br>Shook waste. And sometimes too a burst of rain, <br>Swept from the black horizon, broad, descends <br>In one continuous flood. Still over head <br>The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and still <br>The deluge deepens; till the fields around <br>Lie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave. <br>Sudden, the ditches swell; the meadows swim. <br>Red, from the hills, innumerable streams <br>Tumultuous roar; and high above its banks <br>The river lift; before whose rushing tide <br>Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages, and swains, <br>Roll mingled down; all that the winds had spared <br>In one wild moment ruin'd; the big hopes, <br>And well earn'd treasures of the painful year. <br>Fled to some eminence, the husbandman <br>Helpless beholds the miserable wreck <br>Driving along; his drowning ox at once <br>Descending, with his labours scatter'd round, <br>He sees; and instant o'er his shivering thought <br>Comes Winter unprovided, and a train <br>Of claimant children dear. Ye masters, then, <br>Be mindful of the rough laborious hand <br>That sinks you soft in elegance and ease; <br>Be mindful of those limbs in russet clad, <br>Whose toil to yours is warmth and graceful pride; <br>And, oh! be mindful of that sparing board, <br>Which covers yours with luxury profuse, <br>Makes your glass sparkle, and your sense rejoice! <br>Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains <br>And all-involving winds have swept away. <br>Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy, <br>The gun fast-thundering, and the winded horn, <br>Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game: <br>How in his mid-career the spaniel struck, <br>Stiff, by the tainted gale, with open nose, <br>Outstretch'd and finely sensible, draws full, <br>Fearful and cautious, on the latent prey; <br>As in the sun the circling covey bask <br>Their varied plumes, and watchful every way, <br>Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. <br>Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat <br>Their idle wings, entangled more and more: <br>Nor on the surges of the boundless air, <br>Though borne triumphant, are they safe; the gun, <br>Glanced just, and sudden, from the fowler's eye, <br>O'ertakes their sounding pinions: and again, <br>Immediate, brings them from the towering wing, <br>Dead to the ground; or drives them wide dispersed, <br>Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind. <br>These are not subjects for the peaceful Muse, <br>Nor will she stain with such her spotless song; <br>Then most delighted, when she social sees <br>The whole mix'd animal-creation round <br>Alive and happy. 'Tis not joy to her, <br>The falsely cheerful barbarous game of death, <br>This rage of pleasure, which the restless youth <br>Awakes, impatient, with the gleaming morn: <br>When beasts of prey retire, that all night long, <br>Urged by necessity, had ranged the dark, <br>As if their conscious ravage shunn'd the light, <br>Ashamed. Not so the steady tyrant Man, <br>Who with the thoughtless insolence of power <br>Inflamed, beyond the most infuriate wrath <br>Of the worst monster that e'er roam'd the waste, <br>For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, <br>Amid the beamings of the gentle days. <br>Upbraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage, <br>For hunger kindles you, and lawless want; <br>But lavish fed, in Nature's bounty roll'd, <br>To joy at anguish, and delight in blood, <br>Is what your horrid bosoms never knew. <br>Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare! <br>Scared from the corn, and now to some lone seat <br>Retired: the rushy fen; the ragged furze, <br>Stretch'd o'er the stony heath; the stubble chapt; <br>The thistly lawn; the thick entangled broom; <br>Of the same friendly hue, the wither'd fern; <br>The fallow ground laid open to the sun, <br>Concoctive; and the nodding sandy bank, <br>Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain brook. <br>Vain is her best precaution; though she sits <br>Conceal'd, with folded ears; unsleeping eyes, <br>By Nature raised to take the horizon in; <br>And head couch'd close betwixt her hairy feet, <br>In act to spring away. The scented dew <br>Betrays her early labyrinth; and deep, <br>In scatter'd sullen openings, far behind, <br>With every breeze she hears the coming storm. <br>But nearer, and more frequent, as it loads <br>The sighing gale, she springs amazed, and all <br>The savage soul of game is up at once: <br>The pack full-opening, various; the shrill horn <br>Resounded from the hills; the neighing steed, <br>Wild for the chase; and the loud hunter's shout; <br>O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature, all <br>Mix'd in mad tumult, and discordant joy. <br>The stag too, singled from the herd, where long <br>He ranged the branching monarch of the shades, <br>Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed <br>He, sprightly, puts his faith; and, roused by fear, <br>Gives all his swift aërial soul to flight; <br>Against the breeze he darts, that way the more <br>To leave the lessening murderous cry behind: <br>Deception short! though fleeter than the winds <br>Blown o'er the keen-air'd mountain by the north, <br>He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, <br>And plunges deep into the wildest wood; <br>If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track <br>Hot-steaming, up behind him come again <br>The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth <br>Expel him, circling through his every shift. <br>He sweeps the forest oft; and sobbing sees <br>The glades, mild opening to the golden day; <br>Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends <br>He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. <br>Oft in the full-descending flood he tries <br>To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides: <br>Oft seeks the herd; the watchful herd, alarm'd, <br>With selfish care avoid a brother's woe. <br>What shall he do? His once so vivid nerves, <br>So full of buoyant spirit, now no more <br>Inspire the course; but fainting breathless toil, <br>Sick, seizes on his heart: he stands at bay; <br>And puts his last weak refuge in despair. <br>The big round tears run down his dappled face; <br>He groans in anguish: while