<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416336" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Four Seasons : Winter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, <br>Sullen and sad, with all his rising train; <br>Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, <br>These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought, <br>And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms, <br>Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot, <br>Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life, <br>When nursed by careless Solitude I lived, <br>And sung of Nature with unceasing joy, <br>Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain; <br>Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure; <br>Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst; <br>Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd, <br>In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time, <br>Till through the lucid chambers of the south <br>Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiled. <br>To thee, the patron of her first essay, <br>The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song. <br>Since has she rounded the revolving year: <br>Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne, <br>Attempted through the Summer-blaze to rise; <br>Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale; <br>And now among the wintry clouds again, <br>Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar; <br>To swell her note with all the rushing winds; <br>To suit her sounding cadence to the floods; <br>As is her theme, her numbers wildly great: <br>Thrice happy could she fill thy judging ear <br>With bold description, and with manly thought. <br>Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone, <br>And how to make a mighty people thrive; <br>But equal goodness, sound integrity, <br>A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul, <br>Amid a sliding age, and burning strong, <br>Not vainly blazing for thy country's weal, <br>A steady spirit regularly free; <br>These, each exalting each, the statesman light <br>Into the patriot; these, the public hope <br>And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse <br>Record what envy dares not flattery call. <br>Now when the cheerless empire of the sky <br>To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields, <br>And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year; <br>Hung o'er the farthest verge of Heaven, the sun <br>Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day. <br>Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot <br>His struggling rays, in horizontal lines, <br>Through the thick air; as clothed in cloudy storm, <br>Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky; <br>And, soon-descending, to the long dark night, <br>Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns. <br>Nor is the night unwish'd; while vital heat, <br>Light, life, and joy, the dubious day forsake. <br>Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast, <br>Deep-tinged and damp, and congregated clouds, <br>And all the vapoury turbulence of Heaven, <br>Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls, <br>A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world, <br>Through Nature shedding influence malign, <br>And rouses up the seeds of dark disease, <br>The soul of man dies in him, loathing life, <br>And black with more than melancholy views. <br>The cattle droop; and o'er the furrow'd land, <br>Fresh from the plough, the dun discolour'd flocks, <br>Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. <br>Along the woods, along the moorish fens, <br>Sighs the sad Genius of the coming storm; <br>And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, <br>And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook <br>And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan, <br>Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear. <br>Then comes the father of the tempest forth, <br>Wrapt in black glooms. First joyless rains obscure. <br>Drive through the mingling skies with vapour foul; <br>Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, <br>That grumbling wave below. The unsightly plain <br>Lies a brown deluge; as the low-bent clouds <br>Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still <br>Combine, and deepening into night, shut up <br>The day's fair face. The wanderers of Heaven, <br>Each to his home, retire; save those that love <br>To take their pastime in the troubled air, <br>Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. <br>The cattle from the untasted fields return, <br>And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls, <br>Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. <br>Thither the household feathery people crowd, <br>The crested cock, with all his female train, <br>Pensive, and dripping; while the cottage-hind <br>Hangs oe'r the enlivening blaze, and taleful there <br>Recounts his simple frolic: much he talks, <br>And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows <br>Without, and rattles on his humble roof. <br>Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swell'd, <br>And the mix'd ruin of its banks o'erspread, <br>At last the roused-up river pours along: <br>Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes, <br>From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild, <br>Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far; <br>Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads, <br>Calm, sluggish, silent; till again, constrain'd <br>Between two meeting hills, it bursts away, <br>Where rocks and woods o'erhang the turbid stream; <br>There gathering triple force, rapid, and deep, <br>It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders through. <br>Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand <br>Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year, <br>How mighty, how majestic, are thy works! <br>With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul! <br>That sees astonish'd! and astonish'd sings! <br>Ye too, ye winds! that now begin to blow <br>With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. <br>Where are your stores, ye powerful beings! say, <br>Where your aërial magazines reserved, <br>To swell the brooding terrors of the storm? <br>In what far distant region of the sky, <br>Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 'tis calm? <br>When from the pallid sky the sun descends, <br>With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb <br>Uncertain wanders, stain'd; red fiery streaks <br>Begin to flush around. The reeling clouds <br>Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet <br>Which master to obey: while rising slow, <br>Blank, in the leaden-colour'd east, the moon <br>Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. <br>Seen through the turbid fluctuating air, <br>The stars obtuse emit a