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Smit with electric horror, prone to earth
Their withering glories pour: the rising blast
Groans as it whirls the sylvan deluge wide,
And hills and plains in leafy billows roll.

Long on thy progress, Autumn, shall my feet Attend obedient! o'er the unclouded sky, The forest world of shade, the gleamy vales, And sunny lawns, and streams in hazy light Glittering, when thy peculiar stillness reigns, As Nature kept a sabbath, when the leaf Shed from the aërial spray scarce quivering drops Through the lull'd atmosphere, be mine to hail Thy noon's unruffled calm. And when thy winds Presageful, ere the brooding storms advance, Sweep through the upper air, be mine at eve To climb yon steep, and wand'ring in its groves, Groves yet umbrageous, listen while the gale, Unfelt by me, sounds in their shadowy tops, As through a distant region borne, and seems To tell the converse of another world.

And when thy tempests darken earth and heaven,
And lash the straining wood; when eddying wild,
Dense as the snow-flakes which the unwearied North
Shakes on the buried cliffs of Labrador,
The flood of leaves descends; then be it mine,
Beneath the safeguard of a close retreat,
To mark thy vengeful arm, and hear thy shout
Impatient on the bands of Winter call
To haste and seize the desolated year.

Mild is thy brow this morn. A gentle frost
Spangles with icy dew the grass. The rime
Floats thin diffus'd in air; not as condens'd
By wintry vapour its impervious fog
Blots out the neighbouring covert, every twig
Thickening with feathery silver, and the locks
Of peasant wilder'd in the dazzling gloom;
But twinkling in the sun its lucid veil

Softens each harder outline, and apace
Before the ascending radiance melts away.
Where in the hollow footsteps of the herd
The shower's cool reliques stagnate, crystal shoots
Start from the sides; and intersecting oft,
And link'd in union, while the bibulous earth
Still from beneath the liquid prop withdraws,
Hang their white network glistening o'er the void.
Lo! on yon branch, whose naked spray o'ertops
The oak's still clustering shade, the fieldfares sit
Torpid and motionless, yet peering round
Suspicious of deceit. At our approach
They mount, and, loudly chattering from on high,
Bid the wild woods of human guile beware.

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FAREWELL the genial Seasons' pleasing reign, Young Spring who fill'd with flowers the willing

soil; Summer, whose sunbeams nurs'd the foodful grain ; With Autumn grateful to the reapers' toil.

For, lo! sad change! from yonder gathering cloud
Stern Winter wildly comes in dark array:
From the keen north the winds are piping loud,
As through the yielding woods they sweep their


High on a storm, with visage fierce and pale,

The barren Eurus rides; the rain descends: Far, far resounding through the floated vale,

Its hoarse rough howls the dashing torrent sends.

Where are those rural charms that fed my eyes, The cowslip'd meadow, and the hedge-row green?

In one wide waste the snow-clad landscape lies; And frost with withering hand deforms the scene.

I sought the copse, the joyous thrush's haunt;
For much I wish'd her melody to hear :
In vain I woo'd her to begin her chaunt,-

Nor joyous thrush, nor melody were there.

In social troops the silent larks are found,

Picking with busy bill their scanty food: Ah me! I hear the gun's destructive sound,

And the snow blushes with their harmless blood!

Sweet birds! are these the sports of reasoning man? Thus doth his savage hand your songs repay, Which bade his joys awake when Spring began, Which cheer'd in Summer's heat the toilsome day?

The red-breast, wisely confident, presumes

To screen his weakness in the peopled cot; And, sweetly thankful for the scatter'd crumbs,

Pays the cheap bounty with his warbled note.

Now dull and dreary wakes the tardy morn,

The sickly Sun resigns his noontide power, Night comes, and Fear, of Melancholy born, Adds a new horror to the darkling hour.

At every bush, at every sudden breeze,

Starts the lone traveller on his wilder'd way; In his own shade a thousand deaths he sees,

And stops, and pants, and listens in dismay.

The night-bird's thrice-flapp'd wing, and shriekings fell,

Denounce the pining sick man's hopeless doom; In the hush air imperfect whispers dwell

Of demons prowling thro' the midnight gloom.

Stone-hearted Murder bathes his sword in blood,

Rapine, foul fiend, leads forth his lawless band; Insatiate Hunger calls amain for food,

While pale-eyed Famine howls along the land.

Where are thy haunts, O Cheerfulness! the bower Of Spring no more invites thee; nor the walk At Summer's eve, beneath thy guardian power Where late I listen'd to my Laura's talk.

Nor art thou seen within the courts of Pride;

Ambition drives thy peaceful image thence : Tho' feast, and sport, and laughter there abide, Excess and riot pall thy nicer sense.

At length thy coy retirement I have found,

Where smokes the cottage in the shelter'd vale; Where, whilst his rustic friends the hearth sur


The simple swain recounts his frolic tale.

His heart is humble as the garb he wears,

Like his coarse daily food, his manners plain; Contentment's blessing the dull season cheers, And the storm beats upon his roof in vain.

The smiles of innocence his temper guard,

And from his threshold banish home-bred strife; Fresh health, and honest gains his toils reward; And one continued Summer rules his life.

Learn hence, ye vain, ye idle, and ye proud,

When the dark storms of bleak misfortune lower, 'Tis Virtue only can dispel the cloud, And bless with cheerfulness the wintry hour.



O THOU, whose bursting beams in glory rise,
And spread, and brighten through unbounded

Creation's joy, Earth's ever bounteous King!
Great Source of good! and life's eternal spring!
All hail! while cloth'd in beauty's brightest ray,
Thy face unclouded gives the new-born day!
Above all scenes is plac'd thy heavenly throne;
Ere time began, thy vivid splendour shone :
Sublime from east to west thy chariot rolls,
Cheers the wide earth, and warms the distant

Commands the vegetable race to grow,

The fruit to ripen, and the flower to blow.

This world was born to change; the hand of Time
Makes and unmakes the scenes of
every clime:
The insect millions scarce the morn survive-
One transient day the flowery nations live:
A few short years complete man's mortal doom,
Then pale Death summons to the narrow tomb.
Lash'd by the flood, the hard rocks wear away;
Worn by the storm, the less'ning hills decay;
Unchang'd alone is thine exalted flame,
From endless years to endless years the same;
Thy splendours with immortal beauty shine,
Roll round the eternal Heav'n, and speak thy
name divine.

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