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Full text of "Poetical works. New ed. with memoir and critical appendices by D.C. Tovey"

HE POETICAL WORKS OF 
JAMES THOMSON 

A NEW EDITION WITH MEMOIR AND 
CRITICAL APPENDICES 



BY 



THE EEV. D. C. TOVEY, M.A. 




IN TWO VOLUMES 

VOL. I. , 

LONDON 

GEORGE BELL AND SONS 
1897 






CHISWICK PRESS : CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO- 
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. 



THE ALDINE EDITION 

OF THE BRITISH 

POETS 

r 

THE POEMS OF JAMK8 THOMSON 

IN TWO VOLUMES 

VOL I 



GEORGE BELL <fc SONS 
LONDON : YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN 
NEW YORK: 66, FIFTH AVENUE, AND 
BOMBAY: 53, ESPLANADE ROAD 
CAMBRIDGE: DEIOHTON, BELL & co. 




TO W. ALDIS WRIGHT, ESQ., LL.D., 
D.C.L. 

VICE-MASTER OF TRINITY COLLEGE, 
CAMBRIDGE. 

DEAR VICE-MASTER, 

DEDICATE this edition of Thomson 
to you, in grateful acknowledgment, 
not only of obligations which I share 
with all students of our Literature, but of much 
personal kindness, extending now over many 
years. 

The " Seasons" have fallen into a neglect 
among us which is in strange contrast not only 
with their former popularity, but also with 
their real importance in the history of our 
poetry. There are signs in Continental criti- 
cism of a reviving interest in Thomson ; and, 
just because a foreigner is less sensitive to the 
faults of expression which excite our prejudices, 
these surveys from a distance sometimes help 
us to give a poet of our own his true place and 
value. 

I fear that the critical notes which have cost 
me much time and trouble may seem a ridi- 
culous travesty of more important labours. But 
I have not spent more pains here than so many 



vi TO W. ALDIS WRIGHT, ESQ. 

of our scholars bestow upon some Greek and 
Latin poets, whose intrinsic merit is no greater 
than Thomson's ; and I suppose that the justi- 
fication of all textual work is the same, in as 
far as it is done in the hope, more or less 
obscure, that some good will come of it. How- 
ever, there ought to be a certain interest in 
witnessing, even to a limited extent, the 
making of a famous poem, and the transforma- 
tions which it has undergone in the process; and 
what I here offer may help to determine the by 
no means insignificant question, whether the 
effort after smoothness and polish, which was 
characteristic of Thomson's epoch, was, as 
applied to rougher and ' more spontaneous 
verse, an unmixed boon. Perhaps, too, you 
would agree with me that the description of 
the sand-buried city of Africa, which once 
formed part of " Summer," was worth rescuing 
from oblivion ; and certainly, it is there, rathe? 
than elsewhere, that, if I had been on the 
alert, I should have found a forecast of Keats' 
famous line in the words 

" . . the marble lovers stand 
Delighted even in death." 

I am, 

Dear Vice-Master, 

Tours very sincerely, 

THE EDITOR. 




CONTENTS. 

Page 

[EMOIR ix 

Prose Dedications, etc. , to the early 
Editions of Winter, Summer, 

and Spring cix 

THE SEASONS 

Spring 1 

Summer 41 

Autumn 101 

Winter 147 

A Hymn 184 

CRITICAL NOTES TO " THE SEASONS" ... 189 



NOTE. 

THE Editor desires to acknowledge his obliga- 
tions to Mr. J. G. Collins for the reference to 
John Taylor's " Eecords of my Life," a state- 
ment in which is discussed in the ensuing 
Memoir. 

It is proper to add that some of the remarks 
which the Editor has made on the characteris- 
tics of the eighteenth century in England he 
has transferred, by permission, from an article 
written by him in the " Guardian." 



ERRATA. 

Ixxvii. 1. 17, read " Observations.'^ 



gessener. 



NOTE. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 



JAMES THOMSON was baptized on September 
15th, 1700, at Ednam, in Roxburghshire; the 
day of his birth is variously given as the 7th 
and llth 1 of that month. He was the third 2 son 
(the fourth child) of the Rev. Thomas Thomson, 
minister of that place ; his mother's maiden 
name was Beatrix Trotter; she was the daughter 
of Mr. Trotter of Fogo, whose wife, Margaret 
Home, was probably one of the Homes of 

1 The 7th is accepted by M. Morel, and Dr. John 
Mair writes to him, "I would say that according to 
the usual practice of our Presbyterian church, eight 
days are far more likely to have elapsed than only 
four days between the birth and the baptism." Yet 
Murdoch, who was a personal friend, and may be 
supposed to have known Thomson's birthday, fixes it 
for the llth ; and that this was the day in the belief 
of his family I think appears from the account of his 
sister's death in the " Scots Magazine," 1790, vol. iii., 
p. 466, as cited by M. Morel, p. 186. It is there 
stated that "she was interred in the Grey Friars 
churchyard on the 22nd, being the birthday of her 
brother." Now the 22nd N. S. is of course the llth 
O. S. 

2 I follow here M. Morel, " J. Thomson Sa Vie et 
ses CEuvres," 1895. 

b 



X MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Bassenden. Thus, through his grandmother, 
the poet may have been connected with the 
earldom of Home, a circumstance which would 
account for the interest which he seems to 
have possessed with certain members of the 
Scotch nobility when he settled in London. 

About 1701 the poet's father removed to 
Southdean, near Jedburgh ; and a Mr. Robert 
R/iccaltoun, who resided in a neighbouring 
parish, of which he afterwards became the 
minister, interested himself in the early educa- 
tion of James. This man possessed some 
literary gift and in particular, wrote verses 
on Winter, to which Thomson, in a private 
letter, acknowledges that he owed the first 
suggestion of his own poem, and he seems 
to have had them by him when he began 
with this, the first written, of his " Seasons." 
About the year 1712 Thomson attended at 
Jedburgh a school which was then held in the 
aisle of the parish church. He is said to have 
had difficulties with his Latin, and there is a 
tradition that, when his master found fault 
with his exercises, he was overheard to murmur : 
" Confound the building of Babel." 

Among other friends and helpers, Thom- 
son counted at this time Sir William Bennet 
of Grabbet, and Sir Gilbert Eliot of Minto. 1 

1 The poet's uncle, and his cousin, Robert Thom- 
son, were gardeners at Minto. [Sir Harris Nicolas.] 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xi 

A.n epistle in rhyme to Sir William Bennet 
is the first among the " Juvenile Poems " 
in the present collection. Sir Harris Nicolas 
conjectures that it was written in Thomson's 
fourteenth year. It contains no promise 
whatever of poetic power ; the same may be 
said of the verses supposed to have been 
written at about the same age on " Lisy's 
parting with her Cat," except that these are 
written in blank verse, and of blank verse 
Thomson seems to have had from the first a 
greater command. "We are told, that on the 
first of every January he destroyed most of his 
labours of the preceding year; but it seems 
that he retained them in his memory, and 
wrote down some of them for the benefit of 
Lord George Graham, with the result that 
there is probably no English poet of whose 
early writings so much that is absolute rubbish 
has been preserved. 

In 1715 Thomson went to the University of 
Edinburgh. He was about fifteen years of age 
at this time ; one memoir states that he went 
to the capital, seated behind a servant of his 
father's on horseback, but was no sooner left 
to himself, than he was back at his father's 
house (a distance of between fifty and sixty 
miles) as soon as the man and horse ; and pas- 
sionately declared that he could read as well at 
home as in Edinburgh. He had not been long 



Xli MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

at college * when he lost his father. The story 
of the minister's death, as told by Dr. Somer- 
ville, is so remarkable, that it is worth record- 
ing, whatever interpretation we may pat upon 
it. At Woolie, in the parish of Southdean, there 
was a ghost, which Mr. Thomson attempted to 
lay. When he had just began to pray, he 
" beheld " a ball of fire strike him on the head ; 
he could not utter another word ; he was 
carried home to his house " where he languished 
under the oppression of diabolical malignity," 
a phrase not to be lost in epitome and then 
died. " Only think," adds Dr. Somerville, 
" what an impression this story, I do not say 
fact, I say this story, for of it there can be no 
doubt, must necessarily have made upon the 
vigorous imagination of our young Poet." This 
r tale is told chiefly to account for Thomson's 
superstitious dread of darkness, 2 a great source 

1 According to Sir Harris Nicolas. Jerdan 
("Autobiography," vol i., p. 219, Appendix) says 
it was " during the second year of his admission." 

2 Sufficiently accounted for by supposing that he 
suffered from those nocturnal terrors, so vividly de- 
scribed in the " Castle of Indolence" : 

"But for those fiends, whom blood and broils de- 
light; 

Who hurl tbe wretch as if to hell outright, 
Down, down black gulfs, where sullen waters sleep, 
Or hold him clambering all the fearful night 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Xlll 

of amusement to his fellow students ; 1 ques- 
tion whether it had any special effect in 
colouring his poetic thoughts. There was no 
Society for Psychical Research in those days ; 
and we do not know whether even young 
Thomson himself was satisfied that others, 
besides his father, " beheld " the ball of fire 
which had such fatal consequences. If he was 
assured that the manifestation was at once 
objective and supernatural, so strange an 
instance of the triumph of " diabolical malig- 
nity ' ' over the pious efforts of a minister of 
the gospel, should certainly have led, if not to 
some sinister conclusions, at least, to a certain 
bias of mind. We have to leave the story as 
Dr. Somerville has left it, in a fascinating 
obscurity. We cannot, indeed, suppose that 
Thomson was at that time of life free from the 
weird beliefs which belonged to his native soil, 
and to his early education. But we read that 
the death was so sudden that Thomson, who is 
described as an affectionate son, came, to his 
great distress, too late to receive his father's 

On beetling cliffs, or pent in ruin deep ; 
They, till due time should serve, were bid far hence 
to keep. 

" Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear, 
From these foul demons shield the midnight gloom : 
Angels of fancy and of love, be near 
And o'er the blank of sleep diffuse a bloom," etc. 



xiv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

blessing; and the marvellous account of its 
circumstances is certainly not one which such 
a son would accept without inquiry. He was 
probably nervous, of this there is some other 
evidence ; but he was not, as we imagine Collins 
may have been, a soul to whom ghostly mys- 
teries were naturally dear. He was still young 
not twenty-six in fact when he wrote in his 
"Winter," with the quiet irony of scepticism : 

"Meantime, the village rouses up the fire : 
While, well attested, and as well believ'd, 
Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round ; 
Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all." 

His declared opinions in religion apart from 
whatever grace or power we may assign to the 
form in which they are expressed were little 
more than the somewhat conventional Deism of 
the eighteenth century. 

In 1719, that is, four years after he com- 
menced residence at the University, he became 
a student of divinity; though it is quite of 
a piece with the reticence which throughout 
his life, Thomson, however much he loved 
'them, observed with his sisters, that one of 
them 'told Boswell in 1778, that "she never 
heard that he had any intention of going into 

1 She was the wife of the schoolmaster at Lanark, 
also named Thomson. See Boswell's letter to 
Johnson, given in the " Life" (A.D. 1778 ^Etat. 69). 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XV 

holy orders." He speaks of himself in his 
correspondence as belonging to the Divinity 
Hall, and it is on record that he performed 
divinity exercises. One of these, as Johnson 
tells us, Hamilton, the Divinity Professor, 
censured as couched in language too "poetically 
splendid "to be intelligible to a popular 
audience, and as containing one expression 
which was "indecent, if not profane." The 
criticism was probably not too severe. Thom- 
son was always capable of writing prose which 
was either pretentious, vulgar, or ungram- 
matical. That this rebuke sufficed, as John- 
son reports, " to repress his thoughts of an 
ecclesiastical character," is, we shall see, a 
mistake. 

Among his seniors at the University, he 
counted as a friend David Malloch, who after- 
wards called himself Mallet. 1 John Cranston, 2 
who became Minister of Ancrum in Roxburgh- 

1 I shall call him Mallet all along ; for it is impos- 
sible to say when he finally translated himself. 
Thomson calls him "Mallet," in a letter to Hill of 
April 5th, 1726, and Malloch in the preface to the 
second edition of "Winter," which is of later date. 

2 He was ordained colleague and successor to his 
father, March 1st, 1733. The father died October 
17th, 1748, the son on January 7th, 1790 ; both were 
named John. The Rev. James Patterson, the 
present minister of Ancrum, has most kindly given 
me this information. 



xvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. , 

shire, was, for a time at least, his chamber 
companion at Edinburgh, and a gentleman 
whom in his correspondence he calls " Mass 
John," J appears to have been one of his merry 
comrades there. The Dr. Cranston of Thom- 
son's correspondence I infer to have been an 
elder brother of John Cranston. The poet's 
biographer, Patrick Murdoch, was also a college 
friend. He seems to have sent to his com- 
panions manuscript poems, which he always 
produced in facile abundance, and there ap- 
peared in the " Edinburgh Miscellany," printed 
in 1720 by the "Athenian Society," three con- 
tributions of .his, one of them on " A Country 
Life." 

Though the probationary exercise of which 
we have spoken did not exactly please Hamil- 
ton, it excited the admiration of Mr. Auditor 
Benson, who said that if Thomson went to 
London, he would be properly appreciated 
there. Upon this slender encouragement, if 

1 The Earl of Buchan says that " Mass John," was 
undoubtedly the Rev. Mr. J. Wilson, Minister of the 
Parish of Maxton in Roxburghshire ; this is hard to 
reconcile with a letter from Thomson to Cranston, 
written just before sailing for London, in which, after 
talking in the body of the letter of Cranston and 
" Mass John," in terms implying that these were the 
closest friends and companions, he adds in a post- 
script, " If you have the opportunity to be at Maxton, 
in Mr. Wilson's," etc., etc. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xvil 

?ve are to believe Sir Harris Nicolas, Thomson 
acted. But there seems no reason for rejecting 
entirely Johnson's statement, that " a lady who 
was acquainted with Thomson's mother advised 
him to the journey, and promised some coun- 
tenance or assistance which, at last, he never 
received." If, however, the person in question 
was, as I have seen it stated, Lady Grizel 
Baillie, 1 a connection of Thomson's mother, 
the implied censure is, as will be seen, nnjust. 
Thomson left Edinburgh without a degree, 
embarking at Leith in March, 1725. 2 His 
mother, as we learn from the tender lines 
which he dedicated to her memory, saw him 
depart; they never met again. She died on 
May 10th, 1725. 

Johnson, apt to sneer at needy Scotch adven- 
turers, says that Thomson's " first want was a 
pair of shoes." He may have heard this from 
Savage ; it may be only a " lusty hyperbole." 
We have no other evidence of this extreme 
destitution. Upon the father's death Thom- 

1 Her maiden name was Home. She had herself a 
pretty gift for poetry, and a somewhat romantic 
story ; was daughter of Sir Patrick Home, afterwards 
the 1st Earl of Marchmont, and married Mr. George 
Baillie. Her daughter married Lord Binning. 

2 So Sir Harris Nicolas. Murdoch, however, 
expressly says, " Our author went first to Newcastle 
by land, where he took shipping, and landed at 
Billingsgate." 



Xviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

son's mother appears to have mortgaged her 
share in a certain estate of Widehope, or Wide- 
open, in which she was co-heiress with her 
father, 1 in order that she might settle with her 
family in Edinburgh ; before he sailed for 
London it had been resolved to sell this property 
altogether; for he writes to Dr. Cranston, "I 
brought very little money along with me, 
expecting some more upon the selling of Wide- 
hope, which was to have been sold that day my 
mother was buried." As this letter contains 
a reference to the "fine romantic kind of 
melancholy" which he supposes Dr. Cranston 
to be feeling " at the fading of the year," it is 
obvious that it was written in the autumn 
(1725) ; it bears the postmark of Barnet, and 
contains this passage : 

" I was a long time here living att my own 
charges, and you kn^w how expensive that is ; this, 
together with my furnishing of myself w th cloaths, 
linnens, one thing and another to fitt me for any 
business of this nature here, necessarly [sic] oblig'd 
me to contract some debt, being a stranger here, 
'tis a wonder how I got any credit, but I can't expect 
'twill be long sustained ; unless I immediately clear 
it." 

Now as early as July 20th, Thomson, as he 
then writes to the same correspondent, was at 

1 Her share, I think, came to her on her mother's 
side as a Home. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XIX 

East Barnet, " teaching Lord Burning's son to 
read"; and this little pupil was Lady Grizel 
Baillie's grandson. The business for which the 
outlay to which he refers was necessary, was 
the position of tutor in a nobleman's family; 
and the inference from the words " for a long 
time I was here living att my own charges," 
is that, at the time of writing, he was living 
at the charges of his employers. Whatever 
this amounted to, the probability is that the 
promises of the " lady " (presumably Lady 
Grizel Baillie) were not altogether unfulfilled. 

Perhaps Thomson's first letter to Dr. 
Cranston from London, dated April 3rd, will 
suffice to disprove the suggestion that he was 
all that is conveyed by " shoeless." He there 
gives an account of the actors and actresses he 
had seen at Drury Lane, to which he says he 
has paid five visits ; he has not, he adds, been 
at the New House yet ; his purse will not keep 
pace with his inclination in that matter. This 
is prudence in pleasure-seeking ; it is not 
beggary. If our dates are right, he had not 
been a month in London when he paid these 
five visits to the theatre. 

Again, it is not at all clear that he came to 
London quite in the character of a literary 
adventurer. Let us again refer to this letter of 
April 3rd. There he speaks of a business, 
within Dr. Cranston's knowledge, in which he 



XX MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

is advised that it will be prodigiously difficult to 
succeed. " Succeed or not," he says, " I firmly 
resolve to pursue divinity as the only thing I 
am now fit for. Now if I cannot accomplish the 
design on which I came up, I think I had best 
make interest and pass my trials here, so that 
if I be obliged too soon to return to Scotland 
again, I may not return no better than I came 
away." We see that the "design," whatever 
it may have been, was not incompatible with 
his fixed determination to become a minister 
of religion ; indeed, one is inclined to sus- 
pect that this was the design ; that Thomson 
hoped to pursue that calling in London, where 
he fancied that the florid eloquence which 
was not to the taste of the Edinburgh pro- 
fessor, would find more acceptance; he would 
like, at any rate, to pass his trials for the 
Presbyterian Ministry l whilst he was there, 
that he might not feel that he had wholly 
thrown away his time ; though that might 
be difficult without special interest, except in 
the immediate prospect of a cure of souls in 
England. If this interpretation is correct, 
Hamilton's criticism acted as a stimulus, not 
a check, upon Thomson's ambitions in this 
direction ; and Mr. Auditor Benson must be 

1 It is noteworthy that his fellow student, Patrick 
Murdoch, became a clergyman of the English 
Establishment. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XXI 

understood to have encouraged him to go and 
take the London pulpit by storm. At any rate 
we see that Johnson was misinformed. 

But in truth, most of Johnson's statements 
about Thomson, at least at this date, are of the 
anecdotic and irresponsible kind. If we take 
him quite seriously, we must imagine that 
Thomson came up to London a barefooted, 
gaping bumpkin, with a taste for poetry, a poem 
on Winter in one pocket, and a lot of recommen- 
dations tied up in a handkerchief in the other. 
It may be true, as Johnson says, that he had his 
pocket picked in the street, and lost some of his 
letters of introduction ; it is certain, however, 
that almost directly after his arrival, he 
presented one from Dr. Cranston to a Mr. 
Eliot, perhaps a brother of Sir Gilbert Eliot of 
Minto, and that from Mr. Eliot he received 
advice concerning his "design." Upon his 
" Winter ): he was still engaged 1 in the autumn 
of 1725, as we learn from the letter to Dr. 
Cranston, from which we have already quoted, 
in which he sends the beginning as he then 
wrote it; acknowledges that he owed the 
notion of it to Mr. Biccaltoun's poem on the 
same subject ; and speaks of his own as " only 

* He writes to Mallet, July 10th, 1725 " You may 
take what liberties you please with my poem," and 
speaks of it as "a piece where nature reigns. " It was 
probably, therefore, "Winter" in an embryo condition. 



xxii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

a present amusement " which it is " ten to one 
but" he "drops." 

He is supposed to have been introduced by 
Mallet, then tutor in the family of the Duke of 
Montrose, to several literary characters, and it is 
certain that the two friends began, from the 
time of Thomson's first arrival in London, their 
literary correspondence. But, as a literary as- 
pirant, he had a still more powerful supporter 
in Duncan Forbes of Culloden, afterwards Lord 
President of the Session, and commemorated in 
the Seasons, who already knew him as a 
promising poet, and " recommended him," says 
Sir Harris Nicolas, "to the Duke of Argyll, 
the Earl of Burlington, Sir Robert Walpole, 
Dr. Arbuthnot, Pope, and Gay." 

"Winter" appeared in March, 1726. The 
publisher was Millan, who was "persuaded," 
says Johnson, " to buy it at a low price, which 
low price," he adds, Millan " had for some time 
reason to regret." The same authority tells 
us that a "Mr. Whatley, a man not wholly 
unknown among authors," was the first to 
sing its praises ; but Mr. Whatley must have 
been quick, if he anticipated Aaron Hill, who 
had commended the poem, to which Mallet 
called his attention, before April 5th, and re- 
ceived from Thomson on that day a letter of 
thanks of almost incredible fulsomeness. 1 It 

1 "I ought with the utmost deference and venera- 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xxiii 

cannot have been for long that Mr. Millan 
"regretted" his bargain ; and it is certain that 
no bargain compromising Thomson's property 
in the poem could have been made. 

Aaron Hill is one of those names in literature, 
so instructive to the critic, so insignificant to 
everybody else, who seem to have been sent into 
the world in a practical joke concocted between 
the Muses and Momus, to bring the judgments 
of mortals into contempt. He was once a power 
in the world of letters. Abroad he has been 
honoured with the praises of Voltaire and 
Lessing ; among us he is remembered, by a few, 
as commemorated in the " Dunciad," the one 
diver who 

" bears no token of the sabler streams 
And mounts far off among the swans of Thames." 

He was an impulsive and enthusiastic person, 
who combined commercial speculation with 
literature; his correspondence with Pope best 
shows the strength and the weakness of the 
man ; there must have been something lovable 
in him, or such an adversary would not have 
treated him with so much tenderness. In 
truth, in spite of a kind of extravagance both 

tion to approach so supreme a genius." "Your 
praise is so sincere, so delicate, so distinguishing, so 
glowing, and what peculiarly marks and endears 
it, so beautifully generous." "If I wro te all that 
my admiration of your perfections, etc. " Ohe / 



xxiv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

of temper and language, he was self-respecting 
and dignified ; and Pope had the good sense to 
acknowledge this. "We feel that we should 
like to know more of this strange being, who 
could be manager of Drury Lane, and get a 
patent for extracting oil from beech-mast, and 
organize a company for plantations in Georgia, 
and make potash, and write a world of plays and 
poems ; and above all, with a courage of senti- 
ment which has since descended to the lower 
level of the Kenwigs family, could call his 
daughters Urania, Astrsea, and Minerva. He 
was an excellent intermediary between the 
wealthy patrons of literature and struggling 
men of letters ; and he passed among both as an 
oracle. Johnson, indeed, whilst he speaks of 
Hill's 1 humanity and politeness, says also that 
" he is remarkable for singularity of sentiments 
and bold experiments in language." Whether 
he exerted any influence of this kind upon the 
poetry of Thomson, it would be difficult to 
decide. It was probably through Hill that 
Thomson knew Savage, and through Savage 
that Johnson gained his anecdotes of our poet's 
early days in London. 

" Winter " was dedicated to Sir Spencer 
Compton, then Speaker of the House of Com- 
mons. The dedication was in prose, prompted, 

1 Life of Savage, " Lives " (ed. Napier in Bohn's 
Series, vol. ii., p. 332). 



.MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XXV 

some say written, 1 by Mallet. We print it in 
this edition, although instead of it were subse- 
quently inserted in the poem itself compliment- 
ary verses to the same person, after he had 
become Lord Wilmington. According to John- 
son, Compton took no notice of the author, 
until the chivalrous Aaron Hill inserted in the 
newspapers a poem addressed to Thomson, in 
which the great were censured for their neglect 
of genius. Mallet it seems, as well as Hill, had 
written verses on the same subject, which were 
intended to be prefixed in the second edition of 
"Winter" then preparing for the press. As, 
however, Compton had meanwhile made Thom- 
son a present of twenty guineas, there was some- 
thing of a dilemma. The compliments of Hill 
and Mallet were too sweet to be lost, but the cen- 
sure had been bought off. 2 I am unable to say 
exactly to what extent the satires were modified ; 

1 But Thomson himself, when he received twenty 
guineas from Compton, says to Hill, " I shall ascribe 
it to his generosity, or any other cause, rather than 
to the merit of the address. " This is se^-depreciation. 

2 Thomson wrote to Hill, June 7th, 1726, with 
evident reference to the present just received from the 
Speaker, " 'Tis a thought too shocking to be borne 
to lose the applause of the great genius of the age (!) 
my charter of fame ! for I will not name it ! " 
And to Mallet on the 13th, " Have you set a price on 
my fame ? Twenty guineas ! twenty curses on them if 
they serve me that trick." 

c 



Xxvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

nor would these things be worth recording, ex- 
cept that they illustrate the curious attitude 
which literature sometimes assumed in an age of 
patronage. That age was almost over when it was 
at its lowest ; and Thomson twenty-two years 
later, after declaring that the Muses ask only 
to please, writes in the " Castle of Indolence " : 

" But now, alas ! we live too late in time, 
Our patrons now even grudge that little claim, 
Except to such as sleek the soothing rhyme : 
And yet, forsooth, they wear Maecenas' name, 
Poor sons of puft-up vanity, not fame. 
Unbroken spirits, cheer ! still, still remains 
The eternal patron, Liberty ; whose flame, 
While she protects, inspires the noblest strains ; 
The best and sweetest far, are toil-created gains." 

These words might be a locus dassicus for us as 
marking a period of transition. Twelve years 
before they were given to the world Johnson 
had come to town ; and even at that time 
Macaulay tells us " the age of patronage had 
passed away " and "the age of general curiosity 
and intelligence had not arrived." Johnson 
sought no patron for his " London " ; and his 
famous Letter to Chesterfield may be regarded 
as the manifesto of insurgent Grub Street, a 
general Declaration of Independence. The reign 
of " the eternal patron Liberty" was more pleas- 
antly inaugurated when Goldsmith dedicated the 
" Traveller" to his brother, an Irish country par- 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xxvii 

son ; and made George Primrose in the "Vicar," 
after describing the dodges of the needy verse- 
maker, declare that " none but those who are 
unworthy protection condescend to solicit it." 
By the end of May, 1726, Thomson had 
quitted his tutorship of Lord Binning's son, 
and taken up his residence "at Mr. Watts's 
Academy in Little Tower Street, in quality of 
tutor to a young gentleman there." l As on 
June llth he sent Hill the proof sheets of 
the second edition of "Winter," which had 
first appeared in the previous March, there 
seems little pretence for saying that the poem 
ever hung fire ; and his success gained him 
many influential friends, including Bundle, 
afterwards Bishop of Derry, who, in his 
treatment of Thomson, justified Pope's praise, 
and proved he "had a heart." Thomson's oc- 
cupation at Mr. Watts's Academy, whatever it 
may have been, did not engage him long, and 
it is probable that he was emboldened to trust 
to his pen entirely for a living. " Summer " 
was published in 1727. It was dedicated in 
prose to Bubb Dodington, but here again 
the tribute was subsequently versified. The 
less we say about it the better ; we are told 
that Thomson first meant to inscribe the 

1 Said to have been Lord George Graham, second 
son of the Duke of Montrose ; and up to that time a 
pupil of Mallet. [M. Morel.] 



xxviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

poem to Lord Binning; but "that nobleman 
generously sacrificed the compliment to his 
desire of advancing the poet's interests." Lord 
Binning's counsel was unselfish, and he has had 
his reward by escaping something like dis- 
grace. A man is almost dishonoured in the 
eyes of posterity by receiving homage so little 
discriminating as Thomson's. Praise is worse 
than worthless from one who can attribute to 
such a creature as Bubb riV 1 

" Unblemished honour, and an active zeal 

For Britain's glory, liberty, and man." A-J""**^ 

k. * 
In June of the same year Thomson published his 

" Poem to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton," 
who had died on the 20th of March. This he de- 
dicated in prose to Sir Robert Walpole, who is 
described as " like Heaven, dispensing happiness 
to the discontented and ungrateful," yet " not 
less attentive, in the hour of leisure to the 
variety, beauty, and magnificence of nature "(!) 
This dedication was omitted in all subsequent 
editions. I am unable to say whether the 
poem originally contained the lines, addressed 
to Newton's shade : 

" Exalt the spirit of a downward world ! 

O'er thy dejected country chief preside, 

And be her Genius called ! her studies raise, 

Correct her manners, and inspire her youth ; 

For, though depraved and sunk, she brought thee forth 

And glories in thy name." 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XXIX 

But these words were certainly at any time 
incompatible with a dedication to Walpole, 
savouring as they do of discontent with a policy 
which was always the direct antithesis of that 
which we now call, according to our prepos- 
sessions, " spirited " or " jingo." "Whatever of 
scientific accuracy Thomson's language in this 
poem possesses is said to have been due to the 
advice of a friend, a certain John Gray, who 
was the author of a treatise on gunnery, and 
became, in 1765, Rector of Marischal College, 
Aberdeen. 