shiver'd ray; <br>Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, <br>And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. <br>Snatch'd in short eddies, plays the wither'd leaf; <br>And on the flood the dancing feather floats. <br>With broaden'd nostrils to the sky upturn'd, <br>The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. <br>E'en as the matron, at her nightly task, <br>With pensive labour draws the flaxen thread, <br>The wasted taper and the crackling flame <br>Foretell the blast. But chief the plumy race, <br>The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. <br>Retiring from the downs, where all day long <br>They pick'd their scanty fare, a blackening train, <br>Of clamorous rooks thick urge their weary flight <br>And seek the closing shelter of the grove; <br>Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl <br>Plies his sad song. The cormorant on high <br>Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land. <br>Loud shrieks the soaring hern; and with wild wing <br>The circling seafowl cleave the flaky clouds. <br>Ocean, unequal press'd, with broken tide <br>And blind commotion heaves; while from the shore, <br>Eat into caverns by the restless wave, <br>And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice, <br>That solemn sounding bids the world prepare. <br>Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, <br>And hurls the whole precipitated air <br>Down in a torrent. On the passive main <br>Descends the ethereal force, and with strong gust <br>Turns from its bottom the discolour'd deep. <br>Through the black night that sits immense around, <br>Lash'd into foam, the fierce conflicting brine <br>Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to burn: <br>Meantime the mountain-billows, to the clouds <br>In dreadful tumult swell'd, surge above surge, <br>Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, <br>And anchor'd navies from their stations drive, <br>Wild as the winds across the howling waste <br>Of mighty waters: now the inflated wave <br>Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot <br>Into the secret chambers of the deep, <br>The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. <br>Emerging thence again, before the breath <br>Of full exerted Heaven they wing their course, <br>And dart on distant coasts; if some sharp rock, <br>Or shoal insidious break not their career, <br>And in loose fragments fling them floating round. <br>Nor less at hand the loosen'd tempest reigns. <br>The mountain thunders; and its sturdy sons <br>Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. <br>Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, <br>The dark wayfaring stranger breathless toils, <br>And, often falling, climbs against the blast. <br>Low waves the rooted forest, vex'd, and sheds <br>What of its tarnish'd honours yet remain; <br>Dash'd down, and scatter'd, by the tearing wind's <br>Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. <br>Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, <br>The whirling tempest raves along the plain; <br>And on the cottage thatch'd, or lordly roof, <br>Keen-fastening, shakes them to the solid base. <br>Sleep frighted flies; and round the rocking dome, <br>For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. <br>Then too, they say, through all the burden'd air, <br>Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant sighs, <br>That, utter'd by the Demon of the night, <br>Warn the devoted wretch of woe and death. <br>Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds commix'd <br>With stars swift gliding sweep along the sky. <br>All Nature reels. Till Nature's King, who oft <br>Amid tempestuous darkness dwells alone, <br>And on the wings of the careering wind <br>Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm; <br>Then straight, air, sea, and earth are hush'd at once. <br>As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds, <br>Slow meeting, mingle into solid gloom. <br>Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep, <br>Let me associate with the serious Night, <br>And Contemplation her sedate compeer; <br>Let me shake off the intrusive cares of day, <br>And lay the meddling senses all aside. <br>Where now, ye lying vanities of life! <br>Ye ever tempting ever cheating train! <br>Where are you now? and what is your amount? <br>Vexation, disappointment, and remorse: <br>Sad, sickening thought! and yet deluded man, <br>A scene of crude disjointed visions past, <br>And broken slumbers, rises still resolved, <br>With new-flush'd hopes, to run the giddy round. <br>Father of light and life! thou Good Supreme! <br>O teach me what is good! teach me Thyself! <br>Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, <br>From every low pursuit! and feed my soul <br>With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure; <br>Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss! <br>The keener tempests rise: and fuming dun <br>From all the livid east, or piercing north, <br>Thick clouds ascend; in whose capacious womb <br>A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congeal'd. <br>Heavy they roll their fleecy world along; <br>And the sky saddens with the gather'd storm <br>Through the hush'd air the whitening shower descends, <br>At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes <br>Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day, <br>With a continual flow. The cherish'd fields <br>Put on their winter-robe of purest white. <br>'Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts <br>Along the mazy current. Low the woods <br>Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun <br>Faint from the west emits his evening ray, <br>Earth's universal face, deep hid, and chill, <br>Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide <br>The works of man. Drooping, the labourer-ox <br>Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands <br>The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of Heaven, <br>Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around <br>The winnowing store, and claim the little boon <br>Which Providence assigns them. One alone, <br>The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, <br>Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, <br>In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves <br>His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man <br>His annual visit. Half afraid, he first <br>Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights <br>On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor, <br>Eyes all the smiling family askance, <br>And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is; <br>Till more familiar grown, the table-crumbs <br>Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds <br>Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, <br>Though timorous of heart, and hard beset <br>By death in various forms, dark snares and