W I
N T E R.
A
P
O E
M.
EE! W I N T E R 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!
Wish'd, wint'ry, Horrors,
hail!---With
frequent Foot,
Pleas'd, have I, in my
cheerful
Morn of Life,
When, nurs'd by careless Solitude,
I liv'd,
And sung of Nature with
unceasing
Joy,
Pleas'd, have I wander'd
thro' your
rough Domains;
Trod the pure, virgin,
Snows, my
self as pure:
Heard the Winds roar, and
the big
Torrent burst:
Or seen the deep,
fermenting, Tempest
brew'd,
In the red, evening, Sky.—
Thus
pass'd the Time,
Till, thro' the opening,
Chambers
of the South,
Look'd out the joyous Spring,
look'd out, and smil'd.
T
H E E too, Inspirer of the toiling Swain!
Fair A U T U
M N,
yellow rob'd! I'll sing of thee,
Of thy last, temper'd, Days,
and
sunny Calms;
When all the golden Hours
are on the Wing,
Attending thy Retreat, and
round
thy Wain,
Slow-rolling, onward to the
Southern
Sky.
B
E H O L D! the well-pos'd Hornet, hovering, hangs,
With quivering Pinions, in
the genial
Blaze;
Flys off, in airy Circles:
then
returns,
And hums, and dances to the
beating
Ray.
Nor shall the Man, that,
musing,
walks alone,
And, heedless, strays within
his
radiant Lists,
Go unchastis'd away.---
Sometimes,
a Fleece
Of Clouds, wide-scattering,
with
a lucid Veil,
Soft, shadow o'er
th'unruffled Face
of Heaven;
And, thro' their dewy
Sluices, shed
the Sun,
With temper'd Influence
down. Then
is the Time,
For those, whom Wisdom,
and
whom Nature charm,
To steal themselves from the
degenerate
Croud,
And soar above this little
Scene of Things:
To tread low-thoughted Vice
beneath their Feet:
To lay their Passions in a
gentle
Calm,
And woo lone Quiet,
in her
silent Walks.
NOW,
solitary, and in pensive Guise,
Oft, let me wander o'er the
russet
Mead,
Or thro' the pining Grove;
where
scarce is heard
One dying Strain, to chear
the Woodman's
Toil:
Sad Philomel,
perchance,
pours forth her Plaint,
Far, thro' the withering
Copse.
Mean while, the Leaves,
That, late, the Forest clad
with
lively Green,
Nipt by the drizzly Night,
and Sallow-hu'd,
Fall, wavering thor' the
Air; or
shower amain,
Urg'd by the Breeze, that
sobs amid
the Boughs.
Then list'ning Hares
forsake
the rustling Woods,
And, starting at the
frequent Noise,
escape
To the rough Stubble, and
the rushy
Fen.
Then Woodcocks, o'er
the
fluctuating Main,
That glimmers to the
Glimpses of
the Moon,
Stretch their long Voyage to
the
woodland Glade:
Where, wheeling with
uncertain Flight,
they mock
The nimble Fowler's
Aim.—
Now Nature droops;
Languish the living Herbs,
with
pale Decay:
And all the various
Family
of Flowers
Their sunny Robes resign.
The falling
Fruits,
Thro' the still Night,
forsake the
Parent-Bough,
That, in the first, grey,
Glances
of the Dawn,
Looks wild, and wonders at
the wintry
Waste.
T
H E Year, yet pleasing, but declining fast,
Soft, o'er the secret Soul,
in gentle
Gales,
A Philosophic Melancholly
breathes,
And bears the swelling
Thought aloft
to Heaven.
Then forming Fancy rouses to
conceive,
What never mingled with the
Vulgar's
Dream:
Then wake the tender Pang,
the pitying Tear,
The Sigh for
suffering Worth,
the Wish prefer'd
For Humankind, the Joy
to
see them bless'd,
And all the Social
Off-spring
of the Heart!
O
H! Bear me then to high, embowering, Shades,
To twilight Groves, and
visionary
Vales;
To weeping Grottos, and to
hoary
Caves;
Where Angel-Forms are seen,
and
Voices heard,
Sigh'd in low Whispers, that
abstract
the Soul,
From outward Sense, far into
Worlds
remote.