All Thomson's biographers seem agreed that 
his " Britannia," was also written in this year, 
1727. It was not indeed published, according 
to Cunningham, until 1729, when " it appeared 
anonymously from the shop of T. Warner in 
Pater-noster Row, and bearing as a disguise, on 
its title-page that it 'was written in 1719.'" 
Later title-pages, the same authority tells us, 
"state that it was written in 1727." Johnson 
describes it as "a kind of poetical invective 
against the Ministry, whom the nation then 
thought not forward enough in resenting the 
depredations of the Spaniards. By this piece," 
continues Johnson, " he declared himself an 
adherent of the opposition, and had therefore 
fno favour to expect from the Court. 1 That 

1 Yet Thomson dedicated " Sophonisba " (in 1729, I 
think) to the queen. 



XXX MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

" Britannia," as we have it, was not written in 
1719 is quite certain ; the youth who in 1720 
could publish such a sorry couplet as 

" The pleasing Heatings of the tender lambs 
Or the indistinct mumblings of their dams," 

was quite incapable of writing, a year before, 
such lines as these : 

" When all the pride of Spain, in one dread fleet 
Swelled o'er the labouring surge ; like a whole heaven 
Of clouds, wide-rolled before the boundless breeze." 

But it is conceivable that he may have written, 
even at this early date, a poem of the same 
drift, for his development in expression was 
out of all proportion to his growth in refine- 
ment of thought ; and his sentiment is always 
of the simple and popular kind. It would 
perhaps be found that any one of the dates 
which have been named as assigned ostensibly 
to " Britannia " would correspond with its tone 
and tenor ; for the outrages of Spain upon our 
commerce were a grievance of long-standing, 
culminating in the farce or tragedy of " Jenkins's 
ear." In fact, the first part of the eighteenth 
century is a singular counterpart to the last 
part of the sixteenth, in the long bickerings 
and acts of hostility between England and Spain 
which preceded a formal declaration of war. 
Thomson then had a goodly choice in what 
Cunningham calls " disguise." Although the 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XXXI 

poem was anonymous, in 1729 the authorship 
was probably an open secret ; l and it would 
scarcely look well to acknowledge that it had 
been written in the very year in which Thomson 
dedicated the lines on Newton to Walpole. 
In process of time, and when the dedication 
in question was dropped, this awkward fact 
would be less in evidence, and the truth about 
" Britannia " might be told. 

" Spring " appeared in 1728 ; Thomson's pub- 
lisher, no longer Millan, but Millar. Andrew 
Millar was a man who deserves honourable 
mention. " He raised," says Johnson, " the price 
of literature." If he had the roughness of Curll 
and Osborne he had none of their littleness of 
soul. He did, indeed, "thank God" that he 
had done with Johnson when Johnson sent him 
the last sheets of the Dictionary, and Johnson 
was glad to hear that " he thanked God for any- 
thing." But these superficial asperities did not 
interfere with real esteem. Millar had, indeed, 
one quality which would not be beautiful in the 
eyes of Johnson in certain moods. He had all 

1 Cf. Thomson to Mallet, in a letter assigned con- 
jecturally by Cunningham to September or October, 
1729. " Have you heard that our present Blockhead 
Laureate, or Laureate Blockhead [Eusden], has had a 
fling at Walpole U.o? He had better bribe them to 
silence. Posterity will call him, if Posterity hear 
anything of the matter, theMaevius-Bavius Maecenas, 
the discelebrated knight," 



XXxii MKMOIR OF THOMSON. 

the clannishness of a Scot, and was proud to 
promote the efforts of his countrymen. 

For " Spring" Thomson received fifty guineas. 
He dedicated it to Frances, Countess of Hert- 
ford. This lady, afterwards Duchess of Somer- 
set, cultivated letters, and was accustomed to 
invite some poet into the country, " to assist her 
studies" as Johnson puts it. Thomson, to whom 
this favour was once extended, instead of assist- 
ing her to write poetry, assisted her husband 
to drink, and therefore was never invited again. 
It was to her intercession that Savage owed 
his life in the very year in which " Spring " 
was published ; and it is to Savage, through 
Johnson, that we owe, in all probability, this 
little glimpse of her domestic affairs. 

In 1729 Thomson produced " Sophonisba," 
one of those "classic" tragedies which you 
may read half-a-dozen times at intervals 
and retain no fixed impression of them ; so 
colourless are they, so impossible to difference 
each from the other by any distinction of tone 
and character. In the great Sahara of the tragic 
drama of the century, the student of literature 
is happy if here and there he can find some 
little oasis, where he can sit down and rest and 
laugh awhile. The trivial incident or anecdote 
which relieves us here is like the touch of 
absurdity which breaks the uniform boredom 
of a pompous man. Thus, if we shall ever re;id, 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

\ve shall certainly not retain much of Glover's 
" Boadicea " ; but who that has once heard, will 
ever forget that in this play Glover " preserved 
a custom of the Druids, who enjoined the persons 
who drank their poison, to turn their faces to- 
wards the wind, to facilitate the operation of 
the potion " ? And so those who have read 
Thomson's " Sophonisba " are no wiser than 
those who have let it alone ; but we all know 
that it once had in it the line 

" O Sophonisba, Sophonisba, ! " l 
which some " mad wag " parodied with 
" Jemmy Thomson, Jemmy Thomson ! " 

to the great amusement of the town. 

In the same year (1729) was published 
anonymously a poem to the memory of Con- 
greve, who had died in January of this year. 
I am content to abide by the decision of others 
as far as this poem is attributed to Thomson on 
the evidence of style, and in it I certainly 
recognize a quite Thomsonian vein of senti- 
ment. 2 But if these lines are Thomson's we 
must sincerely hope that one passage has been 

1 This became, according to M. Morel, 

"O Sophonisba, I am wholly thine ! " 

2 " Th' unerring Hand that lednis safe thro' time: 
That planted in the soul this powerful hope, 
This infinite ambition of new life, 

And endless joys, still rising, ever HCIV.'' 



XXXIV MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

wrongly explained. I am glad to think that 
the "Genus" of the poem is not Aaron 
Hill. 

*' Now meaner Genus, trivial with design 
Courts poor applause by levity of face 
And scorn of serious thought ; to mischief prompt ; 
Though impotent to wound ; profuse of wealth 
Yet friendless and unloved ; vain, fluttering, false, 
A vacant head, and an ungenerous heart." 

Nothing accessible to me gives to these 
words even the approximate truth to character 
and fact which would make his contemporaries 
apply them to Hill. I am sure we may acquit 
Thomson of a combination of folly and baseness 
which could scarcely be paralleled anywhere on 
the seamy side of literature. It is so obvious 
to conjecture that by Genus is meant Colley 
Gibber, that I suppose there must be to this 
view some objection which has escaped me. It 
is at first sight easier to admit that the lines 
which immediately precede these, point to 
Dennis ; for it is such a portrait of him as 
might be drawn by an unfriendly hand. 

Not so the illiberal mind, where knowledge dwells, 
Uncouth and harsh, with her attendant, pride 
Impatient of attention, prone to blame, 
Disdaining to be pleased ; condemning all, 
By all condemned ; for social joys unfit, 
In solitude self-cursed, the child of spleen ; 
Obliged, ungrateful ; unobliged, a foe, 
Poor, vicious, old ; such fierce -eyed Asper was, 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XXXV 

And yet, why "was"? Dennis was living in 
1729; he died in 1734. Nor in 1729 had he 
ceased to write. Nor was there any reason why 
ho should be attacked in a poem on Congreve, 
of whom he was known to be an admirer ; l he 
declared indeed that when Congreve left the 
stage, "comedy left it with him." It may be 
conjectured that "fierce-eyed Asper" is Jeremy 
Collier, Congreve's great assailant, who died in 
1726. To be sure, he was not " vicious " ; but 
this epithet was always useful as a makeweight. 2 
"Autumn" appeared in 1730, not, like its 
companions, as a separate poem, but in the col- 
lected edition of the " Seasons." It was dedicated 
to the Speaker Onslow. In the same year Sir 
Charles Talbot, the Solicitor- General, prompted 
by Rundle, chose Thomson to accompany his 
son, Charles Eichard Talbot, upon his travels. 
With this young man he visited France and 
Italy. He was in Paris on December 27th, 
(N. S.) 1730, as we learn from his letter of that 
date to Bubb Dodington. The three letters 
which Sir Harris Nicolas has given from 
Thomson on his travels are of some solid 
interest. They will show us that Thomson's 

1 He actually defended Congreve in print against 
the attack of Collier. 

2 The charge of vicious living under the disguise of 
sanctity was freely brought against the Non-jurors, 
of whom Collier was one. Johnson believed it of 
some of them. 



XXXvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

ideas upon commerce and freedom, if crude 
and conventional, and inflicted upon us with 
wearisome iteration in his poetry, were prob- 
ably sincere as well as fixed : 

" You must give me leave," he says to Dodington 
from Paris, " to observe, that amidst all that ex- 
ternal and showy magnificence which the French 
affect, one misses that solid magnificence of trade 
and sincere plenty, which not only appears to be, 
but is, substantially, in a kingdom where industry 
and liberty mutually support and inspirit each other. 
... I shall return no worse Englishman than I 
came away." 

The same letter (December 1730) shows 
that he had already some notion of writing a 
poem such as " Liberty." 

"It seems to me, that such a poetical landscape 
of countries, mixed with moral observations on their 
government and people, would not be an ill-judged 
undertaking." 

He was still in Paris on October 24th, 
1731; but in November 28th of that year he 
was in Rome. He does not seem to have been 
inspired by the scenes which he has passed 
through ; he speaks of Nature only in general 
terms; and if we judged him solely by these 
letters, we should say that he gushed about 
her, as so many people do, rather like an epi- 
cure, than a man of refined observation. He 
was of opinion that it was a mistake for every- 
one to run abroad, only to stare at works of 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XXX vii 

art ; those who have the means ought to " send 
persons of genius in architecture, painting, and 
sculpture, to study these arts abroad, and 
import them into England." His opinions on 
this subject are not expressed with much 
regard either to grammar or congruity : 

" The nature of the great painter, architect, and 
statuary, is the same as ever she was ; and is no 
doubt as profuse of beauty, proportion, lovely forms, 
and real genius, as formerly she was to the sunny 
realms of Greece, did we but study the one and 
exert the other. In England, if we cannot reach 
the gracefully superfluous, yet I hope we shall 
never lose the substantial, necessary, and vital arts 
of life ; such as depend on labour, liberty, and all 
commanding trade." 

And then he goes on : 

" For my part, I who have no taste for smelling 
to an old musty stone, look upon these countries 
with an eye to poetry, in regard that the sisters 
reflect light and images to one another. Now I 
mention poetry, should you inquire after my Muse, 
all that I can answer is, that I believe she did not 
cross the channel with me. I know not whether 
your gardener at Eastbury has heard anything of 
her among the woods there ; she has not thought 
fit to visit me while I have been in this once poetic 
land, nor do I feel the least presage that she will." 

No one now talks of Thomson's " Liberty," 
the fruit of these travels of his ; his reputation 
rests mainly upon the " Seasons " and the 



Xxxviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

"Castle of Indolence." Wordsworth in con- 
versation affirmed, strangely enough, that the 
fact that he was a real poet, appeared less in 
his " Seasons " than his other poems, and in so 
saying, he had " The Castle of Indolence " in 
view, as appears from his famous Preface. 
The judgments of poets upon poets are fre- 
quently a puzzle to the natural man. Words- 
worth himself tells us that we find in the 
"Seasons" that evidence of "the eye steadily 
fixed upon the object," which is the distinctive 
mark of the true poet of Nature ; and Cowper, 
certainly with the " Seasons " in mind, mis- 
trusted Thomson, more or less, when, in that 
poem, he described what he never saw. If 
Wordsworth's oft-quoted phrase be limited to 
actual observation, Cowper's misgivings cover, 
it may be suspected, a very large amount of 
ground ; and if on the other hand we extend it, 
as Matthew Arnold has extended it, and under- 
stand Wordsworth to mean that the poet 
should at least write as if he beheld, and as if 
the impressions he records were spontaneous, 
the special merit of Thomson as compared with 
Pope may be due not so much to the generic 
difference between them, on which Wordsworth 
seems to insist, as to a more fortunate choice of 
theme. These reflections are forced upon us at 
this point. For let us suppose that there was 
in Thomson a gift native, and at this epoch, 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xxxix 

exceptional, of seeing objects after a manner at 
once true and poetical, joined to that enthu- 
siasm, that propension, which makes him de- 
clare to Dodington, in his unique prose manner, 
that travelling has long been his fondest wish, 
just because the imagination is thus stored 
" with ideas all-beautiful, all-great, and all- 
perfect nature ; the true materia poetica, the 
light and colours, with which- fancy kindles up 
her whole creation, paints a sentiment, and 
even embodies an abstracted thought." Is a 
poem such as " Liberty " the product we should 
expect of such a bias and such opportunities ? 
Thomson himself, it will be said, complains 
that inspiration failed him amid these great 
scenes. And this is a curious confession, if it 
was sincere ; rare, we imagine, were the occa- 
sions on which he could not, if he chose, make 
a verse. We are inclined to think that other 
occupations, or his well-known indolence will 
best account for the fact that he wrote nothino- 

o 

whilst he was abroad. But an original mind 
can reproduce vividly the impressions it has 
once received ; and Thomson who agrees with 
his correspondent that one may profit more 
abroad by seeing than by hearing, and tells 
him that " there are scarce any travellers to be 
met with who have given a landscape of the 
countries through which they have travelled, 
that have seen with the Muse's eye though," 



xl MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

he adds, " that is the first thing that strikes 
me"; Thomson, who proposed to meet this 
crying want, but acknowledged, too, that " the 
description of the different face of nature, in 
different countries, must be particularly marked 
and characteristic, the portrait painting of 
nature," might be expected, in the execution of 
this project, to create a few images and start 
some thoughts besides those which might have 
occurred to him just as easily if he had never 
crossed the Channel, but contented himself 
with reading two or three books in his 
beloved bed. Take Thomson upon Rome. 
What has become here of that " poetical land- 
scape of countries," which, as we have seen, 
was once in his mind ? The whole of this 
section of " Liberty " is mere history (some of 
it bad history, too,) with classical commonplaces, 
mainly Horatian. Nor even when we turn to 
the first part of the poem " Ancient and 
Modern Italy compared" do we fare much 
better. It is certain that in his "Ruins of 
Rome " the painter-poet Dyer, inferior as he 
may have been in genius to the master whose 
footsteps he followed, and whose moralizings 
he echoed, in about half the number of lines 
which Thomson has given to Italian scenes, 
conveys more vivid impressions and images 
more distinct. Writing with a kindred pur- 
pose, equally interested to offer us a picture of 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xli 

decay, Dyer is everywhere true to his motto 
from Janus Vitalis, 

" Viden' vel ut ipsa cadavera tantse 
Urbis adhuc spirent imperiosa minas ? " 

If we did not know that he had beheld the 
scenes which he describes, we should recognize 
that he had divined, and could reflect to some 
extent, the mood which they beget in receptive 
minds. But Thomson is so much concerned to 
point the trite moral, and the academic elo- 
quence of his tedious and somewhat tawdry 
goddess, that every detail is pressed into her 
service. The ruins which seemed to Dyer 
" even yet majestical " are to Thomson 

" The falling poor remains 
Of what exalted once the Ausonian shore ; " 

and are only great by contrast with the splen- 
dours of oppression, whom " Liberty " thus 
addresses : 

" Even with thy laboured pomp, for whose vain show 
Deluded thousands starve ; all age-begrimed, 
Torn, robbed, and scattered in unnumbered sacks, 1 
And by the tempest of two thousand years 
Continual shaken, let my ruins vie. " 

She then proceeds to mention, in a fine medley, 

1 The careful annotator here, to guard against a 
possible misconception, says that this " alludes to the 
many occasions when Rome has been sacked bj 
hostile armies." 

d 



xlii MEMOIR OP THOMSON. 

roads, " beyond the weak repair of modern toil," 
arches, marbles, 

"massy columns hewed 
From Afric's farthest shore," 

(but also stolen from Horace) Egyptian obe- 
lisks, the tombs on the Via Sacra, and 

"fountains, vases, urns and statues charged 
With the fine stores of art-completing Greece." 