dogs, <br>And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, <br>Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind <br>Eye the bleak Heaven, and next the glistening earth, <br>With looks of dumb despair; then, sad dispersed, <br>Dig for the wither'd herb through heaps of snow. <br>Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind, <br>Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens <br>With food at will; lodge them below the storm, <br>And watch them strict: for from the bellowing east, <br>In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing <br>Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains <br>At one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks, <br>Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills, <br>The billowy tempest whelms; till, upward urged, <br>The valley to a shining mountain swells, <br>Tipp'd with a wreath high-curling in the sky. <br>As thus the snows arise; and foul, and fierce, <br>All Winter drives along the darken'd air: <br>In his own loose revolving fields, the swain <br>Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend, <br>Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes, <br>Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain: <br>Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid <br>Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on <br>From hill to dale, still more and more astray; <br>Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, <br>Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home <br>Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth <br>In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul! <br>What black despair, what horror fills his heart! <br>When for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd <br>His tufted cottage rising through the snow, <br>He meets the roughness of the middle waste, <br>Far from the track and bless'd abode of man; <br>While round him night resistless closes fast, <br>And every tempest, howling o'er his head, <br>Renders the savage wilderness more wild. <br>Then throng the busy shapes into his mind, <br>Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep, <br>A dire descent! beyond the power of frost; <br>Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge, <br>Smooth'd up with snow; and, what is land, unknown, <br>What water, of the still unfrozen spring, <br>In the loose marsh or solitary lake, <br>Where the fresh mountain from the bottom boils. <br>These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks, <br>Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, <br>Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death; <br>Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots <br>Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, <br>His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. <br>In vain for him the officious wife prepares <br>The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm; <br>In vain his little children, peeping out <br>Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, <br>With tears of artless innocence. Alas! <br>Nor wife, nor children more shall he behold, <br>Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve <br>The deadly Winter seizes; shuts up sense; <br>And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, <br>Lays him along the snows, a stiffen'd corse, <br>Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast. <br>Ah! little think the gay licentious proud, <br>Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; <br>They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, <br>And wanton, often cruel, riot waste; <br>Ah! little think they, while they dance along, <br>How many feel, this very moment, death, <br>And all the sad variety of pain. <br>How many sink in the devouring flood, <br>Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, <br>By shameful variance betwixt man and man. <br>How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; <br>Shut from the common air, and common use <br>Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup <br>Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread <br>Of misery. Sore pierced by wintry winds, <br>How many shrink into the sordid hut <br>Of cheerless poverty. How many shake <br>With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, <br>Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse; <br>Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, <br>They furnish matter for the tragic Muse. <br>E'en in the vale, where Wisdom loves to dwell, <br>With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd, <br>How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop <br>In deep retired distress. How many stand <br>Around the deathbed of their dearest friends, <br>And point the parting anguish. Thought fond Man <br>Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, <br>That one incessant struggle render life, <br>One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, <br>Vice in his high career would stand appall'd, <br>And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think; <br>The conscious heart of Charity would warm, <br>And her wide wish Benevolence dilate; <br>The social tear would rise, the social sigh; <br>And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, <br>Refining still, the social passions work. <br>And here can I forget the generous band, <br>Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive search'd <br>Into the horrors of the gloomy jail? <br>Unpitied, and unheard, where misery moans; <br>Where sickness pines; where thirst and hunger burn, <br>And poor misfortune feels the lash of vice. <br>While in the land of Liberty, the land <br>Whose every street and public meeting glow <br>With open freedom, little tyrants raged; <br>Snatch'd the lean morsel from the starving mouth; <br>Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed; <br>E'en robb'd them of the last of comforts, sleep; <br>The free-born Briton to the dungeon chain'd, <br>Or, as the lust of cruelty prevail'd, <br>At pleasure mark'd him with inglorious stripes; <br>And crush'd out lives, by secret barbarous ways, <br>That for their country would have toil'd or bled. <br>O great design! if executed well, <br>With patient care, and wisdom-temper'd zeal. <br>Ye sons of Mercy! yet resume the search; <br>Drag forth the legal monsters into light, <br>Wrench from their hands oppression's iron rod, <br>And bid the cruel feel the pains they give. <br>Much still untouch'd remains; in this rank age, <br>Much is the patriot's weeding hand required. <br>The toils of law (what dark insidious men <br>Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth, <br>And lengthen simple justice into trade) <br>How glorious were the day! that saw these broke, <br>And every man within the reach of right. <br>By wintry famine roused, from all the tract <br>Of horrid mountains which the shining Alps, <br>And wavy Appenine, and