the growling pack, <br>Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest, <br>And mark his beauteous chequer'd sides with gore. <br>Of this enough. But if the sylvan youth, <br>Whose fervent blood boils into violence, <br>Must have the chase; behold, despising flight, <br>The roused up lion, resolute, and slow, <br>Advancing full on the protended spear, <br>And coward band, that circling wheel aloof. <br>Slunk from the cavern, and the troubled wood, <br>See the grim wolf; on him his shaggy foe <br>Vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die: <br>Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar <br>Grins fell destruction, to the monster's heart <br>Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm. <br>These Britain knows not; give, ye Britons, then <br>Your sportive fury, pitiless, to pour <br>Loose on the nightly robber of the fold; <br>Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd, <br>Let all the thunder of the chase pursue. <br>Throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge <br>High bound, resistless; nor the deep morass <br>Refuse, but through the shaking wilderness <br>Pick your nice way; into the perilous flood <br>Bear fearless, of the raging instinct full; <br>And as you ride the torrent, to the banks <br>Your triumph sound sonorous, running round, <br>From rock to rock, in circling echoes tost; <br>Then scale the mountains to their woody tops; <br>Rush down the dangerous steep; and o'er the lawn, <br>In fancy swallowing up the space between, <br>Pour all your speed into the rapid game. <br>For happy he! who tops the wheeling chase; <br>Has every maze evolved, and every guile <br>Disclosed; who knows the merits of the pack; <br>Who saw the villain seized, and dying hard, <br>Without complaint, though by a hundred mouths <br>Relentless torn: O glorious he, beyond <br>His daring peers! when the retreating horn <br>Calls them to ghostly halls of gray renown, <br>With woodland honours graced; the fox's fur, <br>Depending decent from the roof: and spread <br>Round the drear walls, with antic figures fierce, <br>The stag's large front: he then is loudest heard, <br>When the night staggers with severer toils, <br>With feats Thessalian Centaurs never knew, <br>And their repeated wonders shake the dome. <br>But first the fuel'd chimney blazes wide; <br>The tankards foam; and the strong table groans <br>Beneath the smoking sirloin, stretch'd immense <br>From side to side; in which, with desperate knife, <br>They deep incision make, and talk the while <br>Of England's glory, ne'er to be defaced <br>While hence they borrow vigour: or amain <br>Into the pasty plunged, at intervals, <br>If stomach keen can intervals allow, <br>Relating all the glories of the chase. <br>Then sated Hunger bids his Brother Thirst <br>Produce the mighty bowl; the mighty bowl, <br>Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams liberal round <br>A potent gale, delicious, as the breath <br>Of Maia to the love-sick shepherdess, <br>On violets diffused, while soft she hears <br>Her panting shepherd stealing to her arms. <br>Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn, <br>Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat <br>Of thirty years; and now his honest front <br>Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid <br>E'en with the vineyard's best produce to vie. <br>To cheat the thirsty moments, Whist a while <br>Walks his dull round beneath a cloud of smoke, <br>Wreath'd, fragrant, from the pipe; or the quick dice, <br>In thunder leaping from the box, awake<br>The sounding gammon: while romp-loving miss <br>Is haul'd about, in gallantry robust. <br>At last these puling idlenesses laid <br>Aside, frequent and full, the dry divan <br>Close in firm circle; and set, ardent, in <br>For serious drinking. Nor evasion sly, <br>Nor sober shift, is to the puking wretch <br>Indulged apart; but earnest, brimming bowls <br>Lave every soul, the table floating round, <br>And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. <br>Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk, <br>Vociferous at once from twenty tongues, <br>Reels fast from theme to theme; from horses, hounds, <br>To church or mistress, politics or ghost, <br>In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd. <br>Meantime, with sudden interruption, loud, <br>The impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart; <br>That moment touch'd is every kindred soul; <br>And, opening in a full-mouth'd cry of joy, <br>The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse go round; <br>While, from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds <br>Mix in the music of the day again. <br>As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep <br>The dark night long, with fainter murmurs falls; <br>So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues, <br>Unable to take up the cumbrous word, <br>Lie quite dissolved. Before their maudlin eyes, <br>Seen dim and blue, the double tapers dance, <br>Like the sun wading through the misty sky. <br>Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confused above, <br>Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers, <br>As if the table e'en itself was drunk, <br>Lie a wet broken scene; and wide, below, <br>Is heap'd the social slaughter: where astride <br>The lubber Power in filthy triumph sits, <br>Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side, <br>And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn. <br>Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, <br>Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink, <br>Outlives them all; and from his buried flock <br>Retiring, full of rumination sad, <br>Laments the weakness of these latter times. <br>But if the rougher sex by this fierce sport <br>Is hurried wild, let not such horrid joy <br>E'er stain the bosom of the British Fair. <br>Far be the spirit of the chase from them! <br>Uncomely courage, unbeseeming skill; <br>To spring the fence, to rein the prancing steed; <br>The cap, the whip, the masculine attire; <br>In which they roughen to the sense, and all <br>The winning softness of their sex is lost. <br>In them 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe; <br>With every motion, every word, to wave <br>Quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blush; <br>And