All these she says are hers ; it is as if Mrs. 
Blimber had gone mad, and believed herself 
the owner of Tuscnlum. The preposterous 
female next claims the works of Michaelangelo, 
Palladio, and Raphael. But all by way of con- 
trast ; the Italy which Thomson calls modern 
yields nothing but images of squalor and decay. 
To this result what has not conspired ? 

"Her youthful form robust 

Even Nature yields, by fire and earthquake rent ; 
Whole stately cities in the dark abrupt 
Swallowed at once, or vile in rubbish laid 
A nest of serpents." 

We are often convinced that the modern pil- 
grim in search of the picturesque has really 
travelled, only by his curious and minute 
knowledge in the matter of bad smells and 
other discomforts ; but who looks for this kind 
of evidence in a great poet of Nature ? Yet the 
one incontestable proof that Thomson had been 
to Italy is that he complains of dirty beds. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xliii 

" No clean convenience reigns ; even sleep itself, 
Least delicate of powers, reluctant, there, 
Lays on the bed impure his heavy head." 

This is that voice of outraged humanity which 
spurns all petty questions of artistic fitness ; 
we feel that Thomson would scarcely have 
made this detail a part of the great declama- 
tion which Liberty delivers against Oppression, 
except under the stimulus of a personal wrong. 
It can scarcely be contended that Thomson's 
theme required that he should abstract himself 
from all impressions which can be called in- 
dividual. Thomson himself did not think so ; 
his ideal, as he sketches it to Dodington, is 
almost Wordsworthian in promise. The defect 
was not in the subject, but in the man and his 
time. To Wordsworth, Nature did actually 
seem to inspire a moral, a religious, even a 
political faith; to Wordsworth, communion 
with Nature was a law of life. Thomson, 
whatever his professions may have been, and 
whatever value we may assign to him as the 
interpreter of Nature, had no such spiritual or 
emotional need ; the mere fact of " Liberty " in 
succession to the " Seasons " is the best evidence 
that such a view of the poet's function at this 
date is a sort of anachronism. And conceive 
Wordsworth's Nature yielding "her youthful 
form robust " at the bidding of Oppression ! 
On such a subject, he, of all men, would have 



xliv MEMOIR OP THOMSON. 

despised the rhetorical artifice which barely 
covers a fallacy worthy of the bumpkin who 
attributes bad seasons to an unpopular govern- 
ment. Even if we grant that Thomson once 
had a law of his mind, analogous to Words- 
worth's, urging him to present man and Nature 
in a contact and communion, not sentimental 
only, but predestined and innate, we must 
admit that the law was so crudely conceived 
and imperfectly developed, that it came to be 
forgotten altogether for a more imperious law 
written in his members and in his surround- 
ings. The age itself, perhaps, had surer in- 
stincts than its poets ; it might be shown that 
readers were sighing for the country whilst 
poets were making for town. London did 
much to spoil Thomson; and would have 
spoiled Mallet if there had been much to spoil. 
Both these men drew from rural scenes in the 
first ambitious efforts which they there gave to 
the world; the "Seasons" and Mallet's "Ex- 
cursion" were proceeding almost pari passu; 
Mallet's work was less popular because it 
seemed, as it was, a feeble echo of Thomson's 
song. There was nothing that Mallet did, 
except mischief, which he could not have done 
better if he had never left Scotland ; we might 
say nearly the same of Thomson, with a little 
change of phrase, but for the " Castle of Indo- 
lence." Both men drew, as far as actual observa- 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xlv 

tion is concerned, largely upon their memories ; 
to Thomson, by the grace of heaven, was given 
also that poetic second sight, which, may it 
please the critics, Cowper included, may enable 
an intense imagination, as it enabled Goethe 
in Mignon's wondrous song, to picture with 
essential fidelity things " seen only by the 
intellectual eye." Thomson could neglect the 
gift that was in him, first because his love of 
Nature, although sincere, was less of a passion 
than he professed it to be ; next, because even 
on that theme, his expression was of that 
rhetorical kind, to which no serious topic 
comes amiss, and nothing more blinds a man 
to his own limitations and want of real insight 
in particular directions than the fact that he 
can be fluent and facile whatever he may take 
in hand ; and lastly, because in his day if a 
true choice gave the poet lasting fame, the 
drama gave him ready money, and politics or 
faction a certain measure of social importance. 
Before the end of December, 1731, Thomson 
and his pupil had returned to London. It is 
probable that for some time he continued to 
live with or near the Talbots, and to work at 
leisure on this poem of " Liberty." The first 
part appeared at the close of 1734. 1 But, 
meanwhile, his pupil had died in his twenty- 

1 December 27th, according to Sir Harris Nicolas. 
It bore date 1735, as might be expected; the date 



xlvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

fourth year, September, 1733. The opening 
lines of " Liberty" are a tribute to his memory. 
About two months after the death of his son, 
Sir Charles Talbot became Chancellor, and 
gave Thomson the sinecure of Secretary of 
Briefs in. the Court of Chancery. 

It was about this time (the close of 1733) 
that Thomson gave an interesting proof of the 
humanity which was one of the pleasantest parts 
of his character. He worked for the relief of 
Dennis, who, in his old age, had fallen into 
extreme destitution. He succeeded in enlisting 
in this cause even Pope, who supplied a Prologue 
to the play (the Provoked Husband), which 
was acted for the old man's benefit. Of his own 
magnanimity Pope was sufficiently conscious, 
when he wrote : 

" This dreaded satirist Dennis will confess 
Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress." 

but the " Epistle to Arbuthnot " in which these 
lines occur, written when Dennis was in his 
grave (though Pope pretends there not to know 
if he were alive or dead), gives ample evidence 
that Dennis was neither forgotten nor forgiven. 
But the Prologue itself shows this too. Poor 
Dennis had invented, so Pope suggests in a 
note on the "Dunciad," a new way of making 

Woodfall's books give, January 8th, 1735, is perhaps 
due, as M. Morel suggests, to difference of style. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xlvii 

stage-thunder, and at a tragedy in which the 
improvement was borrowed, fell into a great 
passion and cried " 'Sdeath, that is my 
thunder !" We must bear this in mind, if we 
would appreciate the malignity, at the time 
sufficiently obvious, of the lines : 

" How changed from him who made the boxes groan 
And shook the stage with Thunders all his own ! " 

There is no revenge so cruel as the sort of 
contemptuous pity expressed in this Prologue ; 
and, if Dennis was past feeling the sting, he 
had all the greater claim to unalloyed com- 
passion. But Pope knew the age : such 
mockery might amuse when humanity was 
coarse-grained, and even pass for magnanimity 
when sentiment was very cheap. Thomson, 
really generous and amiable, deserved the 
tribute which was paid him on this occasion, 
whether by Dennis or another in his name, 

" Shatter'd by time's bleak storms, I with'ring lay, 
Leafless and whitening, in a cold decay ; 
Yet shall my propless Ivy, pale and bent, 
Bless the short sunshine which thy pity lent." 

That is surely touching and beautiful: and 
if Dennis wrote it, he wrote with a pathos which 
should have surprised everyone, and most of all, 
himself ; if on the other hand of these l or of 

1 They appeared in the "Gentleman's Magazine" 
(1733, p. 756) ; M. Morel thinks they may be those to 



xlviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

any other lines, he said at this time, " They 
could be no one but that fool Savage's ! " 
Dennis was Dennis still ; and in either case 
must have been able to discern and resent the 
accents of scorn. 

The second and third parts of " Liberty " 
were published in 1735 ; the fourth and fifth in 
the following year. The work as it appeared 
was received with growing coldness : the 
reading world understood better than Thomson 
himself where his real power lay, and of such, 
declamation as he now offered, had already in 
various forms enough and to spare. The whole 
poem was dedicated to Frederick, Prince of 
Wales ; and the political motive of " Liberty " 
thus became more pointed. Meanwhile, John 
Thomson, a younger brother, whom the poet 
had summoned to London in 1733 and employed 
as his amanuensis, was seized with an affection 
of the lungs in the spring of 1735, and returned 
early in August to Scotland, being advised to 
try what his native air could do for him. He 
was the bearer of a feeling letter from the 
poet to Dr. Cranston, asking that physician 
to give John the benefit of his directions. 
Thomson tells Cranston to address to him at 
the Lancaster Coffee House, Lancaster Court 
over which he is said to have lodged in the 

which D'Israeli ("Calamities of Authors," p. 55) 
refers as having really been written by Savage. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xlis 

Strand. He must have gone thereupon, or even 
befoie, on a visit to one of his great patrons, 
for on August 23rd we find him writing to 
Aaron Hill " Upon my return to town from 
Mr. Dodington's seat in Dorsetshire, where I 
had for some time been, I found your letter 
about a month after its date." On September 
23rd Cranston wrote to tell him of the death 
of his brother. To this letter he replies on 
October 20th, " Being but lately returned from 
Mr. Dodington's seat in Dorsetshire, I only 
received yours of September 23rd a few days 
ago." Did Thomson twice go into Dorsetshire 
between August and October? Upon any 
interpretation of these dates, he was a careless 
correspondent ; and it is hard to reconcile them 
with great fraternal solicitude. They are, I 
fear, quite in keeping with the self-indulgent 
and irregular life of which even his friends 
could not acquit him ; and his letter on his 
brother's death proves him to be good-natured 
and sentimental, rather than deep-feeling. That 
nothing may be lost, he sends Cranston the 
verses which he originally wrote on young 
Talbot's death, for " Liberty " ; a tribute which 
he had shortened before publication. The kins- 
folk had been disputing over the poor fellow's 
effects. Thomson decides that they shall all be 
given to his cousin Thomas Turnbull ; except 
his " jockey-coat, which is to be ffiven to David 



1 MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

of Minto, since he desires it." The " indifferent 
justice" of the letter shows a keener concern 
than its sentiment for Thomson was kind to 
his people, though after the manner of a famous 
kinsman; and they were proud of him, and 
sensible of his assistance or attention, with the 
immemorial humility of poor relations. The 
sentiment, however, has a literary interest 
and something more. With characteristic 
optimism, he expresses his confidence that " a 
future state must be better than this, and so on 
through the never-ceasing succession of future 
states; everyone rising upon the last in an 
everlasting new display of infinite goodness. 
But," he adds, "hereby hangs a system not 
calculated perhaps " (it certainly was not) " for 
the meridian in which you live, though for that 
of your own mind, and too long to be explained 
in a letter." Already in 1730 1 he had written iu 
the " Hymn " : 

" God is ever present, ever felt 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
Rolls the same kindred seasons round the world 
In all apparent, wise and good in all ; 
Since he sustains and animates the whole, 
From seeming evil, still educing good 
In infinite progression." 

and the crude form in which to Cranston he 

repeats the conviction, and the pains which he 

1 Cf. p. xxxiii. n. 2. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. li 

subsequently took to elaborate the words in 
which he first gave it poetic expression, show 
that it was no passing fancy, but a substantive 
part of his serious thoughts. 1 

In one respect the ill-success of " Liberty " 
was an advantage to Thomson's fame. It 
brought into relief a dignity of character, a 
magnanimity, which makes us understand why 
he was regarded by his friends with an affec- 
tion for which his effusiveness of sentiment and 
his qualities as a boon companion do not suffice 
to account. It is thus that he writes to Hill 
(May llth, 1736) : 

" Though poets have been long used to this truly 
spiritual and almost only emolument arising from 
their works, yet I doubt much if booksellers have 
any manner of relish for it : I think therefore (not- 
withstanding that the ghosts of many authors walk 
unrevenged) of annulling the bargain I made with 
mine, who would else be a considerable loser by the 
paper, printing and publication of ' Liberty.' " 

Though Hill wrote in reply affecting to 
dissuade him " because the beauty of the action 
would, of necessity, prevent its ever being 

1 It takes its final shape in the " Castle of Indo- 
lence," II. xlviii. 

" Up from unfeeling mould 

To seraphs burning round the Almighty's throne, 
Life, rising still on life, in higher tone, 
Perfection forms, and with perfection bliss," etc. 



lii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

forgotten; and a kind of national infamy 
which must disgrace us to posterity, will, as 
infallibly, be a consequence of its being remem- 
bered," this was not the kind of language to 
induce Thomson to change his mind ; and one 
is glad to believe with M. Morel (who, doubt- 
less, has some evidence on the subject) that the 
generous intention was really carried out. 
About the same time Thomson is said to have 
displayed a resentment, which at first sight 
seems foreign to what we know of his good 
sense and amiable temper, 1 against Isaac Haw- 
kins Browne, who, in his " Pipe of Tobacco," 
that excellent forerunner of " Rejected Ad- 
dresses," had included an imitation of the style 
of the " Seasons," all the more exact, because 
it reproduces not only the inflation of Thom- 
son's manner, but also his queer audacities of 
phrase. 

" thou, matured by glad Hesperian suns, 
Tobacco, fountain pure of limpid truth, 
That looks the very soul ; whence pouring, Thought 
Swarms all the mind" etc. 

But surely such parody is a sort of compliment; 
110 more likely to disparage Thomson than the 
"Splendid Shilling" of John Philips was 

1 The authority for this is Chambers's " Cyclopaedia 
of Literature" (vol. i., p. 599). M. Morel (whose 
researches are generally exhaustive) is unable to 
trace it further. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. liii 

likely to disparage Milton. Certainly the 
imitation of Pope in the same volume is the 
sincerest form of flattery : 

" Blest leaf ! whose aromatic fumes dispense 
To templars modesty, to parsons sense ; 

**** 
Rest to the weary, to the hungry food, 
The last kind refuge of the wise and good ; 

* * * * * 

Come to thy poet, come with healing wings 
And let me taste thee unexcised by kings. " 

The vexation of Thomson on this occasion re- 
minds us, however, of his earlier anger against 
Joseph Mitchell, his contemporary at college, 
who had said of his " Winter," with some truth : 

"Beauties and faults so thick lie scattered here, 
Those I could read, if these were not so near." 

Mitchell had lost an eye, and Thomson re- 
torted : 

"Why not all faults, injurious Mitchell ; why 
Appears one beauty to thy blasted eye ? 
Damnation worse than thine, if worse can be, 
Is all I ask, and all I want of thee. " 

He was induced to substitute "blasting" for 
"blasted," but that, it is said, only at the 
instance of common friends. 1 He suspects (to 

1 M. Morel upon this incident, aptly compares 
Johnson to Thomas Warton, on the eve of the publi- 



liv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Mallet, 1726) of criticism in the "British 
Journal," "that planet-blasted fool Mitchell." 
An assailant, writing under the pseudonym of 
Tim Birch, 1 in 1730, accused him of betraying 
a miserable jealousy at the representation of 
" Timoleon," a month before the appearance of 
his own " Sophonisba." Even if all this evi- 
dence were trustworthy, we should not be 
inclined to judge harshly the fretfulness to 
which it points, which, indeed, reminds us 
too much of the almost pathetic weakness of 
Goldsmith, to call for anything except an 
indulgent smile. 