Pyrenees, <br>Branch out stupendous into distant lands; <br>Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave! <br>Burning for blood! bony, and gaunt, and grim! <br>Assembling wolves in raging troops descend; <br>And, pouring o'er the country, bear along, <br>Keen as the north-wind sweeps the glossy snow. <br>All is their prize. They fasten on the steed, <br>Press him to earth, and pierce his mighty heart. <br>Nor can the bull his awful front defend, <br>Or shake the murdering savages away. <br>Rapacious, at the mother's throat they fly, <br>And tear the screaming infant from her breast. <br>The godlike face of man avails him nought. <br>E'en beauty, force divine! at whose bright glance <br>The generous lion stands in soften'd gaze, <br>Here bleeds, a hapless undistinguish'd prey. <br>But if, apprized of the severe attack, <br>The country be shut up, lured by the scent, <br>On churchyards drear (inhuman to relate!) <br>The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig <br>The shrouded body from the grave; o'er which,<br>Mix'd with foul shades, and frighted ghosts, they howl. <br>Among those hilly regions, where embraced <br>In peaceful vales the happy Grisons dwell; <br>Oft, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs, <br>Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll. <br>From steep to steep, loud-thundering down they come, <br>A wintry waste in dire commotion all; <br>And herds, and flocks, and travellers, and swains, <br>And sometimes whole brigades of marching troops, <br>Or hamlets sleeping in the dead of night, <br>Are deep beneath the smothering ruin whelm'd. <br>Now, all amid the rigours of the year, <br>In the wild depth of Winter, while without <br>The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat, <br>Between the groaning forest and the shore <br>Beat by the boundless multitude of waves, <br>A rural, shelter'd, solitary, scene; <br>Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join, <br>To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit, <br>And hold high converse with the mighty Dead; <br>Sages of ancient time, as gods revered, <br>As gods beneficent, who bless'd mankind <br>With arts, with arms, and humanized a world. <br>Roused at the inspiring thought, I throw aside <br>The long-lived volume; and, deep-musing, hail <br>The sacred shades, that slowly rising pass <br>Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, <br>Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, <br>Against the rage of tyrants single stood, <br>Invincible! calm Reason's holy law, <br>That Voice of God within the attentive mind, <br>Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death: <br>Great moral teacher! Wisest of mankind! <br>Solon the next, who built his common-weal <br>On equity's wide base; by tender laws <br>A lively people curbing, yet undamp'd; <br>Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, <br>Whence in the laurel'd field of finer arts <br>And of bold freedom, they unequal'd shone, <br>The pride of smiling Greece, and human-kind. <br>Lycurgus then, who bow'd beneath the force <br>Of strictest discipline, severely wise, <br>All human passions. Following him, I see, <br>As at Thermopylæ he glorious fell, <br>The firm devoted chief, who proved by deeds <br>The hardest lesson which the other taught. <br>Then Aristides lifts his honest front; <br>Spotless of heart, to whom the unflattering voice <br>Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just; <br>In pure majestic poverty revered; <br>Who, e'en his glory to his country's weal <br>Submitting, swell'd a haughty Rival's fame. <br>Rear'd by his care, of softer ray appears <br>Cimon sweet-soul'd; whose genius, rising strong, <br>Shook off the load of young debauch; abroad <br>The scourge of Persian pride, at home the friend <br>Of every worth and every splendid art; <br>Modest, and simple, in the pomp of wealth. <br>Then the last worthies of declining Greece, <br>Late call'd to glory, in unequal times, <br>Pensive appear. The fair Corinthian boast, <br>Timoleon, happy temper! mild, and firm, <br>Who wept the brother while the tyrant bled. <br>And, equal to the best, the Theban Pair,<br>Whose virtues, in heroic concord join'd, <br>Their country raised to freedom, empire, fame. <br>He too, with whom Athenian honour sunk, <br>And left a mass of sordid lees behind, <br>Phocion the Good; in public life severe, <br>To virtue still inexorably firm; <br>But when, beneath his low illustrious roof, <br>Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow, <br>Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind. <br>And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons, <br>The generous victim to that vain attempt, <br>To save a rotten state, Agis, who saw <br>E'en Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk, <br>The two Achaian heroes close the train: <br>Aratus, who awhile relumed the soul <br>Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece; <br>And he her darling as her latest hope, <br>The gallant Philopœmen; who to arms <br>Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure; <br>Or toiling in his farm, a simple swain; <br>Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field. <br>Of rougher front, a mighty people come! <br>A race of heroes! in those virtuous times <br>Which knew no stain, save that with partial flame <br>Their dearest country they too fondly loved: <br>Her better Founder first, the light of Rome, <br>Numa, who soften'd her rapacious sons: <br>Servius the king, who laid the solid base <br>On which o'er earth the vast republic spread. <br>Then the great consuls venerable rise. <br>The public Father who the private quell'd, <br>As on the dread tribunal sternly sad. <br>He, whom his thankless country could not lose, <br>Camillus, only vengeful to her foes. <br>Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold; <br>And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough. <br>Thy willing victim, Carthage, bursting loose <br>From all that pleading Nature could oppose, <br>From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith <br>Imperious call'd, and honour's dire command. <br>Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave, <br>Who soon the race of spotless glory ran, <br>And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade <br>With Friendship and Philosophy retired. <br>Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while <br>Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome. <br>Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme: <br>And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart, <br>Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urged, <br>Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend. <br>Thousands besides the tribute of a verse <br>Demand; but who can count the stars of Heaven? <br>Who sing their influence on this lower world? <br>Behold, who yonder comes! in sober