from the smallest violence to shrink <br>Unequal, then the loveliest in their fears; <br>And by this silent adulation, soft, <br>To their protection more engaging Man. <br>O may their eyes no miserable sight, <br>Save weeping lovers, see! a nobler game, <br>Through love's enchanting wiles pursued, yet fled, <br>In chase ambiguous. May their tender limbs <br>Float in the loose simplicity of dress! <br>And, fashion'd all to harmony, alone <br>Know they to seize the captivated soul, <br>In rapture warbled from love-breathing lips; <br>To teach the lute to languish; with smooth step, <br>Disclosing motion in its every charm, <br>To swim along, and swell the mazy dance; <br>To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn; <br>To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page; <br>To lend new flavour to the fruitful year, <br>And heighten Nature's dainties: in their race <br>To rear their graces into second life; <br>To give society its highest taste; <br>Well order'd home man's best delight to make; <br>And by submissive wisdom, modest skill, <br>With every gentle care-eluding art, <br>To raise the virtues, animate the bliss, <br>And sweeten all the toils of human life: <br>This be the female dignity, and praise. <br>Ye swains, now hasten to the hazel bank; <br>Where, down yon dale, the wildly winding brook <br>Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array, <br>Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrub, <br>Ye virgins, come. For you their latest song <br>The woodlands raise; the clustering nuts for you <br>The lover finds amid the secret shade; <br>And, where they burnish on the topmost bough, <br>With active vigour crushes down the tree; <br>Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk, <br>A glossy shower, and of an ardent brown, <br>As are the ringlets of Melinda's hair: <br>Melinda! form'd with every grace complete; <br>Yet these neglecting, above beauty wise, <br>And far transcending such a vulgar praise. <br>Hence from the busy joy-resounding fields, <br>In cheerful error, let us tread the maze <br>Of Autumn, unconfined; and taste, revived, <br>The breath of orchard big with bending fruit, <br>Obedient to the breeze and beating ray, <br>From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower <br>Incessant melts away. The juicy pear <br>Lies, in a soft profusion, scatter'd round. <br>A various sweetness swells the gentle race; <br>By Nature's all-refining hand prepared; <br>Of temper'd sun, and water, earth, and air, <br>In ever changing composition mix'd. <br>Such, falling frequent through the chiller night, <br>The fragrant stores, the wide projected heaps <br>Of apples, which the lusty-handed Year, <br>Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes. <br>A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen, <br>Dwells in their gelid pores; and, active, points <br>The piercing cyder for the thirsty tongue: <br>Thy native theme, and boon inspirer too, <br>Philips, Pomona's bard, the second thou <br>Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfetter'd verse, <br>With British freedom sing the British song: <br>How, from Silurian vats, high sparkling wines <br>Foam in transparent floods; some strong, to cheer <br>The wintry revels of the labouring hind; <br>And tasteful some, to cool the summer hours. <br>In this glad season, while his sweetest beams <br>The sun sheds equal o'er the meeken'd day; <br>Oh lose me in the green delightful walks <br>Of, Dodington, thy seat, serene and plain; <br>Where simple Nature reigns; and every view, <br>Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs, <br>In boundless prospect; yonder shagg'd with wood, <br>Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks! <br>Meantime the grandeur of thy lofty dome, <br>Far splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye. <br>New beauties rise with each revolving day; <br>New columns swell; and still the fresh Spring finds <br>New plants to quicken, and new groves to green. <br>Full of thy genius all! the Muses' seat: <br>Where in the secret bower, and winding walk, <br>For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay. <br>Here wandering oft, fired with the restless thirst <br>Of thy applause, I solitary court <br>The inspiring breeze: and meditate the book <br>Of Nature ever open; aiming thence, <br>Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song. <br>Here, as I steal along the sunny wall, <br>Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deep, <br>My pleasing theme continual prompts my thought: <br>Presents the downy peach; the shining plum: <br>The ruddy, fragrant nectarine; and dark, <br>Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig. <br>The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots; <br>Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south; <br>And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky. <br>Turn we a moment Fancy's rapid flight <br>To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent; <br>Where, by the potent sun elated high, <br>The vineyard swells refulgent on the day; <br>Spreads o'er the vale; or up the mountain climbs, <br>Profuse; and drinks amid the sunny rocks, <br>From cliff to cliff increased, the heighten'd blaze. <br>Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear, <br>Half through the foliage seen, or ardent flame, <br>Or shine transparent; while perfection breathes <br>White o'er the turgent film the living dew. <br>As thus they brighten with exalted juice, <br>Touch'd into flavour by the mingling ray; <br>The rural youth and virgins o'er the field, <br>Each fond for each to cull the autumnal prime, <br>Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. <br>Then comes the crushing swain; the country floats, <br>And foams unbounded with the mashy flood; <br>That by degrees fermented, and refined, <br>Round the raised nations pours the cup of joy: <br>The claret smooth, red as the lip we press <br>In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl; <br>The mellow-tasted burgundy; and quick, <br>As is the wit it gives, the gay champagne. <br>Now, by the cool declining year condensed, <br>Descend the copious exhalations, check'd <br>As up the middle sky unseen they stole, <br>And roll the doubling fogs around the