1.
The radiant ruler of the year
At length his wintry goal attains;
Soon to reverse the long career,
And northward bend his steady reins.
Now, piercing half Potofi's height,
Prone rush the fiery floods of light
Ripening the mountain's silver stores:
While, in some cavern's horrid shade,
The panting Indian hides his head,
And of the approach of eve implores.
But lo, on this deserted coast
How pale the sun! how thick the air!
Mustering his storms, a sordid hoft,
Lo, Winter desolates the
year.
The fields resign their latest bloom ;
No more the breezes waft perfume,
green
hill's side Whose cold turf hides the buried friend !
And see, the fairy valleys fade,
Dun Night has veil'd the folemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature's Child, again adieu !
• The genial meads affign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; Their hinds, and shepherd-girls shall dress
With simple hands thy rural tomb.
Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes,
O! vales, and wild woods, shall He say,
In yonder grave Your Druid lies!
* Mr. Thomson 'resided in the neighbourhood of Rich. mond sometime before his death,
I.
The radiant ruler of the year
At length his wintry goal attains;
Soon to reverse the long career,
And northward bend his steady reins.
Now, piercing half Potosi's height,
Prone rush the fiery floods of light
Ripening the mountain's filver stores:
While, in some cavern's horrid shade,
The panting Indian hides his head,
And oft the approach of eve implores.
But lo, on this deserted coast
How pale the fun ! how thick the air!
Mustering his storms, a sordid hoft,
Lo, Winter desolates the year.
The fields resign their latest bloom;
No more the breezes waft perfume,
No more the streams in music roll :
But snows fall dark, or rains resound;
And, while great Nature mourns around,
Her griefs infect the human soul.
Hence the loud city's busy throngs
Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire:
Harmonious dances, festive songs
Against the spiteful heaven conspire.
Meantime perhaps with tender fears
Some village-dame the curfew hears,
While round the hearth her children play:
At morn their father went abroad;
The moon is sunk and deep the road;
She sighs, and wonders at his stay.
But thou, my lyre, awake, arise,
And hail the sun's returning force:
Even now he climbs the northern skies,
And health and hope attend his course.
Then louder howl the aërial waste,
Be earth with keener cold imbrac’d,
Yet gentle hours advance their wing;
And fancy, mocking winter's night,
With flowers and dews and streaming light,
Already decks the newborn spring.
O fountain of the golden day,
Could mortal vows promote thy speed,
How soon before thy vernal ray
Should each unkindly damp recede !
How soon each hovering tempest fly,
Whose stores for mischief arm the sky,
Prompt on our heads to burst amain,
To rend the forest from the steep,
Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep,
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!
But let not man's unequal views
Presume o'er Nature and her laws:
'Tis his with grateful joy to use
The indulgence of the sovran cause ;
Secure that health and beauty springs
Through this majestic frame of things
Beyond what he can reach to know ;
And that heaven's all-subduing will,
With good the progeny of ill,
Attempereth every state below.
How pleasing wears the winter night,
Spent with the old illustrious dead!
Vol. II.
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