N O W,
when
the Western Sun withdraws the Day,
And humid Evening,
gliding
o'er the Sky,
In her chill Progress,
checks the
straggling Beams,
And robs them of their
gather'd,
vapoury, Prey,
Where Marshes stagnate, and
where
Rivers wind,
Cluster the rolling Fogs,
and swim along
The dusky-mantled Lawn: then
slow
descend,
Once more to mingle with
their Watry
Friends.
The vivid Stars shine out,
in radiant
Files,
And boundless Ether
glows,
till the fair Moon
Shows her broad Visage, in
the crimson'd
East;
Now, stooping, seems to kiss
the
passing Cloud:
Now, o'er the pure Cerulean,
rides sublime.
Wide the pale Deluge floats,
with
silver Waves,
O'er the sky'd Mountain, to
the
low-laid Vale;
From the white Rocks, with
dim Reflexion,
gleams,
And faintly glitters thro'
the waving
Shades.
A
L L Night, abundant Dews, unnoted, fall;
And, at Return of Morning,
silver
o'er
The Face of Mother-Earth;
from every
Branch
Depending, tremble the
translucent
Gems,
And, quivering, seem to fall
away,
yet cling,
And sparkle in the Sun,
whose rising
Eye,
With Fogs bedim'd, portends
a beauteous
Day.
N
O W, giddy Youth, who headlong Passions fire,
Rouse the wild Game, and
stain the
guiltless Grove,
With Violence, and Death;
yet call
it Sport,
To scatter Ruin thro' the
Realms
of Love,
And Peace, that
thinks no
Ill: But These, the Muse,
Whose Charity, unlimited,
extends
As wide as Nature
works,
disdains to sing,
Returning to her nobler
Theme in
view —
F
O R, see! where Winter comes, himself, confest,
Striding the gloomy Blast.
First
Rains obscure
Drive thro' the mingling
Skies,
with Tempest foul;
Beat on the Mountain's Brow,
and
shake the Woods,
That, sounding, wave below.
The
dreary Plain
Lies overwhelm'd, and lost.
The
bellying Clouds
Combine, and deepening into
Night,
shut up
The Day's fair Face. The
Wanderers
of Heaven,
Each to his Home, retire;
save those
that love
To take their Pastime in the
troubled
Air,
And, skimming, stutter round
the
dimply Flood.
The Cattle, from th'untasted
Fields,
return,
And ask, with Meaning low,
their
wonted Stalls;
Or ruminate in the
contiguous Shade:
Thither, the houshold,
feathery,
People croud,
The crested Cock, with all
his female
Train,
Pensive, and wet. Mean
while, the
Cottage-Swain
Hangs o'er the enlivening
Blaze,
and, taleful, there,
Recounts his simple Frolic:
Much
he talks,
And much he laughs, nor
recks the
Storm that blows
Without, and rattles on his
humble
Roof.
A
T last, the muddy Deluge pours along,
Resistless, roaring;
dreadful down
it comes
From the chapt Mountain, and
the
mossy Wild,
Tumbling thro' Rocks abrupt,
and
sounding far:
Then o'er the sanded Valley,
floating,
spreads,
Calm, sluggish, silent; till
again
constrain'd,
Betwixt two meeting Hills,
it bursts
a Way,
Where Rocks, and Woods
o'erhang
the turbid Stream.
There gathering triple
Force, rapid,
and deep,
It boils, and wheels, and
foams,
and thunders thro'.
N
A T U R E! great Parent! whose directing Hand
Rolls round the Seasons of
the changeful
Year,
How mighty! how majestick
are thy
Works!
With what a pleasing Dread
they
swell the Soul,
That sees, atonish'd! and,
astonish'd
sings!
You too, ye Winds!
that now
begin to blow,
With boisterous Sweep, I
raise my
Voice to you.
Where are your Stores, ye
viewless Beings!
say?
Where your aerial Magazines
reserv'd,
Against the Day of Tempest
perilous?
In what untravel'd Country
of the
Air,
Hush'd in still Silence,
sleep you,
when 'tis calm?
L
A T E, in the louring Sky, red, fiery, Streaks,
Begin to flush about; the
reeling
Clouds
Stagger with dizzy Aim, as
doubting
yet
Which Master to obey: while
rising,
slow,
Sad, in the Leaden-colour'd
East,
the Moon
Wears a [bleak] Circle round
her
sully'd Orb.
Then issues forth the Storm,
with
loud Control,
And the thin Fabrick of the
pillar'd
Air
O'erturns, at once. Prone,
on th'uncertain
Main,
Decends th' Etherial Force,
and
plows its Waves,
With dreadful [Rift]: from
the mid-Deep,
appears,
Surge after Surge, the
rising, wat'ry,
War.