hill. <br>No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, <br>Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, <br>And high between contending kingdoms rears <br>The rocky long division, fills the view <br>With great variety; but in a night <br>Of gathering vapour, from the baffled sense <br>Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far, <br>The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain: <br>Vanish the woods: the dim-seen river seems <br>Sullen, and slow, to roll the misty wave. <br>E'en in the height of noon oppress'd, the sun <br>Sheds weak, and blunt, his wide-refracted ray; <br>Whence glaring oft, with many a broaden'd orb, <br>He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth, <br>Seen through the turbid air, beyond the life <br>Objects appear; and, wilder'd, o'er the waste <br>The shepherd stalks gigantic. Till at last <br>Wreath'd dun around, in deeper circles still <br>Successive closing, sits the general fog <br>Unbounded o'er the world; and, mingling thick, <br>A formless grey confusion covers all. <br>As when of old (so sung the Hebrew Bard) <br>Light, uncollected, through the chaos urged <br>Its infant way; nor Order yet had drawn <br>His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. <br>These roving mists, that constant now begin <br>To smoke along the hilly country, these, <br>With weightier rains, and melted Alpine snows, <br>The mountain-cisterns fill, those ample stores <br>Of water, scoop'd among the hollow rocks; <br>Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains play, <br>And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw. <br>Some sages say, that, where the numerous wave <br>For ever lashes the resounding shore, <br>Drill'd through the sandy stratum, every way, <br>The waters with the sandy stratum rise; <br>Amid whose angles infinitely strain'd, <br>They joyful leave their jaggy salts behind, <br>And clear and sweeten as they soak along. <br>Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still, <br>Though oft amidst the irriguous vale it springs; <br>But to the mountain courted by the sand, <br>That leads it darkling on in faithful maze, <br>Far from the parent-main, it boils again <br>Fresh into day; and all the glittering hill <br>Is bright with spouting rills. But hence this vain <br>Amusive dream! why should the waters love <br>To take so far a journey to the hills, <br>When the sweet valleys offer to their toil <br>Inviting quiet, and a nearer bed? <br>Or if by blind ambition led astray, <br>They must aspire; why should they sudden stop <br>Among the broken mountain's rushy dells, <br>And, ere they gain its highest peak, desert <br>The attractive sand that charm'd their course so long? <br>Besides, the hard agglomerating salts, <br>The spoil of ages, would impervious choke <br>Their secret channels; or, by slow degrees, <br>High as the hills protrude the swelling vales: <br>Old Ocean too, suck'd through the porous globe, <br>Had long ere now forsook his horrid bed, <br>And brought Deucalion's watery times again. <br>Say then, where lurk the vast eternal springs, <br>That, like creating Nature, lie conceal'd <br>From mortal eye, yet with their lavish stores <br>Refresh the globe, and all its joyous tribes! <br>O thou pervading Genius, given to man, <br>To trace the secrets of the dark abyss, <br>O lay the mountains bare! and wide display <br>Their hidden structure to the astonish'd view! <br>Strip from the branching Alps their piny load; <br>The huge incumbrance of horrific woods <br>From Asian Taurus, from Imaus stretch'd <br>Athwart the roving Tartar's sullen bounds; <br>Give opening Hemus to my searching eye, <br>And high Olympus pouring many a stream! <br>O from the sounding summits of the north, <br>The Dofrine hills, through Scandinavia roll'd <br>To farthest Lapland and the frozen main; <br>From lofty Caucasus, far seen by those <br>Who in the Caspian and black Euxine toil; <br>From cold Riphean rocks, which the wild Russ <br>Believes the stony girdle of the world: <br>And all the dreadful mountains, wrapp'd in storm, <br>Whence wide Siberia draws her lonely floods; <br>O sweep the eternal snows! hung o'er the deep, <br>That ever works beneath his sounding base, <br>Bid Atlas, propping heaven, as poets feign, <br>His subterranean wonders spread! unveil <br>The miny caverns, blazing on the day, <br>Of Abyssinia's cloud-compelling cliffs, <br>And of the bending Mountains of the Moon! <br>O'ertopping all these giant sons of earth, <br>Let the dire Andes, from the radiant line <br>Stretch'd to the stormy seas that thunder round <br>The southern pole, their hideous deeps unfold! <br>Amazing scene! Behold! the glooms disclose; <br>I see the rivers in their infant beds! <br>Deep, deep I hear them, labouring to get free; <br>I see the leaning strata, artful ranged; <br>The gaping fissures to receive the rains, <br>The melting snows, and ever dripping fogs. <br>Strow'd bibulous above I see the sands, <br>The pebbly gravel next, the layers then <br>Of mingled moulds, of more retentive earths <br>The gutter'd rocks and mazy-running clefts; <br>That, while the stealing moisture they transmit, <br>Retard its motion, and forbid its waste. <br>Beneath the incessant weeping of these drains, <br>I see the rocky siphons stretch'd immense, <br>The mighty reservoirs, of harden'd chalk, <br>Or stiff compacted clay, capacious form'd: <br>O'erflowing thence, the congregated stores, <br>The crystal treasures of the liquid world, <br>Through the stirr'd sands a bubbling passage burst; <br>And welling out, around the middle steep, <br>Or from the bottoms of the bosom'd hills, <br>In pure effusion flow. United, thus, <br>The exhaling sun, the vapour-burden'd air, <br>The gelid mountains, that to rain condensed <br>These vapours in continual current draw, <br>And send them, o'er the fair-divided earth, <br>In bounteous rivers to the deep again, <br>A social commerce hold, and firm support <br>The full-adjusted harmony of things. <br>When Autumn scatters his departing gleams, <br>Warn'd of approaching Winter, gather'd, play <br>The swallow-people; and toss'd wide around, <br>O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, <br>The feather'd eddy floats: rejoicing once, <br>Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire; <br>In clusters clung, beneath the