In May, 1736, Thomson established himself 
at Richmond, in a little house in Kew Lane, 

cation of the Dictionary. " What reception I shall 
meet with on the shore I know not. . . . Whether I 
shall find upon the coast a Calypso that will court, or 
a Polypheme that will resist. But if Polypheme 
comes, have at his eye." 
1 It is " Tim Birch " who gives us the parody 

" O Jemmy Thomson, Jemmy Thomson O !" 

probably as M. Morel suggests his own, and not the 
exclamation of a man in the pit, as is commonly 
stated. Fielding in the " Tragedy of Tragedies, or 
the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great," 
impudently cites, as M. Morel tells us, Thomson's 
unlucky verse as modelled on the 

" Oh Huncamunca, Huncamunca oh ! " 
of that "Tragedy of Tragedies." 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. lv 

and in November of that year describes himself 
as " whipping and spurring " to finish a tragedy 
perhaps his "Agamemnon" which, however, 
did not appear until the 6th of April 1738. 1 
Meanwhile, Thomson's patron, the Lord Chan- 
cellor Talbot, died (February, 1737), and the 
poem to his memory was published in June of 
that year. It is stated that Lord Hardwicke, 
Talbot's successor, kept open the sinecure office 
which had rendered Thomson independent, 
in the expectation that he would apply for it. 
This he never did; and it is nseless to con- 
jecture what was the motive for this reserve. 

To this stage in his career belongs a story on 
which some doubt has been thrown. The loss 
of his post as Secretary of Briefs rendered him 
poor, and at last he was arrested for a debt of 
seventy pounds. Let Sir Harris Nicolas tell 
the rest : 

" Quin repaired to the spunging-house, and was 
introduced to him. Thomson was a good deal dis- 
concerted at seeing Quin in such a place, and his 

1 In a letter to Ross, dated the 12th of January, 
1737, he says, "My play is received in Drury Lane 
playhouse." Again, to Gavin Hamilton, in February, 
he writes, "I have a tragedy, 'Agamemnon,' to be 
represented here about three weeks hence." Hence 
it has been inferred that the representation was un- 
accountably delayed. The fact, I imagine, is that 
Thomson is using the old style and that the year of 
these letters is 1738. 



Ivi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

embarrassment increased when Quin told him he 
was come to sup with him, being conscious that all 
the money he possessed would scarcely procure a 
good meal, and that credit was out of the question. 
His anxiety was however removed upon Quin'a 
informing him that as he supposed it would have 
been inconvenient to have had the supper in that 
place they were in, r he had ordered it from an 
adjacent tavern, and as a prelude half-a-dozen of 
claret was introduced. Supper being over, Quin 
said ' It is time now, Jemmy Thomson, we should 
balance accounts.' This not a little astonished the 
Poet who imagined he had some demand upon him ; 
but Quin perceiving it, continued ' Sir, the pleasure 
I have had in perusing your works, I cannot estimate 
at less than a hundred pounds, and I insist upon 
taking this opportunity of acquitting myself of the 
debt.' On saying this, he put down a note of that 
value, and hastily took his leave, without waiting 
for a reply." 

We are a little apt to discredit a story on the 
strength, of some discrepancy in its details, for- 
getting that those who repeat it have every 
temptation to enhance what may after all be an 
essential fact. Nicolas, for example, may imply ' 
that Quin made on this occasion Thomson's 
acquaintance for the first time, if we are to 

1 Even this is very questionable. Quin's behaviour 
and language are not those of a perfect stranger ; 
and Nicolas, though M. Morel evidently understands 
him otherwise, probably means only that Quin was 
shown in. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ivii 

give the expression "he was introduced to him," 
its present conventional meaning ; other bio- 
graphers may be under the same misconception ; 
the natural bias is to tell the story in such a 
way as to put Quin's generosity in the strongest 
light, and therefore to represent his tribute as 
paid to genius rather than to personal friendship. 
There is surely an obligation on the part of 
scepticism to suggest some origin for a circum- 
stantial tale of this kind ; a tale not primd facie 
impossible, and at the worst modified, not dis- 
proved, on the evidence of dates. Quin acted 
the principal part in Thomson's "Agamemnon" 
when it at length appeared. It was just before 
this time, perhaps when the poet read his play 
to the actors in the greenroom " with so strong 
a Scotch accent that they could not restrain 
their laughter " that Thomson and Quin became 
acquainted. That Murdoch knew nothing of 
Thomson's embarrassments, and asserts that he 
always had friends who would help him at a 
pinch, is quite compatible with this almost 
inevitable episode in the life of an indolent and 
freehanded poet, 1 all the more heedless about 

1 It is to be noted that in February, 1737-8, he is 
writing to Gavin Hamilton about an allowance to his 
sisters of 16 a year, the total sum to be paid on the 
ensuing Whitsuntide. He was in arrears with his 
promised aid ; and, as I conjecture, expected to make 
up those arrears out of " Agamemnon." 
e 



Iviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

such misadventures, because secure of a timely 
deliverance. 

At length "Agamemnon" appeared; and 
Thomson's excitement at the representation 
disordered his wig the portion of his attire on 
which he most prided himself so that he could 
not join his friends at supper afterwards, until 
it had been set to rights. The play has its 
fitting emblem in that disordered wig. It is 
the conventional classic drama with a difference. 
The Addisonian wig is a little out of curl. 
Thomson never seems to know when he is 
becoming untidy. In the smallest as in the 
greatest matters this is apparent. He uses the 
colloquial, or, at best, epistolary " was you " 
and " you was " l with no sense of its vulgarity 
in high tragedy. That he should represent his 
Clytemnestra as a weak and reluctant in- 
strument was perhaps just as well ; but it was 
scarcely necessary to make her say after her 
meeting with Agamemnon 

" How kind was Agamemnon ! generous ! fond . 
How more than iisiial mild ! " 

No one can follow ^schylus without borrowing 
something of his terrors and his dignity ; even 
Thomson's Cassandra shines thus with some 

1 He never cured himself of this. In the " Castle 
of Indolence" he writes (Canto I. xxix) : "So that 
to think you dreamt you almost teas constrained," 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. lix 

reflected glory. But the difference between 
the plays is the difference between the authors 
as far as we are able to picture them ; between 
the sombre hero of Marathon, and the amiable, 
perspiring, half-Londonized Scotchman, using 
poor broken-kneed Pegasus as a stalking-horse, 
under cover of which to shoot at Walpole for 
the benefit of "Fred." 

For the real interest of Thomson's " Aga- 
memnon " is its political purpose. The theme 
lent itself to innuendo, the more safely because 
the legend was so fixed in its main outlines 
that characters and circumstances could not 
tally exactly with current history, and, there- 
fore, it was easy to disclaim any intention of 
"fitting the cap." Caroline, dying, poor 
woman, whilst Thomson was finishing the play, 
and dead before it appeared, was no Clytem- 
nestra ; nor was her " nighty vapouring little 
king " an Agamemnon. But there was an 
unfortunate analogy between Agamemnon's 
absence at Troy and those long visits to 
Germany, about which popular feeling had 
manifested itself very strongly in 1736 ; ' and 

1 It was in this year, I believe, that there was 
stuck up on the gate of St. James's Palace the 
notice: "Lost or strayed out of this house, a man 
who has left a wife and six children on the parish. 
Whoever will give any tidings of him to the church- 
wardens of St. James' Parish, so as he may be got 



lx MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

as we Lave seen, in November of that year, 
Thomson attributes to himself about his play 
a spasmodic energy, which we must suppose 
that he afterwards relaxed. George had re- 
mained abroad during the whole summer and 
autumn, and returned in December after a 
great and destructive storm at sea, in which 
it had been hoped or feared that his ship had 
gone down. Here was an opportune parallel, 
which would perhaps have been more effective 
if Thomson's indolence, or whatever we please 
to call it, had enabled him to complete his task 
early in 1737 instead of 1738. Even as it was, 
the parallel could scarcely have quite missed 
its effect. And surely " that was wormwood," 
when Agamemnon is made to say : 

" Ten full years, 

Or even one day is absence for a king, 
Without some mighty reason, much too long." 

or when he exclaims : 

" But the most fruitful source 
Of every evil that I in thunder, 
Could sound it o'er the list'ning earth to kings, 
Is delegating power to wicked hands." 

This reminds us that the attack on Walpole, 
in jOHgisthus, is more direct still. 

again, shall receive four shillings and sixpence re- 
ward. N.B. This reward will not be increased, 
nobody judging him to be worth a crown," 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixi 

" At first Egisthus, popular and fair, 

All smiles and softness, as if each man's friend, 

By hidden ways proceeded, mining virtue : 

He pride, he pomp, he luxury diffused ; 

He taught them wants beyond their private means : 

And straight, in bounty's pleasing chains involv'd 

They grew his slaves. Who cannot live on little, 

Or as his various fortunes shall permit, 

Stands in the market ready to be sold. 

***** 

Meantime, in private, all, whom wild debauch 
Has let adrift from every household tie ; 
Whom riot, want, and conscious guilt inflame, 
Holding the gods and virtue in contempt, 
Amid their bowls; such are his bosom friends." 

So speaks Areas; and he echoes that famous 
declamation of Wyndham's in 1734, of which 
Bolingbroke was really the inspiring genius. 
And if more than one enemy of Walpole might 
be represented in Areas, 1 an audience on the 
alert for political, allnsions would be certain to 
see in Melisander, spirited away by ^Egisthus, 
a reference to Bolingbroke, who was now in 
that second and scarcely voluntary exile which 
his friends attributed to the menacing hints of 
his powerful rival. What ./Egisthus says of 
Melisander is surely much what Walpole would 
say of Bolingbroke, except that for " stubborn 
virtue" he would substitute "arrogance." 

"A certain stubborn virtue, 
Beneath whose outside froth, fermenting lay 

1 Pulteney, for instance. 



Ixii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Pride, envy, faction, turbulence of soul 
And democrative views, in some sort made him 
A secret traitor, equally unfit, 
Or to obey or rule." 

Melisander, on his island among the Cyclades, 
finds consolation in the Muses ; but we need 
not pursue the parallel further ; especially in a 
case in which slight hints were at the time 
at once safe and sufficient. One touch redeems 
the common style of Melisander, his friends, 
and his foes, from the sort of declamation 
possible to any facile pen: it is where he 
describes his desertion : 

' ' Next night a dreary night ! 
Cast on the wildest of the Cyclad isles, 
These ruffians left me. Yet, believe me, Areas, 
Such is the rooted love we bear mankind, 
All ruffians as they tvere, I never heard 
A sound so dismal as their parting oars." 

The prologue to "Agamemnon, "written by Mal- 
let, has the same polemical character as the play ; 
and, in particular, attacks Walpole's Bill for 
Licensing Plays passed in the previous year : 

" As such our fair attempt, we hope to see 
Our judges here at least from influence free ; 
One place unbias'd yet by party rage, 
Where honour only votes the British stage. 
We ask for justice, for indulgence sue; 
Our last best license must proceed from you. " 1 

1 An announcement in the "London Daily Post" 
of April 24th, 1738, runs thus: "To-morrow morn- 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixiii 

The epilogue, which, if Thomson did not write, 
he felt bound to father, was probably written 
in the vile taste which too long marked such 
productions, even at the close of a tragedy ; as 
if grossness were the proper antidote to over- 
strung emotion. He had the good sense to alter 
the greater part of it, and took that occasion to 
praise the public for condemning him ; but if 
he was very earnest in the professions he makes 
to Aaron Hill of a desire to see the drama 
elevated, the original offence was one which he 
should neither have committed nor coun- 
tenanced. 

It was only, we are told, after Thomson had 
written "Agamemnon" that he knew Lyttelton ; 
and it is therefore, perhaps, to this time that we 
must assign the personal interview, which he 
had, through Lyttelton, with the Prince of 
Wales. Questioned by His Royal Highness as 
to the state of his affairs, Thomson replied that 
" they were in a more poetical posture than 
formerly ; l and Frederick is said to have 

ing, at 9 o'clock, will be published, price 1/6, "Aga- 
memnon," a tragedy as it is now acted with great 
applause, etc. 

"N.B. The lines in the prologue, not allowed 
by the licenser to be spoken, are printed and distin- 
guished by inverted commas." (Morel from Cun- 
ningham.) They are the lines in the text. 

1 It has been stated, however, that this answer was 
given not to the prince, but to Lyttelton. 



Ixiv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

granted him a pension of 100 a year, which 
was afterwards withdrawn. 1 

" Agamemnon " answered the challenge of 
Wai pole's Bill ; and brought about a preliminary 
skirmish. It helped to set the censorship on 
the alert. It announced an alliance between 
the stage and Leicester House, which might 
prove more troublesome than the attacks of the 
ablest pamphleteers. I am inclined to suspect 
that there was in Brooke's " Gustavus Vasa," 
the first of the plays rejected under the new 
act, less malice than in " Agamemnon ; " and 
perhaps Thomson's "Edward and Eleanora," 
which shared the same fate, would have escaped 
but for the pronounced bias of his earlier play. 
Yet the boy Orestes, eager to hear and emulate 
his father's exploits, was not a dangerous 
example ; there was more of mischievous 
analogy, more " miching mallecho " in inviting 
Edward, married and with children, 

" to save his father's old and broken years, 
His mild and easy temper, from the snares 
Of low corrupt insinuating traitors." 

The piece, which was dedicated to the 
Princess of Wales, turns on the well-known 
story of Eleanor sucking the poison from the 
wound of her husband. M. Morel finds in it 

' Murdoch affirms that the prince's bounty was 
bestowed on the recommendation of Lyttelton, before 
Lyttelton knew Thomson personally. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON". IxV 

the inspiration of Voltaire, especially in the 
effort at local colouring. There may be some 
truth in this, and to dispute it would be to 
strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. For 
M. Morel, in common with every critic, as far 
as we know, who comments on Thomson's 
drama at all, quite ignores the fact that it is 
modelledon the" Alcestis"of Euripides, and that 
the whole description of the actions of Eleanor 
and her farewells to husband, children and 
servants in the hour supposed to be her last, 
are little else but a translation. The interven- 
tion of Selim in Thomson's play, in the guise of 
a Dervish, with an antidote which restores the 
heroine to life, is the counterpart to that of 
Hercules ; and like Hercules, Selim brings 
before the reluctant husband, who at first 
refuses to look upon her, a damsel who proves 
to be the restored wife. That an imitation so 
obvious should have escaped notice, 1 is a proof, 
not so much perhaps of ignorance as of incuria, 
and the one-sided character of the interest 
which Thomson's dramatic works excited. And 
yet here as elsewhere, the course of eighteenth 
century literature is like that of a river that 
makes its way awhile underground until it goes 
to swell some larger flood. The disguised Selim 

1 This is written without access to a large library ; 
bat it is enough that the truth, if ever known, has 
been obscured. 



Ixvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

of Thomson's "Edward and Eleanora" reappears 
as the disguised Saladin of the " Talisman," and 
only those who ignore the influence of English 
upon German thought will question that there 
is some connection between the lessons of 
toleration preached by Theald and Selim, and 
the same topic as elaborated, in a very similar 
setting, in Lessing's " Nathan der Weise." 

It was in 1739 that " Edward and Eleanora " 
was rejected for the stage. Thomson's friend, 
Paterson, had copied it for him, and unfor- 
tunately presented a short time afterwards, his 
own tragedy " Arminius " for examination. It 
is significant of the determined hostility of the 
authorities to Thomson, that no sooner had the 
censor caught sight of the handwriting, than he 
exclaimed " Away with it," and the innocent 
play was condemned unread. 1 

Defending the treatment of Thomson, one of 

1 This was of course possible under the Licensing 
Act. "The advocates of the Licensing Act have 
alleged, that the Lord Chamberlain has always had 
authority to prohibit the representation of a play for 
just reasons. Why, then, did we call in all our force 
to procure an act of parliament? Was it to enable 
him to do what he has always done? to confirm an 
authority which no man attempted to impair, or 
pretended to dispute ? No certainly ; our intention 
was to invest him with new privileges, and to empower 
him to do that without reason, which, with reason he 
could do before." So writes Johnson in his ironical 
" Vindication of the Licensers of the stage." 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 



Ixvii 



the ministerial writers, with more point than on 
that side was often displayed, remarked that he 
had taken a Liberty which was not agreeable to 
Britannia in any Season. 

In 1738 Thomson wrote a preface to Milton's 
" Areopagitica ; " the motives which would 
induce him to further such a republication are 
suggested by his own experience. The " Masque 
of Alfred," which was composed jointly by 
Thomson and Mallet, was represented at Clieve- 
den on the Thames, before the Prince of 
Wales, on the 1st of August, 1740,the 
anniversary of the accession of George I., 1 and 
of the birth of the Princess Augusta. The 
" Masque," thin enough to be sure, is pretty, in 
spite of politics ; but would, perhaps, be quite 
forgotten, but that it contains " Rule Britannia," 
and a keen and apparently insoluble controversy 
is from time to time revived, whether this 
national song was written by Thomson or 
Mallet. 2 The music of the "Masque" was by 

1 1st of August, 1714. 

2 The reader will find the subject discussed in 
"Notes and Queries," 1886, vol. ii., pp. 4, 132, 410, 
490, between Mr. Chappell and Mr. Julian Marshall. 
In 1751, after Thomson's death, Mallet published an 
altered edition of "Alfred" in which he says: "I 
could not retain of my friend's part more than three 01 
four speeches and part of one song." It appears that 
three stanzas of the " Rule Britannia " as originally 
written, were omitted in this edition, and three by 



Ixviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Dr. Arne ; though it has been suggested, on 
slender evidence, that we owe the air of " Rule 
Britannia" to Handel. 

Beyond revising his " Seasons " Thomson 
appears to have done very little in the way of 
literature for some time. He was made com- 
fortable in his circumstances by being ap- 
pointed Surveyor General of the Leeward 
Islands by Lyttelton, who became one of the 
Lords of the Treasury in 1744; the income 
was 300 a year ; the duties were performed 
by deputy. But Lyttelton fell into disfavour 
with the Prince of Wales, and in consequence, 
about the end of 1747, or beginning of 1748, 
his proteges, Gilbert West, Mallet, and Thomson 
lost the pensions which they had received 
from that quarter. Upon the whole, however, 
Thomson's last years must have been free from 
money cares, and he lacked one stimulus to 

Bolingbroke substituted for them. If I understand 
Mr. Marshall aright, he would argue that because it 
is called an "ode" in the text of the play (1751), 
"Rule Britannia" cannot be "the song" to which 
Mallet refers. I should be more inclined to believe 
that Mallet himself set a trap for the unwary in this 
distinction without a difference ; and was unwilling to 
indicate beyond all doubt that the most popular thing 
in "Alfred " was not his. No one will question that 
the sentiments and imagery are Thomsonian ; but 
it might be retorted that they are also those of all 
honest, and many dishonest, Britons. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixi X 

effort. He was slowly elaborating the " Castle 
of Indolence," and produced " Tancred and 
Sigismunda" at Drury Lane in March, 1745. 
Garrick played Tancred. The story Thomson 
found in "Gil Bias"; 1 and, except in some 
change of names, can scarcely be said to 
have departed from it, though he has con- 
trived to enhance its dramatic interest. Nay, 
Le Sage supplied him also with speeches and 
turns of sentiment; and the more the plot 
thickens, the more completely does Thomson fall 
back upon his original. It is not surprising, 
however, that this was the most popular of 
Thomson's tragedies. It has more life and 
movement than any play written by him 
hitherto, and though he could not keep out of it 
his eternal political declamation, the conflict of 
emotion, so dear to the conventional classic 
stage, which he had succeeded in depicting 
fairly well, even in " Sophonisba," he now, 
thanks to Le Sage and to his own experience, 
exhibited with greater elaboration and a more 
sympathetic touch. It must not go for nothing, 
that Thomson was about this time a dis- 
appointed lover. The Amanda of his poems is, 
if not always, at least for the most part, a Miss 
Elizabeth Young, whose sister was married to 

1 It is there called "Le Manage de Vengeance" 
(L. iv. c. 4). Le Sage himself drew upon Boccaccio's 
"Decameron." 



Ixx MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

his friend Robertson, his neighbour at Rich- 
mond. The Youngs were Scotch ; the mother 
is described as a coarse, vulgar woman ; Eliza- 
beth as "not a striking beauty, but gentle- 
mannered, and elegant minded, and worthy of 
a man of taste and virtue." Her ambitions 
parent scorned the pretensions of the poet. 
"What!" she said to her daughter, "Would 
you marry Thomson ? He will make ballads 
and you will sing them ! " M. Morel no doubt 
interprets the good lady's meaning when he 
translates "tu iras les chanter dans les rues." 
The precise date of this prophecy is not known ; 
but it should be remembered that there were 
times in Thomson's career, after he was fa- 
mous, when he had no certain prospects but 
his indolence. Miss Young married Admiral 
Campbell ; and her brother-in-law Robertson 
maintained that when Thomson died he was 
not desirous to live, because he could not bear 
the thought of her being married to another. 
I can well believe that he put some heart into 
the passages in " Tancred and Sigismunda," 
which turn on love entertained without "re- 
spects of fortune." 

Thomson had been engaged upon the " Castle 
of Indolence " for fifteen years, and it at 
length appeared about May, 1748. The 
poem was the better for the delay. Few who 
have examined Thomson's works very critically 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxi 

will much regret, even if they suspect, with 
Johnson, that the " Seasons " lost part of what 
Temple calls " race " in enlargement and re- 
vision. On the contrary, we should rejoice 
that if Thomson resented Mitchell's criticism, 
he acted on Somerville's remonstrance, 

"Why should thy Muse, born so divinely fair, 
Want the reforming toilet's daily care ? " 

and that he submitted the " Seasons " to the 
skilful hands of Pope. And assuredly " The 
Castle of Indolence " was improved by being 
kept far beyond the ninth year. Those who 
care to read his juvenile poems may convince 
themselves that when he started writing verse, 
he pronounced, accentuated, and sometimes 
rhymed in a manner only possible to a Scotch- 
man. When the actors laughed on his reading 
"Agamemnon" to them, he good-naturedly 
handed the play to the manager, and begged 
him to go on, " for," he added, " though I can 
write a tragedy, I find I cannot read one." 
Before this, Dodington had snatched one of 
his poems out of his hands, telling him that he 
did not know how to read his own verses. 
Poets, we know, may read their compositions 
badly, even though they may have " lisped in 
numbers ; " bnt when their earliest lispings are 
not musical, the fact that they cannot recite 
their later and better numbers properly, tends 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

to show that these harmonies were acquired 
rather than innate. Words, again, came 
readily to him as well as thoughts and images; 
but they were not always well-chosen words. 
To take one instance out of hundreds, it was a 
long time before he discovered that to write of 
Palemon watching Lavinia, that 

" he run her, ardent, o'er and o'er" 

Or of Philosophy 

"Nor can she swallow what she does not see " 
was to commit a vulgarism. And I am much 
inclined to think that his happy choice of blank 
verse for the " Seasons," and for " Liberty," 
was assisted by his own suspicion that rhyme 
in a long poem was more than he could as yet 
manage with success. But no one can read 
him without discovering that he was a student, 
in spite of his laziness, and an ambitious 
student, too, with a vigorous and retentive 
mind. The " Castle of Indolence " is the 
result, as perhaps any great poem of any 
volume must be, of study and painstaking as 
well as genius. And it has for the biographer 
the interest of a personal confession ; regrets 
and promises of amendment obviously sincere. 
Yet whilst the poem itself gives evidence of 
matured powers, and makes us feel that if 
Thomson had lived longer, he might have held 
a yet higher place among the poets, we are 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxiii 

compelled to some misgivings, because the very 
passage which we have in mind shows what 
sort of work he hoped to undertake, and pre- 
pares us for a new " Liberty," and new 
"Tragedies," 

" Come on, my muse, nor stoop to low despair, 
Thou imp of Jove, touched by celestial fire ; 
Thou yet shalt sing of war, and actions fair, 
Which the bold sons of Britain will inspire ; 
Of ancient bards tliou yet shalt sweep the lyre ; 
Thou yet shalt tread in tragic pall the stage, 
Paint love's enchanting woes the hero's ire, 
The sage's calm, the patriot's noble rage, 
Dashing corruption down through every worthless age." 

But, in the first half of the eighteenth century 
is there any poem of the same dimensions 
which would be likely, if any long poem of 
that time could find readers in the present day, 
to excite interest so great and so varied ? 
There is poetry in that generation of greater 
power and greater skill ; had Pope and Thom- 
son been set the same theme, it is certain that 
Pope would have treated it, whatever it might 
have been, if not with the greater truth to 
nature, at least with the more effective tech- 
nique. There was nothing impossible to him 
for a fame not merely in the history of litera- 
ture, but in the substantive thoughts of men, 
if he could have lived less in his present and 
forgotten kings and queens and lords and 
f 



Ixxiv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

dunces. But a great good fortune seems to 
-wait on those who tread in the steps of Spen- 
ser. Already, in 1742, Shenstone had published 
the "Schoolmistress," the one production of 
his which, though intended as a jeu d'esprit, 
excites more than trivial comment; and it 
seems as if the archaism which the favourite 
poet of the poets himself adopted, carried with 
it a peculiar inspiration, and raised those who 
have submitted themselves to his influence 
above their native rank, or the class into 
which the dominant tendencies of their time 
would throw them, by taking them back to 
moods and harmonies which have a lasting 
power to fascinate. Again, those whose hearts 
the muse of the eighteenth century fails other- 
wise to touch, can be interested in the charac- 
ter-sketches which were then so often and so 
skilfully fixed in verse : perhaps, for instance, 
though the literal fidelity of Gay's " Trivia " 
wonderfully preserves the life of the London 
streets for us, it is his " Welcome to Pope " to 
which those who care to read him now, will 
most often return, because of the obese and 
hearty people whom he makes strutting before 
us, 

Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of size, 
and 

"Honest, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches. : 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxv 

Thomson comes between Gay and Goldsmith's 
"Retaliation" as introducing us to a society 
really vitalized ; yet there is less mirth as 
well as less definiteness in his treatment of 
character; his company is seen at a distance, 
in shadowy outline as through the haze proper 
to his dreamy landscape. 

Thomson had finished his last work, 
" Coriolanus," early in 1747 ; but it did not 
appear on the stage during his life-time, owing 
to the jealousy of Garrick, who wonld not 
consent to yield the first place to Quin, and 
took no part in the play when it was at last 
produced. We may measure by this the rise of 
the young actor, who was criticised unfavour- 
ably as a successful debutant by Gray and 
Walpole, in 1742, and was now one of the 
managers of Drury Lane Theatre. It must 
surely have been on the point of honour that 
this question arose ; those who read the play 
will find that there is nearly as much scope for 
acting in the Tullus Aufidius, assigned to 
Garrick, as in Thomson's Coriolanus, who is 
but a poor creature. That Thomson should 
have challenged a comparison with Shakespeare, 
especially in the scene in which the mother's 
intercession prevails, fills us with a blank 
amazement, which not even the knowledge that 
it was no isolated instance of the blind audacity 
of that age can quite overcome. These dull 



Ixxvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

productions are only valuable as illustrating a 
general effort at any sacrifice after a formal 
perfection, which on these lines the English 
drama never after all achieved. When we 
think of his " Coriolanus," we shall only 
remember that the difficulties to which it gave 
rise called from poor Thomson the prophecy, 
all the more pathetic because unconscious : 
" Let us have a little more patience, Paterson, 
nay, let us be cheerful ; at last all will be well, 
at last all will be over, here I mean." There is 
one more incident connected with " Coriolanus " 
to be mentioned presently ; which goes with 
this to arrest criticism in favour of the man 
instead of the dramatist. 

He very often walked either to or from 
London, a fact which may modify the notion 
suggested by other evidence, that he was 
altogether lethargic. Returning thus from 
town, he grew tired and heated, and took a 
boat at Hammersmith. He thus caught a chill, 
from which he had almost recovered, when he 
imprudently ventured out too soon and suffered 
a relapse. His friends, Andrew Mitchell, 1 Read, 

1 Afterwards (1756) our ambassador at the court of 
Frederick the Great: "by far the best Excellency 
England ever had at that court ; who grew to a great 
mutual regard with Frederick and well deserved to do 
so; and whose letters are among the perennially 
valuable documents on Frederick's history (Carlyle, 
"Frederick the Great," Book xvii., chap. iii.). When 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxvii 

and Armstrong, were summoned from London, 
only to see him die. The day of his death was 
August 27th, 1748. He had not completed his 
forty-eighth year. He was buried in Richmond 
Parish Church, according to M. Morel, in the 
churchyard, although in a subsequent enlarge- 
ment of the church, a wall was built which 
partially stood upon his resting-place. The 
stone itself, according to Sir Harris Nicolas, 
bore no inscription. 1 A few of Thomson's 
friends attended his funeral ; Robertson, Quin, 
Mallet, Millar, and probably Andrew Mitchell, 
and Armstrong. His death perhaps took his own 
circle, as well as the world, by surprise. 
Lyttelton was happy to think that he had 
brought his friend to his own state of definite 
belief in Christian doctrine, by his observations 
on the Conversion of St. Paul. However this 
may have been, there is a pathos and sincerity 
which speaks volumes for the affection which 
Thomson inspired, in the way in which Lyttelton 
with a nearer loss still fresh in his mind, links 
together his friend and his wife. " He loved 

the pedantic Gottsched insisted that a tragedy must 
be in five acts, Mitchell asked, if Aristotle had ordered 
that the clothes of every man were to be cut from live 
ells of cloth, how Gottsched (who was a huge man) 
would like to find himself without breeches ? 