Whitening, the angry Billows
rowl
immense,
And roar their Terrors,
thro' the
shuddering Soul
Of feeble Man, amidst their
Fury
caught,
And, dash'd upon his Fate:
Then,
o'er the Cliff,
Where dwells the Sea-Mew,
unconfin'd, they fly,
And, hurrying, swallow up
the steril
Shore.
T
H E Mountain growls; and all its sturdy Sons
Stoop to the Bottom of the
Rocks
they shade:
Lone, on its Midnight-Side,
and
all aghast,
The dark, way-faring, Stranger,
breathless, toils,
And climbs against the Blast
—
Low, waves the rooted
Forest, vex'd,
and sheds
What of its leafy Honours
yet remains.
Thus, struggling thro' the
disipated
Grove,
The whirling Tempest raves
along
the Plain;
And, on the Cottage thacht,
or lordly
Dome,
Keen-fastening, shakes 'em
to the
solid Base.
Sleep, frighted,
flies; the
hollow Chimney howls,
The Windows rattle, and the
Hinges
creak.
T
H E N, too, they say, thro' all the burthen'd Air,
Long Groans are heard,
shrill Sounds,
and distant Sighs,
That, murmur'd by the Demon
of the Night,
Warn the devoted Wretch
of
Woe, and Death!
Wild Uproar lords it wide:
the Clouds
commixt,
With Stars, swift-gliding,
sweep
along the Sky.
All Nature reels.—But hark!
the Almighty
speaks:
Instant, the chidden Storm
begins
to pant,
And dies, at once, into a
noiseless
Calm.
A
S yet, 'tis Midnight's Reign; the weary Clouds,
Slow-meeting, mingle into
solid
Gloom;
Now, while the drousy World
lies
lost in Sleep,
Let me associate with the
low-brow'd Night,
And Contemplation,
her sedate
Compeer;
Let me shake off
th'intrusive Cares
of Day,
And lay the medling Senses
all aside.
A
N D now, ye lying Vanities of Life!
You ever-tempting,
ever-cheating
Train!
Where are you now? and what
is your
Amount?
Vexation, Disappointment,
and Remorse.
Sad, sickening, Thought! and
yet,
deluded Man,
A Scene of wild, disjointed,
Visions
past,
And broken Slumbers, rises,
still
resolv'd,
With new-flush'd Hopes, to
run your
giddy Round.
F
A T H E R of Light, and Life! Thou Good Supreme!
O! teach me what is Good!
teach
me thy self!
Save me from Folly, Vanity,
and
Vice,
From every low Pursuit! and
feed
my Soul,
With Knowledge, conscious
Peace,
and Vertue pure,
Sacred, substantial,
never-fading
Bliss!
L
O! from the livid East, or piercing North,
Thick Clouds ascend, in
whose capacious
Womb,
A vapoury Deluge lies, to
Snow congeal'd:
Heavy, they roll their
fleecy World
along;
And the Sky saddens with
th'impending
Storm.
Thro' the hush'd Air, the
whitening
Shower descends,
At first, thin-wavering;
till, at
last, the Flakes
Fall broad, and wide, and
fast,
dimming the Day,
With a continual Flow. See!
sudden,
hoar'd,
The Woods beneath the
stainless
Burden bow,
Blackning, along the mazy
Stream
it melts;
Earth's universal Face,
deep-hid,
and chill,
Is all one, dazzling, Waste.
The
Labourer-Ox
Stands cover'd o'er with
Snow, and
then demands
The Fruit of all his Toil.
The Fowls
of Heaven,
Tam'd by the cruel Season,
croud
around
The winnowing Store, and
claim the
little Boon,
That Providence
allows. The
foodless Wilds
Pour forth their brown Inhabitants;
the Hare,
Tho' timorous of Heart, and
hard
beset
By Death, in various Forms,
dark
Snares, and Dogs,
And more unpitying Men, the
Garden
seeks,
Urg'd on by fearless
Want.
The bleating Kind
Eye the bleak Heavens, and
next,
the glistening Earth,
With Looks of dumb Despair;
then
sad, dispers'd,
Dig, for the wither'd Herb,
thro'
Heaps of Snow.