state, <br>Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun: <br>'Tis Phœbus' self, or else the Mantuan Swain! <br>Great Homer too appears, of daring wing, <br>Parent of song! and equal by his side, <br>The British Muse: join'd hand in hand they walk, <br>Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame, <br>Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch <br>Pathetic drew the impassion'd heart, and charm'd <br>Transported Athens with the moral scene; <br>Nor those who, tuneful, waked the enchanting lyre. <br>First of your kind! society divine! <br>Still visit thus my nights, for you reserved, <br>And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like yours. <br>Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine; <br>See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude, <br>Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign <br>To bless my humble roof, with sense refined, <br>Learning digested well, exalted faith, <br>Unstudied wit, and humour ever gay. <br>Or from the Muses' hill will Pope descend, <br>To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, <br>And with the social spirit warm the heart? <br>For though not sweeter his own Homer sings, <br>Yet is his life the more endearing song. <br>Where art thou, Hammond? thou, the darling pride, <br>The friend and lover of the tuneful throng! <br>Ah why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime <br>Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast <br>Each active worth, each manly virtue lay, <br>Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon? <br>What now avails that noble thirst of fame, <br>Which stung thy fervent breast? that treasured store <br>Of knowledge early gain'd? that eager zeal <br>To serve thy country, glowing in the band <br>Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name; <br>What now, alas! that life-diffusing charm <br>Of sprightly wit? that rapture for the Muse, <br>That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy, <br>Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile? <br>Ah! only show'd, to check our fond pursuits, <br>And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain! <br>Thus in some deep retirement would I pass <br>The winter-glooms, with friends of pliant soul, <br>Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspired: <br>With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame <br>Was call'd, late-rising from the void of night, <br>Or sprung eternal from the Eternal Mind; <br>Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end. <br>Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole <br>Would, gradual, open on our opening minds; <br>And each diffusive harmony unite <br>In full perfection, to the astonish'd eye. <br>Then would we try to scan the moral world, <br>Which, though to us it seems embroil'd, moves on <br>In higher order; fitted and impell'd <br>By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all <br>In general good. The sage historic Muse <br>Should next conduct us through the deeps of time: <br>Show us how empire grew, declined, and fell, <br>In scatter'd states; what makes the nations smile, <br>Improves their soil, and gives them double suns; <br>And why they pine beneath the brightest skies, <br>In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd, <br>Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale <br>That portion of divinity, that ray <br>Of purest Heaven, which lights the public soul <br>Of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd, <br>In powerless humble fortune, to repress <br>These ardent risings of the kindling soul; <br>Then, even superior to ambition, we <br>Would learn the private virtues; how to glide <br>Through shades and plains, along the smoothest stream <br>Of rural life: or snatch'd away by hope, <br>Through the dim spaces of futurity, <br>With earnest eye anticipate those scenes <br>Of happiness and wonder; where the mind, <br>In endless growth and infinite ascent, <br>Rises from state to state, and world to world. <br>But when with these the serious thought is foil'd, <br>We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes <br>Of frolic fancy; and incessant form <br>Those rapid pictures, that assembled train <br>Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, <br>Whence lively Wit excites to gay surprise; <br>Or folly-painting Humour, grave himself, <br>Calls Laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve. <br>Meantime the village rouses up the fire; <br>While well attested, and as well believed, <br>Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round; <br>Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all. <br>Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake <br>The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round; <br>The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart, <br>Easily pleased; the long loud laugh, sincere; <br>The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the side-long maid, <br>On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep: <br>The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes <br>Of native music, the respondent dance. <br>Thus jocund fleets with them the winter-night. <br>The city swarms intense. The public haunt, <br>Full of each theme and warm with mix'd discourse, <br>Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow <br>Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy, <br>To swift destruction. On the rankled soul <br>The gaming fury falls; and in one gulf <br>Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace, <br>Friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink. <br>Upsprings the dance along the lighted dome, <br>Mix'd and evolved, a thousand sprightly ways. <br>The glittering court effuses every pomp; <br>The circle deepens: beam'd from gaudy robes, <br>Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes, <br>A soft effulgence o'er the palace waves: <br>While, a gay insect in his summer-shine, <br>The fop, light fluttering, spreads his mealy wings. <br>Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of Hamlet stalks; <br>Othello rages; poor Monimia mourns; <br>And Belvidera pours her soul in love. <br>Terror alarms the breast; the comely tear <br>Steals o'er the cheek: or else the Comic Muse <br>Holds to the world a picture of itself, <br>And raises sly the fair impartial laugh. <br>Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes <br>Of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind, <br>Or charm the heart, in generous Bevil show'd. <br>O Thou, whose wisdom, solid yet refined, <br>Whose patriot-virtues, and consummate skill <br>To touch the finer springs that move the world, <br>Join'd to whate'er the Graces can bestow, <br>And all Apollo's animating fire, <br>Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine <br>At once the guardian, ornament, and joy, <br>Of polish'd life; permit the