mouldering bank, <br>And where, unpierced by frost, the cavern sweats. <br>Or rather into warmer climes convey'd, <br>With other kindred birds of season, there <br>They twitter cheerful, till the vernal months <br>Invite them welcome back: for, thronging, now <br>Innumerous wings are in commotion all. <br>Where the Rhine loses his majestic force <br>In Belgian plains, won from the raging deep, <br>By diligence amazing, and the strong <br>Unconquerable hand of Liberty, <br>The stork-assembly meets; for many a day, <br>Consulting deep, and various, ere they take <br>Their arduous voyage through the liquid sky: <br>And now their route design'd, their leaders chose, <br>Their tribes adjusted, clean'd their vigorous wings; <br>And many a circle, many a short essay, <br>Wheel'd round and round, in congregation full <br>The figured flight ascends; and, riding high <br>The aërial billows, mixes with the clouds. <br>Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls, <br>Boils round the naked melancholy isles <br>Of farthest Thule, and the Atlantic surge <br>Pours in among the stormy Hebrides; <br>Who can recount what transmigrations there <br>Are annual made? what nations come and go? <br>And how the living clouds on clouds arise? <br>Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air, <br>And rude resounding shore are one wild cry. <br>Here the plain harmless native his small flock, <br>And herd diminutive of many hues, <br>Tends on the little island's verdant swell, <br>The shepherd's sea-girt reign; or, to the rocks <br>Dire-clinging, gathers his ovarious food; <br>Or sweeps the fishy shore! or treasures up <br>The plumage, rising full, to form the bed <br>Of luxury. And here a while the Muse, <br>High hovering o'er the broad cerulean scene, <br>Sees Caledonia, in romantic view: <br>Her airy mountains, from the waving main, <br>Invested with a keen diffusive sky, <br>Breathing the soul acute; her forests huge, <br>Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's hand <br>Planted of old; her azure lakes between, <br>Pour'd out extensive, and of watery wealth <br>Full; winding deep, and green, her fertile vales; <br>With many a cool translucent brimming flood <br>Wash'd lovely, from the Tweed (pure parent stream, <br>Whose pastoral banks first heard my Doric reed, <br>With, silvan Jed, thy tributary brook) <br>To where the north-inflated tempest foams <br>O'er Orca's or Betubium's highest peak: <br>Nurse of a people, in Misfortune's school <br>Train'd up to hardy deeds; soon visited <br>By Learning, when before the gothic rage <br>She took her western flight. A manly race, <br>Of unsubmitting spirit, wise, and brave; <br>Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard, <br>(As well unhappy Wallace can attest, <br>Great patriot-hero! ill requited chief!) <br>To hold a generous undiminish'd state; <br>Too much in vain! Hence of unequal bounds <br>Impatient, and by tempting glory borne <br>O'er every land, for every land their life <br>Has flow'd profuse, their piercing genius plann'd, <br>And swell'd the pomp of peace their faithful toil. <br>As from their own clear north, in radiant streams, <br>Bright over Europe bursts the boreal morn. <br>Oh! is there not some patriot, in whose power <br>That best, that godlike luxury is placed, <br>Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn, <br>Through late posterity? some, large of soul, <br>To cheer dejected industry? to give <br>A double harvest to the pining swain? <br>And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil? <br>How, by the finest art, the native robe <br>To weave; how white as hyperborean snow, <br>To form the lucid lawn; with venturous oar <br>How to dash wide the billow; nor look on, <br>Shamefully passive while Batavian fleets <br>Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms, <br>That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores; <br>How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing <br>The prosperous sail, from every growing port, <br>Uninjured, round the sea-encircled globe; <br>And thus, in soul united as in name, <br>Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep? <br>Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argyle, <br>Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast, <br>From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, <br>Thy fond imploring country turns her eye; <br>In thee with all a mother's triumph, sees <br>Her every virtue, every grace combined, <br>Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, <br>Her pride of honour, and her courage tried, <br>Calm, and intrepid, in the very throat <br>Of sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field. <br>Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow: <br>For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue <br>Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate; <br>While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth, <br>The force of manhood, and the depth of age. <br>Thee, Forbes, too, whom every worth attends, <br>As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind, <br>Thee, truly generous, and in silence great, <br>Thy country feels through her reviving arts, <br>Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd; <br>And seldom has she known a friend like thee. <br>But see the fading many-colour'd woods, <br>Shade deepening over shade, the country round <br>Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, <br>Of every hue, from wan declining green <br>To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse, <br>Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, <br>And give the Season in its latest view. <br>Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm <br>Fleeces unbounded ether: whose least wave <br>Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn <br>The gentle current: while illumined wide, <br>The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, <br>And through their lucid veil his soften'd force <br>Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time, <br>For those whom Wisdom and whom Nature charm, <br>To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, <br>And soar above this little scene of things: <br>To tread low-thoughted Vice beneath their feet; <br>To soothe the throbbing passions into