N
O W, Shepherds, to your helpless Charge be kind;
Baffle the raging Year, and
fill
their Penns
With Food, at will: lodge
them below
the Blast,
And wach them strict; for
from the
bellowing East,
In this dire Season, oft the
Whirlwind's
Wing
Sweeps up the Burthen of
whole wintry
Plains,
In one fierce Blast, and
o'er th'
unhappy Flocks,
Lodg'd in the Hollow of two
neighbouring
Hills,
The billowy Tempest whelm;
till,
upwards urg'd,
The Valley to a shining
Mountain
swells,
That curls its Wreaths amid
the
freezing Sky.
N
OW, all amid the Rigours of the Year,
In the wild Depth of Winter,
while
without
The ceaseless Winds blow
keen, be
my Retreat
A rural, shelter'd,
solitary, Scene;
Where ruddy Fire, and
beaming Tapers
join
To chase the chearless
Gloom: there
let me sit,
And hold high Converse with
the
mighty Dead,
Sages of ancient
Time, as
Gods rever'd,
As Gods beneficent, who
blest Mankind,
With Arts, and Arms, and
humaniz'd
a World.
Rous'd at th' [inspiring]
Thought
— I throw aside
The long-liv'd Volume, and,
deep-musing,
hail
The sacred Shades,
that,
slowly-rising, pass
Before my wondering Eyes —
First, Socrates,
Truth's early Champion,
Martyr for
his God:
Solon, the next, who
built
his Commonweal,
On Equity's firm Base: Lycurgus,
then,
Severely good, and him of
rugged Rome,
Numa, who soften'd
her rapacious Sons.
Cimon sweet-soul'd,
and Aristides
just.
Unconquer'd Cato,
virtuous
in Extreme;
With that attemper'd *
Heroe, mild,
and
firm,
*Timoleon
Who wept her Brother, while
the
Tyrant bled.
Scipio, the humane
Warriour,
gently brave,
Fair Learning's Friend; who
early
sought the Shade,
To dwell, with Innocence,
and Truth, retir'd.
And, equal to the best, the Theban,
He
Who, single, rais'd
his Country
into Fame.
Thousands behind, the Boast
of Greece
and Rome,
Whom Vertue owns,
the Tribute
of a Verse
Demand, but who can count
the Stars
of Heaven?
Who sing their Influence on
this
lower World?
But see who yonder comes!
nor comes
alone,
With sober State,
and of majestic
Mein,
The Sister-Muses in his
Train —
'Tis He!
Maro! the best of
Poets,
and of Men!
Great Homer too
appears,
of daring Wing!
Parent of Song! and, equal,
by his Side,
The British Muse,
join'd
Hand in Hand, they walk,
Darkling, nor miss
their
Way to Fame's Ascent.
Society divine!
Immortal Minds!
Still visit thus my Nights,
for you
reserv'd,
And mount my soaring Soul to
Deeds
like yours.
Silence! thou lonely Power!
the Door be thine:
See, on the hallow'd Hour,
that
none intrude,
Save Lycidas, the
Friend,
with Sense refin'd,
Learning digested well,
exalted
Faith,
Unstudy'd Wit, and Humour
ever gay.
C
L E A R Frost succeeds, and thro' the blew Serene,
For Sight too fine, the
Ætherial
Nitre flies,
To bake the Glebe, and bind
the
slip'ry Flood.
This of the wintry Season is
the
Prime;
Pure are the Days, and
lustrous
are the Nights,
Brighten'd with starry
Worlds, till
then unseen.
Mean while, the Orient,
darkly red,
breathes forth
An Icy Gale, that, in its
mid Career,
Arrests the bickering
Stream. The
nightly Sky,
And all her glowing
Constellations
pour
Their rigid Influence down:
It freezes
on
Till Morn, late-rising, o'er
the
drooping World,
Lifts her pale Eye,
unjoyous: then
appears
The various Labour of the
silent
Night,
The pendant Isicle, the
Frost-Work
fair,
Where thousand Figures rise,
the
crusted Snow,
Tho' white, made whiter, by
the
fining North.
On blithsome Frolics bent,
the youthful
Swains,
While every Work of Man is
laid
at Rest,
Rush o'er the watry Plains,
and,
shuddering, view
The fearful Deeps below: or
with
the Gun,
And faithful Spaniel, range
the
ravag'd Fields,
And, adding to the Ruin of
the Year,
Distress the Feathery, or
the Footed Game.
B U T
hark!
the nightly Winds, with hollow Voice,
Blow, blustering, from the
South—
the Frost subdu'd,
Gradual, resolves into a
weeping
Thaw.