rural Muse, <br>O Chesterfield, to grace with thee her song! <br>Ere to the shades again she humbly flies, <br>Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train, <br>(For every Muse has in thy train a place) <br>To mark thy various full-accomplish'd mind: <br>To mark that spirit, which, with British scorn, <br>Rejects the allurements of corrupted power; <br>That elegant politeness, which excels, <br>E'en in the judgment of presumptuous France, <br>The boasted manners of her shining court; <br>That with the vivid energy of sense, <br>The truth of Nature, which with Attic point <br>And kind well temper'd satire, smoothly keen, <br>Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. <br>Or rising thence with yet a brighter flame, <br>O let me hail thee on some glorious day, <br>When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd <br>Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause. <br>Then dress'd by thee, more amiably fair, <br>Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears: <br>Thou to assenting reason givest again <br>Her own enlighten'd thoughts; call'd from the heart, <br>The obedient passions on thy voice attend; <br>And e'en reluctant party feels a while <br>Thy gracious power: as through the varied maze <br>Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong, <br>Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood. <br>To thy loved haunt return, my happy Muse: <br>For now, behold, the joyous winter days, <br>Frosty, succeed; and through the blue serene, <br>For sight too fine, the ethereal nitre flies; <br>Killing infectious damps, and the spent air <br>Storing afresh with elemental life. <br>Close crowds the shining atmosphere; and binds <br>Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace, <br>Constringent; feeds, and animates our blood; <br>Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves, <br>In swifter sallies darting to the brain; <br>Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool, <br>Bright as the skies, and as the season keen. <br>All Nature feels the renovating force <br>Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye <br>In ruin seen. The frost-concocted glebe <br>Draws in abundant vegetable soul, <br>And gathers vigour for the coming year, <br>A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek <br>Of ruddy fire: and luculent along <br>The purer rivers flow; their sullen deeps, <br>Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze, <br>And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost. <br>What art thou, frost? and whence are thy keen stores <br>Derived, thou secret all-invading power, <br>Whom e'en the illusive fluid cannot fly? <br>Is not thy potent energy, unseen, <br>Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shaped <br>Like double wedges, and diffused immense <br>Through water, earth, and ether? hence at eve, <br>Steam'd eager from the red horizon round, <br>With the fierce rage of Winter deep suffused, <br>An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool <br>Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career <br>Arrests the bickering stream. The loosen'd ice, <br>Let down the flood, and half dissolved by day, <br>Rustles no more; but to the sedgy bank <br>Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, <br>A crystal pavement, by the breath of Heaven <br>Cemented firm; till, seized from shore to shore, <br>The whole imprison'd river growls below. <br>Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects <br>A double noise; while, at his evening watch, <br>The village dog deters the nightly thief; <br>The heifer lows; the distant water-fall <br>Swells in the breeze; and, with the hasty tread <br>Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain <br>Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, <br>Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, <br>Shines out intensely keen; and, all one cope <br>Of starry glitter, glows from pole to pole. <br>From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, <br>Through the still night, incessant, heavy, strong, <br>And seizes Nature fast. It freezes on; <br>Till Morn, late-rising o'er the drooping world, <br>Lifts her pale eye unjoyous. Then appears <br>The various labour of the silent night: <br>Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, <br>Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, <br>The pendent icicle; the frost-work fair, <br>Where transient hues, and fancied figures rise; <br>Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, <br>A livid tract, cold-gleaming on the morn; <br>The forest bent beneath the plumy wave; <br>And by the frost refined the whiter snow, <br>Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread <br>Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks <br>His pining flock, or from the mountain top, <br>Pleased with the slippery surface, swift descends. <br>On blithsome frolics bent, the youthful swains, <br>While every work of man is laid at rest, <br>Fond o'er the river crowd, in various sport <br>And revelry dissolved; where mixing glad, <br>Happiest of all the train! the raptured boy <br>Lashes the whirling top. Or, where the Rhine <br>Branch'd out in many a long canal extends, <br>From every province swarming, void of care, <br>Batavia rushes forth; and as they sweep, <br>On sounding skates, a thousand different ways, <br>In circling poise, swift as the winds, along, <br>The then gay land is madden'd all to joy. <br>Nor less the northern courts, wide o'er the snow, <br>Pour a new pomp. Eager, on rapid sleds, <br>Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel <br>The long-resounding course. Meantime to raise <br>The manly strife, with highly blooming charms, <br>Flush'd by the season, Scandinavia's dames, <br>Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around. <br>Pure, quick, and sportful is the wholesome day; <br>But soon elapsed. The horizontal sun, <br>Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon: <br>And, ineffectual, strikes the gelid cliff: <br>His azure gloss the mountain still maintains, <br>Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale <br>Relents awhile to the reflected ray: <br>Or from the forest falls the cluster'd snow, <br>Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam <br>Gay-twinkle as they scatter. Thick around <br>Thunders the sport of those, who with the gun, <br>And dog impatient bounding at the shot, <br>Worse than the Season, desolate the fields; <br>And, adding to the ruins of the year, <br>Distress the footed or the feather'd game. <br>But what is this? our infant Winter sinks, <br>Divested of his grandeur, should our eye <br>Astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone; <br>Where, for relentless months, continual Night <br>Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign. <br>There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, <br>Barr'd by