1 The fiarl of Buchan put up a mural brass to his 
memory on the north-west wall of the church in 
179-2. 



Ixxviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON". 

my Lucy, 1 too, and was loved by her ; I hope 
and trust in the Divine Goodness that they are 
now together in a much happier state ; that is 
my consolation, that is my support." It was 
Lyfctelton who wrote the prologue to " Corio- 
lanus," when it appeared at Covent Garden in 
January, 1749, and though there is too much 
of preparation and artifice to suit our modern 
reserve in the passage 

" He loved his friends, forgive the gushing tear ! 
Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ; " 

we can well believe that the lines were 
delivered by Quin with genuine feeling. It is 
painful to add that the homage to Thomson 
was marred by an epilogue in the frivolous and 
vulgar style to which in his life-time he had 
made a half-hearted and ineffectual resistance. 
Lyttelton and Andrew Mitchell administered 
his effects for the benefit of his sister Mrs. Mary 
Craig. His favourite sister Lizzy who married 
Mr. Bell, minister of Strathaven, was already 
dead. Another sister, married to a Mr. Thomson 
(not, I believe, a kinsman), schoolmaster at 
Lanark, appears to have shared in the succes- 
sion ; but perhaps Mrs. Craig was especially 
named because her husband was in needy 
circumstances, although his son became famous 

1 Lucy nfe Fortescue, on whose death Lyttelton 
wrote a monody, published in 1747. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

as an architect, and did much for the improve- 
ment of Edinburgh. The proceeds also of the 
representation of " Coriolanus " went to Thom- 
son's relations. His furniture, his cellar, his 
books and his engravings (some of them of 
sculptures and pictures which he had doubtless 
seen in Italy) realized a comfortable sum ; and 
his friend George Boss bought the house. After 
many vicissitudes and alterations the site is now, 
says M. Morel, the " Royal Richmond Hospital." 
Thomson was never married. On October 4th, 
1 747, he wrote from Ly ttelton's seat at Hagley, 
to bis sister, the wife of the schoolmaster of 
Lanark, and after referring the death of Lizzy 
(Mrs. Bell), he added : 

"I esteem you for your sensible and disinterested 
advice to Mr. Bell, as you will see by my letter to 
him. As I approve entirely of his marrying again, 
you may readily ask why I do not marry at all. My 
circumstances have hitherto been so variable and 
uncertain in this fluctuating world, as induce me to 
keep from engaging in such a state ; and now, though 
they are more settled, and of late, which you will be 
glad to hear, considerably improved, I begin to 
think myself too far advanced in life for such youth- 
ful undertakings, not to mention some other petty 
reasons that are apt to startle the delicacy of 
difficult old bachelors. I am, however, not a little 
suspicious, that was I to pay a visit to Scotland, of 
which (sz'c) I have some thoughts of doing soon, I 
might possibly be tempted to think of a thing not 
easily repaired if done amiss," etc.. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Evidently lie did not unlock all his heart to 
his sisters ; yet there is nothing here but the 
innocent dissimulation with which a man puts 
a brave face on his disappointments. Bat a 
strange story comes to us. through John Taylor, 1 
who received it from George Chalmers, to the 
effect that Thomson was married in early life to 
a woman of humble condition, whom he was 
unwilling to introduce to his great friends, and 
kept in obscurity for many years ; at last he 
brought her to live at Richmond, but then only 
under the disguise of a domestic. The poor 
woman obtained, it is said, his permission to 
visit her own relations in the north, on condition 
that she would not reveal her connection with 
him to any of his or her family. On these terms 
she went, but only reached London, there to 
fall ill and die. Thomson gave her " a decent 
funeral," and she was buried in "the churchyard 
of old Marylebone Church." This story George 
Chalmers professed to have heard from an old 
housekeeper of Thomson's who stopped at 
Richmond after the poet's death, and sold her 
interviewer Thomson's "breakfast-table, some 
old-fashioned salt-cellars, and wine-glasses." 
Taylor goes on to say that George Chalmers 
found in the register of Marylebone Church the 
entry : " Died Mary Thomson, a stranger"." 

John Taylor has the utmost confidence in the 
1 "Records of my Life," vol. i., p. 186 et seq. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxxi 

accuracy of George Chalmers, but few readers 
of " Records of my Life " will have any confid- 
ence in the accuracy of John Taylor. 1 Un- 
happily, however, his looseness of statement 
throws discredit upon himself rather than on 
his informant. That he makes the parish 
register record the death, not the burial, is 
enough to cause us to suspect that he has not 
quoted Chalmers faithfully ; nor is it possible 
that if Chalmers was at pains to investigate the 
matter at all, he should have omitted to note 
the date. But there is an entry dated October 
30th, 1745, of the burial of an Anne Thomson, 2 
and though she was not called " a stranger," I 
am not aware that it was usual at this date to 
indicate in the registers of London churches 
that buried persons had not long been resident 
in the place of their decease. It is urged that 
Thomson could not have kept this marriage a 
secret from his friends ; but if " Anne " was con- 
tented to appear to them only as one of his 
domestics, it is hard to see why they should 
have supposed her to be his wife ; all depended 

1 Though he professed to have known James Bos- 
well senior, Sir Alexander Boswell, and James Bos- 
well junior, he asserts that Sir Alexander was the 
brother of Johnson's biographer ("Records of my 
Life," vol. i., p. 216). 

2 As Mr. W. T. Lynn records in "Notes and 
Queries," July 16, '81. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

upon her ; and what will not women endure ? 
The story says that at Richmond " she was 
provided with everything that could make her 
easy, if not comfortable ; " but after all there is 
a calculating callousness in the arrangement of 
which we do not want to believe that Thomson 
was guilty. If the Anne Thomson who was 
laid to rest in the old churchyard of Maryle- 
bone was an obstacle (in all senses unhappy) in 
Thomson's way, she was alive poor thing 
when " Tancred and Sigismunda " was written 
and represented ; and the one interesting feature 
we have found in that play is disfigured for us. 
But she was out of the way in time for him to 
begin at last a legitimate attachment to his 
Amanda, and to resist with sufficient candour 
the suggestion of Lyttelton, made in 1747, that 
he should marry some lady, to us unknown, 
who, he oddly says, " does not pique his imagina- 
tion." There may have been mistake or malice 
in the interpretation which the old housekeeper 
put upon the actual facts, but we cannot 
suppose that Chalmers invented the tale which 
we have repeated. The supposed wife may 
have been " sib " to Thomson. 1 But she may 
have claimed a nearer relationship in confiden- 
tial talk to account for her conduct, and the 
claim would have a semblance of support if she 

1 Thus one of his Scotch cousins is said to have come 
to Richmond to arrange his garden 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxxiii 

bore his surname. Thomson himself may have 
had a part in this little conspiracy, in deference 
to the scruples of the " old housekeeper." 1 The 
entry in the Marylebone register may be a 
coincidence merely, for Thomson is a common 
name, though too many of these "coincidences" 
are not desirable in a story which we wish to 
discredit. In these days of " research " someone 
will discover the real truth (of which discovery 
someone else will appropriate the credit) ; mean- 
while, those who believe in Thomson's private 
character will reject this tale as a mere lie 
though it is a lie with many circumstances. 

Thomson was above middle height, and 
though he became "more fat than bard be- 
seems " he retained to the last something of 
the active powers of his youth. He had none 
of the spirit of adventure ; even as a young 
man, if we are to believe report, he was too 

1 That she cannot have been his wife I hold to be a 
certain conclusion from his letter to Miss Young from 
Hagley, of August 22, 1743 : "I love you to that degree 
as must inspire into the coldest breast a mutual 
passion. To look to your heart, for you will scarce 
be able to defend it against my tenderness. ... If I 
am so happy as to have your heart, I know yoii have 
spirit to maintain your choice, and it shall be the most 
earnest study of my life not only to justify it but to 
do you credit by it." If Thomson was married when 
lie wrote this he was impatient to commit a crime, 
both cruel and hazardous. 



lixxiv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

nervous to climb any difficult ascent; 1 and 
though he regretted the "hanging rocks" of 
his native land, as compared with the tamer 
prospects of Southern England, it was not 
because he had any great ambition to scale 

1 Jerdan ("Autobiography," vol. i., p. 216, 217) says 
that the cave near Ancrum Manse, called Thomson's 
Cave, was known to the old inhabitants of the village 
as Cranston's Cave ; and that the Rev. John Cranston 
(Jerdan seems to know but one clergyman of that name) 
piloted the poet down thither. But to get him back 
was, says Jerdan, another task. " No sooner did the 
eye of Thomson catch the high perpendicular cliff, 
and the turbid stream below, overhung by the horrid 
ledge on which he gasped, than all his courage failed, 
and it ultimately required more aid than the entreaty 
and example of his reverend guide to extricate him 
from his sorrowful situation. And such was the 
shock his finely -toned nerves received, that sleep was 
banished from his pillow, and fever was nearly the 
consequence. " If Thomson's companion was not the 
older minister of Ancrum, he was certainly not the 
younger, qua the younger minister, who only be- 
came his father's colleague in 1733, long after 
Thomson had left Scotland for ever. But the tale 
may be true, though Jerdan may not have known the 
difference between John Cranston senior, John 
Cranston junior, and William Cranston. M. Morel 
tells us that the cave is now inaccessible through 
landslips, but that the Rev. John Mair, thirty years 
ago, found the initials J. T. there. Unless some 
enterprising tourist has had his hand in the 
business, these initials may have been cut on a note- 
worthy occasion. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

them. It is praise enough for him that he 
anticipated Gray in viewing there " monstrous 
creatures of God," with love and reverence 
rather than with terror; but though he was 
better framed and trained to visit them, he 
never like Gray, voluntarily in mature life 
faced discomfort in this search of the pictur- 
esque ; and if he preferred Hagley to the 
milder scenery of Richmond, the inducements 
which took him thither were social rather 
than aesthetic. 

As for his person perhaps no extant 
picture of Thomson quite gainsays John- 
son's description of his " dull countenance, and 
gross, unanimated, uninviting appearance." 
And surely Pitt meant to be the reverse of com- 
plimentary when he declared of the portrait 
by Aikman at Hagley, said to have been taken 
when Thomson was only twenty-five, that it 
was "beastly like." But Thomson's eyes, we 
are told, were expressive. Of his manners we 
have contradictory accounts. His best friends 
describe him as essentially a gentleman ; Shen- 
stone, who saw very little of him, says, "he 
had nothing of the gentleman in his person or 
address ; " but adds, " he made amends for the 
deficiency by his refined sense, spirited expres- 
sions, and a manner of speaking not unlike his 
friend Quin. He did not talk a great deal, but 
after a pause of reflection, produced something 



Ixxxvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

or other that accounted for delay." 1 He 
was particular about his wigs, but careless 
about the rest of his attire. He easily relapsed 
into his native Doric ; he used to call William 
Taylor, his wig-maker at Richmond, " Wull " ; 
and when the son of Gusthart, the good friend 
of the Thomson family, called on him at Rich- 
mond, he received him with " Troth, sir, I can- 
not say I ken your countenance well;" but 
embraced him eagerly when he discovered his 
name. 2 

The poets of Thomson's age knew of the 
generic differences which we find between them 
in the character of their inspiration almost as 
little as flowers can be supposed to know of the 
Linnaean system. They succeeded best when 
they wrote of the things they best understood ; 
and their choice of subjects was perhaps as 
varied as at any epoch except our own bewilder- 
ing present. They were liable, as the poets 
of to-day are, to a perverted bias ; of this, 
Thomson, for the best part of his life, is a 
striking instance. But their very temptations to 
go astray are an evidence that they found plea- 

1 From a MS. note of Mitford in the interleaved 
copy of the "Seasons," with corrections by Thomson 
and presumably Pope, now in the British Museum 
(c. 28 E). 

2 I quote after M. Morel (p. 650), who quotes from 
Shiels. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxxvii 

sure in the influences of their own time, of which 
they were perforce the creatures. To represent 
genius in the eighteenth century as oppressed 
and unproductive, because of the prosaic char- 
acter of the age into which it was born, is to 
forget that that age anticipated our judgment 
in the order of merit in which we arrange 
Thomson's works, just as it craved more verse 
from Gray. Even scholars at the present 
day are prejudiced in their retrospect by the 
ascendancy of Pope, and by his choice of topics 
to which only he could have given such a last- 
ing vogue; and most of us see him as the 
central figure in a crowd of makers of rhymed 
heroics ; and ignore the copious flood of songs 
and odes, and ballads, and blank verse (though 
the best part of which, it may be, our poetic 
inheritance has been in the main transmitted) 
over which also his genius exercised a certain 
measure of control. For, simultaneously with 
Addison in the " Spectator," he was in his 
"Essay on Criticism," in 1711, the popular 
interpreter of a great transition. His precept 
. " Follow Nature," and his praise of Homer, are 
only seemingly incongruous with the character 
of his own literary work; even as Addison's 
criticisms alike of " Chevy Chase," and of 
" Paradise Lost," are of a piece with his account 
of what he calls "mixed wit." Both these 
men announced in different terms and without 



Ixxxviii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

collaboration the same great awakening; the 
fact that our literature was shaking off that 
tendency (often a form of bathos) to mingle 
truths of feeling with feats of ingenuity, which 
had haunted it like a long nightmare. The 
scope of poetry remained unlimited, for litera- 
ture had not yet broken -with that oldest of 
traditions which regarded verse as the fitting 
exponent of all things, including the most 
technical. This very fact tended to encourage 
a pompous and conventional diction, though 
the criticism of the day was keen enough in 
noticing faults of phrase. But it is the lasting 
service of Pope that he taught our poets, what- 
ever their topic, form, or style, to aim at trans- 
parency, simplicity, and directness of thought. 1 
Indeed, the charge of obscurity so strangely 
brought against Gray is an evidence that the 
movement of recoil, in which Pope was so con- 
spicuous, at last went beyond the due limits, 

1 Instead of ingenuity in the discovery of unheard- 
of metaphors, which was the ambition of the typical 
seventeenth century poet, the poet of the eighteenth 
century sought to present a general thought in the 
language best adapted to bring it forcibly before the 
mind of the reader. In this respect, works so unlike 
each other as Thomson's "Seasons," Gray's "Elegy 
in a Country Churchyard," the "Deserted Village * 
of Goldsmith, and " The Village " of Crabbe, may all 
be said to be the fruits of the " Essay on Criticism," 
W. J. COURTHOPE, "Life of Pope." 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Ixxxix 

and that a generation of readers had arisen who 
claimed to be spared the trouble of thinking 
at all. 