peace; <br>And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks. <br>Thus solitary, and in pensive guise, <br>Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, <br>And through the sadden'd grove, where scarce is heard <br>One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil. <br>Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, <br>Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse: <br>While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, <br>And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late <br>Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades, <br>Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit <br>On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock; <br>With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, <br>And nought save chattering discord in their note. <br>O let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye, <br>The gun the music of the coming year <br>Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, <br>Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey, <br>In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground! <br>The pale-descending year, yet pleasing still, <br>A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf <br>Incessant rustles from the mournful grove; <br>Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, <br>And slowly circles through the waving air. <br>But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs <br>Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams; <br>Till choked, and matted with the dreary shower, <br>The forest walks, at every rising gale, <br>Roll wide the wither'd waste, and whistle bleak. <br>Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields; <br>And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race <br>Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remain'd <br>Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree; <br>And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around <br>The desolated prospect thrills the soul. <br>He comes! he comes! in every breeze the Power <br>Of Philosophic Melancholy comes! <br>His near approach the sudden starting tear, <br>The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, <br>The soften'd feature, and the beating heart, <br>Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. <br>O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes! <br>Inflames imagination; through the breast <br>Infuses every tenderness; and far <br>Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought. <br>Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such <br>As never mingled with the vulgar dream, <br>Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye. <br>As fast the correspondent passions rise, <br>As varied, and as high: Devotion raised <br>To rapture, and divine astonishment; <br>The love of Nature unconfined, and, chief, <br>Of human race; the large ambitious wish, <br>To make them blest; the sigh for suffering worth <br>Lost in obscurity; the noble scorn <br>Of tyrant pride; the fearless great resolve; <br>The wonder which the dying patriot draws, <br>Inspiring glory through remotest time; <br>The awaken'd throb for virtue, and for fame; <br>The sympathies of love, and friendship dear; <br>With all the social offspring of the heart. <br>Oh! bear me then to vast embowering shades, <br>To twilight groves, and visionary vales; <br>To weeping grottos, and prophetic glooms; <br>Where angel forms athwart the solemn dusk, <br>Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep along; <br>And voices more than human, through the void <br>Deep sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear? <br>Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye powers, <br>That o'er the garden and the rural seat <br>Preside, which shining through the cheerful hand <br>In countless numbers blest Britannia sees; <br>O lead me to the wide extended walks, <br>The fair majestic paradise of Stowe!<br>Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore <br>E'er saw such sylvan scenes; such various art <br>By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed <br>By cool judicious art; that, in the strife, <br>All beauteous Nature fears to be outdone. <br>And there, O Pitt, thy country's early boast, <br>There let me sit beneath the shelter'd slopes, <br>Or in that Temple where, in future times, <br>Thou well shalt merit a distinguish'd name; <br>And, with thy converse blest, catch the last smiles <br>Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. <br>While there with thee the enchanted round I walk, <br>The regulated wild, gay Fancy then <br>Will tread in thought the groves of attic land; <br>Will from thy standard taste refine her own, <br>Correct her pencil to the purest truth <br>Of Nature, or, the unimpassion'd shades <br>Forsaking, raise it to the human mind. <br>Or if hereafter she, with juster hand, <br>Shall draw the tragic scene, instruct her, thou, <br>To mark the varied movements of the heart, <br>What every decent character requires, <br>And every passion speaks: O through her strain <br>Breathe thy pathetic eloquence! that moulds <br>The attentive senate, charms, persuades, exalts, <br>Of honest Zeal the indignant lightning throws, <br>And shakes Corruption on her venal throne. <br>While thus we talk, and through Elysian vales <br>Delighted rove, perhaps a sigh escapes: <br>What pity, Cobham, thou thy verdant files <br>Of order'd trees shouldst here inglorious range, <br>Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field, <br>And long embattled hosts! when the proud foe, <br>The faithless vain disturber of mankind, <br>Insulting Gaul, has roused the world to war; <br>When keen, once more, within their bounds to press <br>Those polish'd robbers, those ambitious slaves, <br>The British youth would hail thy wise command, <br>Thy temper'd ardour and thy veteran skill. <br>The western sun withdraws the shorten'd day; <br>And humid Evening, gliding o'er the sky, <br>In her chill progress, to the ground condensed <br>The vapours throws. Where creeping waters ooze, <br>Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers wind, <br>Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along <br>The dusky-mantled lawn. Meanwhile the Moon <br>Full-orb'd, and breaking through the scatter'd clouds, <br>Shows her