the hand of Nature from escape, <br>Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around <br>Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow; <br>And heavy-loaded groves; and solid floods, <br>That stretch athwart the solitary waste, <br>Their icy horrors to the frozen main; <br>And cheerless towns far distant, never bless'd, <br>Save when its annual course the caravan <br>Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay,<br>With news of human-kind. Yet there life glows; <br>Yet cherish'd there, beneath the shining waste, <br>The furry nations harbour: tipp'd with jet, <br>Fair ermines, spotless as the snows they press; <br>Sables, of glossy black; and dark-embrown'd, <br>Or beauteous freak'd with many a mingled hue, <br>Thousands besides, the costly pride of courts. <br>There, warm together press'd, the trooping deer <br>Sleep on the new-fallen snows; and, scarce his head <br>Raised o'er the heapy wreath, the branching elk <br>Lies slumbering sullen in the white abyss. <br>The ruthless hunter wants nor dogs nor toils, <br>Nor with the dread of sounding bows he drives <br>The fearful flying race; with ponderous clubs, <br>As weak against the mountain-heaps they push <br>Their beating breast in vain, and piteous bray, <br>He lays them quivering on the ensanguined snows, <br>And with loud shouts rejoicing bears them home. <br>There through the piny forest half-absorp'd, <br>Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear, <br>With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn; <br>Slow-paced, and sourer as the storms increase, <br>He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift, <br>And, with stern patience, scorning weak complaint, <br>Hardens his heart against assailing want. <br>Wide o'er the spacious regions of the north, <br>That see Boötes urge his tardy wain, <br>A boisterous race, by frosty Caurus pierced, <br>Who little pleasure know and fear no pain, <br>Prolific swarm. They once relumed the flame <br>Of lost mankind in polish'd slavery sunk; <br>Drove martial horde on horde, with dreadful sweep <br>Resistless rushing o'er the enfeebled south, <br>And gave the vanquish'd world another form. <br>Not such the sons of Lapland: wisely they <br>Despise the insensate barbarous trade of war; <br>They ask no more than simple Nature gives, <br>They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms. <br>No false desires, no pride-created wants, <br>Disturb the peaceful current of their time; <br>And through the restless ever tortured maze <br>Of pleasure, or ambition, bid it rage. <br>Their reindeer form their riches. These their tents, <br>Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth <br>Supply, their wholesome fare and cheerful cups. <br>Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe <br>Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift <br>O'er hill and dale, heap'd into one expanse <br>Of marbled snow, as far as eye can sweep <br>With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed. <br>By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake <br>A waving blaze refracted o'er the heavens, <br>And vivid moons, and stars that keener play <br>With doubled lustre from the glossy waste, <br>E'en in the depth of polar night, they find <br>A wondrous day: enough to light the chase, <br>Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs. <br>Wish'd Spring returns; and from the hazy south, <br>While dim Aurora slowly moves before, <br>The welcome sun, just verging up at first, <br>By small degrees extends the swelling curve! <br>Till seen at last for gay rejoicing months, <br>Still round and round, his spiral course he winds, <br>And as he nearly dips his flaming orb, <br>Wheels up again, and reascends the sky. <br>In that glad season from the lakes and floods, <br>Where pure Niemi's fairy mountains rise, <br>And fringed with roses Tenglio rolls his stream, <br>They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve, <br>They cheerful loaded to their tents repair; <br>Where, all day long in useful cares employ'd, <br>880 Their kind unblemish'd wives the fire prepare. <br>Thrice happy race! by poverty secured <br>From legal plunder and rapacious power: <br>In whom fell interest never yet has sown <br>The seeds of vice: whose spotless swains ne'er knew <br>Injurious deed, nor, blasted by the breath <br>Of faithless love, their blooming daughters woe. <br>Still pressing on, beyond Tornea's lake, <br>And Hecla flaming through a waste of snow, <br>And farthest Greenland, to the pole itself, <br>Where, failing gradual, life at length goes out, <br>The Muse expands her solitary flight; <br>And, hovering o'er the wild stupendous scene, <br>Beholds new seas beneath another sky.<br>Throned in his palace of cerulean ice, <br>Here Winter holds his unrejoicing court; <br>And through his airy hall the loud misrule <br>Of driving tempest is for ever heard: <br>Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath; <br>Here arms his winds with all subduing frost; <br>Moulds his fierce hail, and treasures up his snows, <br>With which he now oppresses half the globe. <br>Thence winding eastward to the Tartar's coast, <br>She sweeps the howling margin of the main; <br>Where undissolving, from the first of time, <br>Snows swell on snows amazing to the sky; <br>And icy mountains high on mountains piled, <br>Seem to the shivering sailor from afar, <br>Shapeless and white, an atmosphere of clouds. <br>Projected huge, and horrid o'er the surge, <br>Alps frown on Alps; or rushing hideous down, <br>As if old Chaos was again return'd, <br>Wide-rend the deep, and shake the solid pole. <br>Ocean itself no longer can resist <br>The binding fury: but, in all its rage <br>Of tempest taken by the boundless frost, <br>Is many a fathom to the bottom chain'd, <br>And bid to roar no more: a bleak expanse, <br>Shagg'd o'er with wavy rocks, cheerless, and void <br>Of every life, that from the dreary months <br>Flies conscious southward. Miserable they! <br>Who, here entangled in the gathering ice, <br>Take their last look of the descending sun; <br>While, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost, <br>The long long night, incumbent o'er their heads, <br>Falls horrible. Such was the Briton's fate, <br>As with first prow, (what have not Britons dared!) <br>He for the passage sought, attempted since <br>So much in vain, and seeming to be shut <br>By jealous Nature with eternal bars. <br>In these fell regions, in Arzina caught, <br>And to the stony deep his idle ship <br>Immediate seal'd, he with his hapless crew <br>Each full exerted at his several task, <br>Froze into statues; to the cordage glued <br>The sailor, and the pilot to the helm. <br>Hard by these shores, where scarce his freezing stream <br>Rolls the wild Oby, live the last of men; <br>And half enliven'd by the distant sun, <br>That rears and ripens man, as well as plants, <br>Here human nature wears its rudest