Spotted, the Mountains
shine: loose
Sleet descends,
And floods the Country
round: the
Rivers swell,
Impatient for the Day.---
Those
sullen Seas,
That wash th'ungenial Pole,
will
rest no more,
Beneath the Shackles of the
mighty
North;
But, rousing all their
Waves, resistless
heave,—
And hark!---the length'ning
Roar,
continuous, runs
Athwart the rifted Main; at
once,
it bursts,
And piles a thousand
Mountains to
the Clouds!
Ill fares the Bark, the
Wretches'
last Resort,
That, last amid the floating
Fragments,
moors
Beneath the Shelter of an
Icy Isle;
While Night o'erwhelms the
Sea,
and Horror looks
More horrible. Can human
Hearts
endure
Th'assembled Mischiefs,
that
besiege them round:
Unlist'ning Hunger,
fainting Weariness,
The Roar of Winds,
and Waves,
the Crush of Ice,
Now, ceasing, now, renew'd,
with
louder Rage,
And bellowing round the
Main: Nations
remote,
Shook from their
Midnight-Slumbers,
deem they hear
Portentous Thunder, in the
troubled
Sky.
More to embroil the Deep,
Leviathan,
And his unwieldy Train, in
horrid
Sport,
Tempest the loosen'd Brine;
while,
thro' the Gloom,
Far, from the dire,
unhospitable
Shore,
The Lyon's Rage, the World's
sad
Howl is heard,
And all the fell Society of
Night.
Yet, Providence,
that ever-waking Eye
Looks down, with Pity, on
the fruitless
Toil
Of Mortals, lost to Hope,
and Lights
them safe,
Thro' all this dreary
Labyrinth
of Fate.
'Tis
done!-- Dread
W I N T E R has subdu'd the Year,
And reigns, tremendous, o'er
the
desart Plains!
How dead the Vegetable
Kingdom lies!
How dumb the Tuneful! Horror
wide extends
His solitary Empire.— Now,
fond Man!
Behold thy pictur'd Life:
pass some
few Years,
Thy flow'ring S P
R I N G, thy short-liv'd S U M M E R's
Strength,
Thy sober AUTUMN,
fading [into] Age,
And pale concluding, W
I N T E R shuts thy Scene,
And shrouds Thee in
the Grave—
where now, are fled
Those Dreams of Greatness?
those
unsolid Hopes
Of Happiness? those Longings
after
Fame?
Those restless Cares? those
busy,
bustling Days?
Those Nights of secret
Guilt? those
veering Thoughts,
Flutt'ring 'twixt Good, and
Ill,
that shar'd thy Life?
All, now, are vanish'd! Vertue,
sole, survives,
Immortal, Mankind's
never-failing
Friend,
His Guide to Happiness on
high—
and see!
'Tis come, the Glorious Morn!
the second Birth
Of Heaven, and Earth!—
awakening
Nature heard
Th'Almighty Trumpet's Voice,
and
starts to Life
Renew'd, unfading. Now, th'
Eternal Scheme,
That Dark Perplexity, that
Mystic
Maze,
Which Sight cou'd never
trace, nor
Heart conceive,
To Reason's Eye,
refin'd,
clears up apace.
Angels, and Men, astonish'd,
pause—
and dread
To travel tho' the Depth of
Providence,
Untry'd. unbounded. Ye vain Learned!
see,
And, prostrate in the Dust,
adore
that Power,
And Goodness, oft
arraigned.
See now the Cause,
Why conscious Worth,
oppress'd,
in secret long
Mourn'd, unregaded: Why the Good
Man's Share,
In Life, was Gall, and
bitterness
of Soul:
Why the lone Widow,
and her Orphans,
pin'd
In starving Solitude, while Luxury,
In Palaces, lay prompting
her low
Thought,
To form unreal Wants: why
Heaven-born Faith,
And Charity, prime
Grace!
wore the red Marks
Of Persecution's
Scourge:
why licens'd Pain,
That cruel Spoiler,
that
embosom' Foe,
Imbitter'd all our Bliss. Ye
Good Ditrest!
Ye Noble Few! that,
here,
unbending, stand
Beneath Life's Pressures--
yet a
little while,
And all your Woes are past. Time
swiftly fleets,
And wish'd Eternity,
approaching,
brings
Life undecaying, Love
without Allay,
Pure flowing Joy, and
Happiness
sincere.
The
E N D.