broad visage in the crimson'd east. <br>Turn'd to the sun direct, her spotted disk, <br>Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales descend, <br>And caverns deep, as optic tube descries, <br>A smaller earth, gives us his blaze again, <br>Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day. <br>Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop, <br>Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. <br>Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild <br>O'er the sky'd mountain to the shadowy vale, <br>While rocks and floods reflect the quivering gleam, <br>The whole air whitens with a boundless tide <br>Of silver radiance, trembling round the world. <br>But when half blotted from the sky her light, <br>Fainting, permits the starry fires to burn <br>With keener lustre through the depth of heaven; <br>Or near extinct her deaden'd orb appears, <br>And scarce appears, of sickly beamless white; <br>Oft in this season, silent from the north <br>A blaze of meteors shoots; ensweeping first <br>The lower skies, they all at once converge <br>High to the crown of heaven, and all at once <br>Relapsing quick, as quickly reascend, <br>And mix, and thwart, extinguish, and renew, <br>All ether coursing in a maze of light. <br>From look to look, contagious through the crowd, <br>The panic runs, and into wondrous shapes <br>The appearance throws: armies in meet array, <br>Throng'd with aërial spears, and steeds of fire; <br>Till the long lines of full extended war <br>In bleeding fight commix'd, the sanguine flood <br>Rolls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven. <br>As thus they scan the visionary scene, <br>On all sides swells the superstitious din, <br>Incontinent; and busy frenzy talks <br>Of blood and battle; cities overturn'd, <br>And late at night in swallowing earthquake sunk, <br>Or hideous wrapt in fierce ascending flame; <br>Of sallow famine, inundation, storm; <br>Of pestilence, and every great distress; <br>Empires subversed, when ruling fate has struck <br>The unalterable hour: e'en Nature's self <br>Is deem'd to totter on the brink of time. <br>Not so the man of philosophic eye, <br>And inspect sage; the waving brightness he <br>Curious surveys, inquisitive to know <br>The causes, and materials, yet unfix'd, <br>Of this appearance beautiful and new. <br>Now black, and deep, the night begins to fall, <br>A shade immense! Sunk in the quenching gloom, <br>Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. <br>Order confounded lies; all beauty void; <br>Distinction lost; and gay variety <br>One universal blot: such the fair power <br>Of light, to kindle and create the whole. <br>Drear is the state of the benighted wretch, <br>Who then, bewilder'd, wanders through the dark, <br>Full of pale fancies, and chimeras huge; <br>Nor visited by one directive ray, <br>From cottage streaming, or from airy hall. <br>Perhaps impatient as he stumbles on, <br>Struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue, <br>The wildfire scatters round, or gather'd trails <br>A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss: <br>Whither decoy'd by the fantastic blaze, <br>Now lost and now renew'd he sinks absorb'd, <br>Rider and horse, amid the miry gulf: <br>While still, from day to day, his pining wife <br>And plaintive children his return await, <br>In wild conjecture lost. At other times, <br>Sent by the better Genius of the night, <br>Innoxious, gleaming on the horse's mane, <br>The meteor sits; and shows the narrow path, <br>That winding leads through pits of death, or else <br>Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford. <br>The lengthen'd night elapsed, the Morning shines <br>Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, <br>Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. <br>And now the mounting sun dispels the fog; <br>The rigid hoar frost melts before his beam; <br>And hung on every spray, on every blade <br>Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round. <br>Ah, see where, robb'd and murder'd, in that pit <br>Lies the still heaving hive! at evening snatch'd, <br>Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, <br>And fix'd o'er sulphur: while, not dreaming ill, <br>The happy people, in their waxen cells, <br>Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes <br>Of temperance, for Winter poor; rejoiced <br>To mark, full flowing round, their copious stores. <br>Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends; <br>And, used to milder scents, the tender race, <br>By thousands, tumble from their honey'd domes, <br>Convolved, and agonizing in the dust. <br>And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring, <br>Intent from flower to flower? for this you toil'd <br>Ceaseless the burning Summer heats away? <br>For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste, <br>Nor lost one sunny gleam? for this sad fate? <br>O Man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long <br>Shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage, <br>Awaiting renovation? when obliged, <br>Must you destroy? of their ambrosial food <br>Can you not borrow; and, in just return, <br>Afford them shelter from the wintry winds; <br>Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own <br>Again regale them on some smiling day? <br>See where the stony bottom of their town <br>Looks desolate, and wild; with here and there <br>A helpless number, who the ruin'd state <br>Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death. <br>Thus a proud city, populous and rich, <br>Full of the works of peace, and high in joy, <br>At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep, <br>(As late, Palermo, was thy fate) is seized <br>By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurl'd <br>Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involved, <br>Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame. <br>Hence every harsher sight! for now the day, <br>O'er heaven and earth diffused, grows warm, and high; <br>Infinite splendour! wide investing all. <br>How still the breeze! save what the filmy thread <br>Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain. <br>How clear the cloudless sky? how deeply tinged <br>With a peculiar blue! the ethereal arch <br>How swell'd immense! amid whose azure throned <br>The