form. <br>Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, <br>Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, <br>They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs, <br>Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest nor song, <br>Nor tenderness they know; nor aught of life, <br>Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without, <br>Till morn at length, her roses drooping all, <br>Sheds a long twilight brightening o'er their fields, <br>And calls the quiver'd savage to the chase. <br>What cannot active government perform, <br>New-moulding man? Wide-stretching from these shores, <br>A people savage from remotest time, <br>A huge neglected empire, one vast mind, <br>By Heaven inspired, from gothic darkness call'd. <br>Immortal Peter! first of monarchs! he <br>His stubborn country tamed, her rocks, her fens, <br>Her floods, her seas, her ill-submitting sons; <br>And while the fierce barbarian he subdued, <br>To more exalted soul he raised the man. <br>Ye shades of ancient heroes, ye who toil'd <br>Through long successive ages to build up <br>A labouring plan of state, behold at once <br>The wonder done! behold the matchless prince! <br>Who left his native throne, where reign'd till then <br>A mighty shadow of unreal power; <br>Who greatly spurn'd the slothful pomp of courts; <br>And roaming every land, in every port <br>His sceptre laid aside, with glorious hand <br>Unwearied plying the mechanic tool, <br>Gather'd the seeds of trade, of useful arts, <br>Of civil wisdom, and of martial skill. <br>Charged with the stores of Europe home he goes! <br>Then cities rise amid the illumined waste; <br>O'er joyless deserts smiles the rural reign; <br>Far distant flood to flood is social join'd; <br>The astonish'd Euxine hears the Baltic roar; <br>Proud navies ride on seas that never foam'd <br>With daring keel before; and armies stretch <br>Each way their dazzling files, repressing here <br>The frantic Alexander of the north, <br>And awing there stern Othman's shrinking sons. <br>Sloth flies the land, and Ignorance, and Vice, <br>Of old dishonour proud: it glows around, <br>Taught by the Royal Hand that roused the whole, <br>One scene of arts, of arms, of rising trade: <br>For what his wisdom plann'd, and power enforced, <br>More potent still, his great example show'd. <br>Muttering, the winds at eve, with blunted point, <br>Blow hollow blustering from the south. Subdued, <br>The frost resolves into a trickling thaw. <br>Spotted the mountains shine; loose sleet descends, <br>And floods the country round. The rivers swell, <br>Of bonds impatient. Sudden from the hills, <br>O'er rocks and woods, in broad brown cataracts, <br>A thousand snow-fed torrents shoot at once; <br>And, where they rush, the wide resounding plain <br>Is left one slimy waste. Those sullen seas, <br>That wash'd the ungenial pole, will rest no more <br>Beneath the shackles of the mighty north; <br>But, rousing all their waves, resistless heave. <br>And hark! the lengthening roar continuous runs <br>Athwart the rifted deep: at once it bursts, <br>And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds. <br>Ill fares the bark with trembling wretches charged, <br>That, toss'd amid the floating fragments, moors <br>Beneath the shelter of an icy isle, <br>While night o'erwhelms the sea, and horror looks <br>More horrible. Can human force endure <br>The assembled mischiefs that besiege them round? <br>Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness, <br>The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice, <br>Now ceasing, now renew'd with louder rage, <br>And in dire echoes bellowing round the main. <br>More to embroil the deep, leviathan <br>And his unwieldy train, in dreadful sport, <br>Tempest the loosen'd brine, while through the gloom, <br>Far from the bleak inhospitable shore, <br>Loading the winds, is heard the hungry howl <br>Of famish'd monsters, there awaiting wrecks. <br>Yet Providence, that ever waking eye, <br>Looks down with pity on the feeble toil <br>Of mortals lost to hope, and lights them safe, <br>Through all this dreary labyrinth of fate. <br>'Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, <br>And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd Year. <br>How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! <br>How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends <br>His desolate domain. Behold, fond man! <br>See here thy pictured life; pass some few years, <br>Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, <br>Thy sober Autumn fading into age, <br>And pale concluding Winter comes at last, <br>And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled <br>Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes <br>Of happiness? those longings after fame? <br>Those restless cares? those busy bustling days? <br>Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts, <br>Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life? <br>All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives, <br>Immortal never failing friend of man, <br>His guide to happiness on high. And see! <br>'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth <br>Of heaven and earth! awakening Nature hears <br>The new creating word, and starts to life, <br>In every heighten'd form, from pain and death <br>For ever free. The great eternal scheme, <br>Involving all, and in a perfect whole <br>Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, <br>To reason's eye refined clear up apace. <br>Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now, <br>Confounded in the dust, adore that Power <br>And Wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause, <br>Why unassuming worth in secret lived, <br>And died, neglected: why the good man's share <br>In life was gall and bitterness of soul: <br>Why the lone widow and her orphans pined <br>In starving solitude; while luxury, <br>In palaces, lay straining her low thought, <br>To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth, <br>And moderation fair, wore the red marks <br>Of superstition's scourge: why licensed pain, <br>That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, <br>Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd! <br>Ye noble few! who here unbending stand <br>Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while, <br>And what your bounded view, which only saw <br>A little part, deem'd evil is no more: <br>The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, <br>And one unbounded Spring encircle all.</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=416336" data-title="The Four Seasons : Winter de James Thomson" data-description="See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train; Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought, And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms, Congenial h..."></div> </div> </div>

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