radiant sun how gay! how calm below <br>The gilded earth! the harvest-treasures all <br>Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms, <br>Sure to the swain; the circling fence shut up; <br>And instant Winter's utmost rage defied. <br>While, loose to festive joy, the country round <br>Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth, <br>Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth <br>By the quick sense of music taught alone, <br>Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. <br>Her every charm abroad, the village-toast, <br>Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, <br>Darts not unmeaning looks; and, where her eye <br>Points an approving smile, with double force, <br>The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines. <br>Age too shines out; and, garrulous, recounts <br>The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor think <br>That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil <br>Begins again the never ceasing round. <br>Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men <br>The happiest he! who far from public rage, <br>Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, <br>Drinks the pure pleasures of the Rural Life. <br>What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, <br>Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd <br>Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused? <br>Vile intercourse! what though the glittering robe <br>Of every hue reflected light can give, <br>Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold, <br>The pride and gaze of fools! oppress him not? <br>What though, from utmost land and sea purvey'd, <br>For him each rarer tributary life <br>Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps <br>With luxury, and death? What though his bowl <br>Flames not with costly juice; nor sunk in beds, <br>Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, <br>Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state? <br>What though he knows not those fantastic joys <br>That still amuse the wanton, still deceive; <br>A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain; <br>Their hollow moments undelighted all? <br>Sure peace is his; a solid life, estranged <br>To disappointment, and fallacious hope: <br>Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, <br>In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Spring, <br>When heaven descends in showers; or bends the bough, <br>When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams; <br>Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies <br>Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap: <br>These are not wanting; nor the milky drove, <br>Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale; <br>Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams, <br>And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere <br>Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, <br>Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay; <br>Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, <br>Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear. <br>Here too dwells simple Truth; plain Innocence; <br>Unsullied Beauty; sound unbroken Youth, <br>Patient of labour, with a little pleased; <br>Health ever blooming; unambitious Toil; <br>Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease. <br>Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, <br>And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. <br>Let such as deem it glory to destroy <br>Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek; <br>Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, <br>The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry. <br>Let some, far distant from their native soil, <br>Urged or by want or harden'd avarice, <br>Find other lands beneath another sun. <br>Let this through cities work his eager way, <br>By legal outrage and establish'd guile, <br>The social sense extinct; and that ferment <br>Mad into tumult the seditious herd, <br>Or melt them down to slavery. Let these <br>Insnare the wretched in the toils of law, <br>Fomenting discord, and perplexing right, <br>An iron race! and those of fairer front, <br>But equal inhumanity, in courts, <br>Delusive pomp and dark cabals, delight; <br>Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, <br>And tread the weary labyrinth of state. <br>While he, from all the stormy passions free <br>That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, <br>At distance safe, the human tempest roar, <br>Wrapp'd close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, <br>The rage of nations, and the crush of states, <br>Move not the man, who, from the world escaped, <br>In still retreats and flowery solitudes, <br>To Nature's voice attends, from month to month, <br>And day to day, through the revolving year; <br>Admiring, sees her in her every shape; <br>Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart; <br>Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. <br>He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting germs, <br>Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale <br>Into his freshen'd soul; her genial hours <br>He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows, <br>And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. <br>In Summer he, beneath the living shade, <br>Such as o'er frigid Tempè wont to wave, <br>Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse, of these, <br>Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung; <br>Or what she dictates writes: and, oft an eye <br>Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year. <br>When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world, <br>And tempts the sickled swain into the field, <br>Seized by the general joy, his heart distends <br>With gentle throes; and, through the tepid gleams <br>Deep musing, then he best exerts his song. <br>E'en Winter wild to him is full of bliss. <br>The might</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416333" data-title="The Four Seasons : Autumn de James Thomson" data-description="Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more, Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring Put in white..."></div> </div> </div>

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