And the poets of this age, however we may 
discern between them, were at one in their 
devotion to classical models. In the imagina- 
tive interpretation of the physical world Thom- 
son avowedly followed Virgil and Lucretius, 
and in "Liberty" the imitation of the Latin, 
poets is even more apparent. Judging him 
by the "Seasons" and the "Castle of In- 
dolence," and by the influence of these two 
poems on modern literature, we are apt to 
think of him as the forerunner of that epoch 
of freedom or, -licence which we call the 
Romantic revival. But Thomson himself was 
a bondsman who bore his chains gladly. Of 
the volume of his works the "Seasons" and 
the "Castle of Indolence" are scarcely more 
than a fourth part ; and if the world has 
forgotten all the rest, criticism at any rate 
must not forget that these the rest were 
written in perfect conformity with the prefer- 
ences and prejudices of his age, and that he 
himself would certainly have disavowed any 
discrepancy, any difference except development 
'in the whole course of his productive effort. 
His one revolt against the tendencies of his 
time was a protest both, by precept and ex- 
ample against the unworthy subjects on which 

S 



XC MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

poetry was employed. His censure was too 
general to be discriminating ; there were poets 
who were only successful on trivial themes; 
there was Gay, for example, that plump little 
Antaeus who had only strength when he touched 
earth. Perhaps Thomson had the drama mainly 
in view ; 1 we hesitate to conclude that he would 
have limited the sphere of verse to the grandiose 
themes which he himself preferred when we 
remember that he was the friend of Pope ; and 
that the same hand which wrote " The Rape of 
the Lock " not only wrote " Eloisa to Abelard " 
and the " Essay on Man," but added some of 
the finest touches to Thomson's " Seasons." 

Yet it was this high estimate of the poet's 
calling which gave Thomson's verse its air of 
earnestness, and enabled him to impress minds 
perhaps more serious than his own. Time and 
distance disjoin a man and his work; in one 
at least of Thomson's English contemporaries 
there was a disposition to underrate his genius, 
through prejudices true or false concerning his 
personal character, and friendship and affection 
did not prevent Lyttelton from tampering with 
his text. A great many of the earlier tributes 
to his memory have a conventional sound; 
only, I think, in the homage of Collins to the 
" Druid " is there the true accent of reverence 

1 Yet we can scarcely thus limit his meaning in the 
preface to the second edition of Winter (1726). 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xci 

for a sacred bard. We take these lines as an 
antidote to the sinister suggestions of biography, 
and the unpleasant incongruity between Thom- 
son's personality and his achievements ; they 
help us to look on verse as indeed " a breeze " 
a " wind that bloweth where it listeth." 

Thomson's fame and influence on the con- 
tinent give us perhaps the earlier measure of 
his real worth. His faults of expression, for he 
is sometimes turgid and sometimes vulgar 
are not so obvious to a foreigner or in transla- 
tion; there was meaning in Shenstone's re- 
mark that they would disappear if he were 
turned into Latin. If Voltaire betrays after 
all only a moderate appreciation of the Seasons, 
this was because the sentiment of Nature in 
Voltaire was not strong ; Thomson's dramas 
he found frigid, and he was right ; but he also 
said that if Thomson could have been a little 
more interesting and less declamatory he 
would have reformed the English theatre 
which " Gilles Shakespeare " had created and 
corrupted. Lessing mentions, with the respect 
he pays to everything English, our poet's 
aversion to buffoonery in epilogue. Montes- 
quieu came back from England with a taste 
for landscape gardening and idyllic poetry, and 
adorned the grounds of his chateau gothique 
with memorials of Thomson and Shenstone as 
well as of Virgil and Theocritus. But the 



XCli MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

influence of Thomson is perhaps strongest 
where we are least able to trace it directly; 
his chosen themes of Nature and Liberty were 
closely linked in the order of his own thoughts ; 
and with what " high seriousness " this connec- 
tion was riveted in other minds, notably Rous- 
seau's, the world was to learn. We have here, 
however, rather a general tendency than direct 
imitation ; Thomson (who died, let us note, in 
passing, just after Montesquieu had written the 
last chapters of " L'Esprit des Lois ") seems to 
us a leisurely, scarce conscious herald of opinions 
soon to be more precisely shaped, and senti- 
ments to be felt at last more keenly ; especially 
in dark days when Nature should be not, as men 
fondly dreamed, the handmaid of freedom, but 
their comforter under license and oppression; 
the days when the young Chateaubriand was 
to wander " amid the Natchez, by the roar of 
Niagara Falls, the moan of endless forests " ; far 
from "formulas and rabid jangle of hypothesis, 
parliamentary eloquence, constitution-building, 
and the guillotine ; listening to the mystic ever- 
lasting lullaby-song of the Great Mother, savage, 
indeed, but not false, not unkind." 1 

In England the influence of the classics on 
poetry has, we know, been twofold ; through 
the eighteenth century it is felt in the way of 

1 Carlyle, "French Revolution," vol. VI., bk. vi., 
chap. 3. 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xciii 

study and imitation, it prescribes the form of 
art ; at the beginning of our own century it is 
an inspiration a quickening spirit. Thomson 
is " a student of the humanities " ; Keats and 
Shelley are Greeks, born out of due time. 
Often, where Thomson is not directly imitative, 
we discern the mould in which his descriptions 
are cast ; it is for example a fine, yet a derived 
skill with which after the picture of the over- 
whelmed caravan he adds 

" In Cairo's crowded streets 

The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain 
And Mecca saddens at the long delay. " 

The age to which Thomson belonged is a 
.silver age, not golden or Augustan ; its proto- 
type in Roman literature ia Statins rather 
than Virgil. Nor is this said in censure ; it is 
idle to censure the inevitable. Everything may 
be good "in its time"; and there are those 
whom Thomson may still please, even when he 
exaggerates, as in his lines on the rivers of 
South America : 

" O'er peopled plains they, fair-diffusive flow 
And many a nation feed, and circle safe, 
In their soft bosom, many a happy isle, 
The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturbed 
By Christian crime and Europe's cruel sons. 
Thus pouring on they proudly seek the deep 
Whose vanquished tide, recoiling from the shock. 
Yields to the liquid weight of half the globe, 
And Ocean trembles for his green domain." 



xciv MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Johnson said, " Thomson, I think, had as much 
of the poet about him as most writers. Every- 
thing appeared to him through the medium of 
his favourite pursuit. He could not have viewed 
those two candles burning but with a poetical 
eye." And surely this is the very highest 
praise. What in the world can you say more 
in praise of a poet than that he viewed the 
commonest objects even a pair of candles 
through a poetic medium ? And yet it is quite 
clear from the mere turn of the phrase, which 
doubtless the faithful Boswell has accurately 
reported, that Johnson did not intend to place 
Thomson on any especially high pedestal. We 
remember, however, that Johnson was a mo- 
ralist and a contemporary, and this accounts 
for much. We remember also, that to the men 
of his time, poetry was an art, or at best a 
gift; but scarcely in the real convictions of 
most of them, a divine gift, scarcely an enthu- 
siasm. Johnson was right: Thomson.'s_searks... 
are a mine of poetical ideas. Yet when we en- 
counter the same essential thought in Thomson 
and in Keats, we feel that in Keats it appears 
under new conditions and with a new animat- 
ing principle. This, for instance, of emotion 
fixed in sculpture : 

" On the marble tomb 
The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands 
For ever silent, and for ever sad." 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. XCV 

So writes Thomson ; very beautifully, yet with 
sobriety, with measure ; he is quite conscious 
of the illusion, and lets you know it in fact it 
is but a simile. To turn from this to the " Ode 
on. a Grecian Urn "is to pass from Praxiteles, 
if not to Prometheus, at least to Pygmalion ; 
there is not " well-dissembled " sorrow here, 
but real and perennial joy in the " pipes and 
timbrels " and " wild ecstasy " ; he is alive 
that "bold lover" and can hear a kindred 
spirit say : 

" never shalt thou kiss 

Though winning near the goal ; yet do not grieve ; 
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair." 

We see here all the difference between an easy 
receptivity, and the passionate desiderium for a 
fairer world. Again, we have seen Thomson's 
theory of "life rising still on life" the 
comfortable optimism of his belief in progress, 
development, perfection ; let us note in Keats 
the change that has come over the spirit of this 
dream ; the new thought of renunciation, self- 
denial, due ultimately to collision with hard 
and cruel fact, the experience the world has 
had meanwhile of an old order giving place to 
new, idealized by the large and serious mind in 
the language of hope with an undertone of 
suffering, as given to the God of the Sea in 
"Hyperion" : 



' 



xcvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

'Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain ; 

O folly ! for to bear all naked truths, 

And to envisage circumstance, all calm, 

This is the top of sovereignty. Mark well ! 

As heaven and earth are fairer, fairer far 

Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs ; 

And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth 

In form and shape compact and beautiful, 

In will, in action free, companionship, 

And thousand other signs of purer life ; 

So on our heels a fresh perfection treads, 

A power more strong in beauty, born of us 

And fated to excel us, as we pass 

In glory that old darkness ; nor are we 

Thereby more conquered, than by us the rule 

Of shapeless Chaos." 

We will not depreciate Thomson ; it was no 
fault of his that he belonged to a generation 
which was not intense in thought and purpose. 
We can trace his influence, we think, in Keats ; 
we can trace it also in Coleridge. We naturally 
associate the hymn which closes the " Seasons," 
and the " Hymn before Sunrise," because in form 
and religious spirit they are superficially the 
same. But in Thomson's verse there is less 
both of the poet's eye and of the poet's heart ; 
there is rhetoric rather than true enthusiasm. 
That Coleridge has his " object " distinctly 
before him is no doubt his advantage; but 
something more than accident underlies the 
different impression that the two " hymns " 
make on us. It may disappoint us that, trying 



MEMOIR OP THOMSON. XCVii 

to believe in all things with Wordsworth, we 
can find in Thomson's Hymn no images more 
distinct than 

"Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely -waving pine 
Fills the 'brown shade with a religious awe ; " 

or 

" Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart 
As home he goes beneath the joy mis moon." 

or noteworthy as coming between well-known 
places in " II Penseroso " and the " Elegy " 

"to the deep organ join 

The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base." 

But even by onr search we are profited, if we dis- 
cover only lines which, whilst they are simply 
poetic, divert us from classification and theory. 
Again, between Wordsworth and Thomson 
we naturally seek affinities. But Wordsworth 
is nearest to Thomson when he forgets that 
simplicity of diction which he advocated, and 
at which Thomson never perhaps consciously 
aimed. It is not as painters of nature that the 
present writer has found himself tempted to 
bring them together, and that task must be 
left to more capable hands. Thomson and 
Wordsworth, it will be admitted, are very much 
alike, when they are both as they often are 



XCViii MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

dull; passages which Matthew Arnold and 
Swinburne would brand, dear to " benches full 
of men with bald heads and women in 
spectacles," but repellant to the " poor child of 
nature," abound in both. They are both 
capable of spoiling their own work, and as 
Wordsworth can interpolate his beautiful 
thought of 

"promise that which sets 
The budding rose above the rose full blown," 

with such lines as 

" To take an image which was felt no doubt 
Within the towers of Paradise itself " 

BO Thomson can mar his exact observation in 
Dodington's gardens culminating in the 
description of the vine which 

"here her curling tendrils shoots, 
Hangs out her clusters glowing to the south, 
And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky." 

with a turn such as this : 

" the shining plum 
With a fine bluish mist of animals 
Clouded." 

where the poet's eye is certainly not seconded 
by the poet's pen. But there is a radical 
difference between Wordsworth and Thomson, 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. xcix 

compared with which all the resemblances 
between them, whether of fault or merit, sink 
into insignificance. Our preferences in poetiy, 
seemingly instinctive, and by many of us not 
to be justified in express terms, are often really 
due to the moral atmosphere in which the gift 
has worked the human background in which 
the picture has been set ; and whereas we feel 
that Wordsworth everywhere hears " the still 
sad accents of humanity " ; Thomson has no 
imperative need of that "remoter charm," 
no strong craving for any " interest unbor- 
rowed from the eye," but is much in the 
condition which Wordsworth attributes to his 
own " thoughtless " younger days. That those 
" accents " which are of the essence of Words- 
worth's poetry, have, as a matter of fact, 
counted for little in Thomson's " Seasons," may 
be gathered alike from the objection, seriously 
raised, that they contain frequent digressions, 
and from the rejoinder of Sir Harris Nicolas, 
"that a poem descriptive of scenery, and of 
changes in the weather, requires the introduction 
of human beings to give it life and animation." 
The necessity of some relation to the spirit of 
man must be admitted, even for poetry which 
does not describe "changes in the weather." 
Man is the measure of all things in Poetry ; 
she depends in great measure for her power 
and permanence upon a true correspondence 



C MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

between the external world and his interpreta- 
tion both of it and of the part which he plays 
therein. The interpretation may not be new ; 
both Gray and Thomson, for example, are imi- 
v tative poets, and both drew from classical 
sources ; Gray, when he wrote : 

" For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share." 

Thomson, when he wrote : 

"In vain for him the officious wife prepares 
The fire fair blazing, and the vestment warm ; 
In vain his little children, peeping out 
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire 
With tears of artless innocence." 

But when Thomson writes thus of human life, 
it matters little whence he borrows, as when he 
gives us the happy and truthful phrase 

"the little strong embrace 
Of prattling children " 

it matters little whether he invented. We ask 
that the human world shall be in some sense 
worthy of the scene, and one with it in tone; 
and the secret of the lasting popularity of the 
" Elegy " is not only the simplicity and univer- 
sality of its sentiment, but the complete harmony 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. ci 

between the moralist and the humble dead and 
their resting-place. So Wordsworth knew not 
only rural life, but the heart of the rustic. 
What Thomson chose to know of the rustic 
we gather from his account of " the swain " in 
chase of a rainbow : 

" He, wondering views the bright enchantment bend 
Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs 
To catch the falling glory ; but, amazed, 
Beholds the amusive arch before Mm fly ; 
Then vanish quite away." 

And then, those digressions ! In the tale of 
" Amelia and Celadon " we must admit that he 
is graceful. There is a strange similarity 
between this and the nearly contemporaneous 
incident of the " Lovers struck by Lightning," 
in which Pope vainly tried to interest Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu, whose flippant treat- 
ment of the subject must have much disgusted 
him ; but Thomson here certainly bears away 
the palm ; his episode is much better than 
Pope's epitaph ; and as an evidence that it 
was once popular, a phrase in it, savouring of 
Thomson's peculiar diction, survives as a collo- 
quialism, with a very different connotation to 
that which it originally bore : 

"They lived 

The rural day, and talked the flowing heart 
Or sighed, and looked unutterable things," 



Cli MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

We may also praise, with reserve, the tale 
of Palemon and Lavinia ; though, after all that 
was done to improve it, there remain lines which 
we should wish to blot. A man, however, can- 
not go far wrong in matters of feeling who has 
the Book of Ruth to guide him. It is in his 
" Damon and Musidora," that Thomson displays 
the cloven hoof. It is appalling to think that 
with him and his generation of Englishmen, 
this sort of thing could have passed for deli- 
cacy of sentiment. When Lyttelton took the 
"Return from the Fox -chase" out of the 
" Seasons " and printed it as a kind of appendix, 
calling it a " burlesque poem after the manner 
of Mr. Philips," he supposed that he was refin- 
ing the poem ; but we are sometimes more 
convinced of Thomson's failure when he tries 
to soar in this region of taste, than when he 
deliberately sinks. 

And after all we return to the man himself, 
as the final interpreter of his own work, and to 
account for the best of it we look to a certain 
stubborn independence of soul, joined to great 
gifts, which are displayed much as an easy- 
tempered giant puts forth his lazy strength. 
He no doubt speaks as he would himself delight 
to say, "the flowing heart," when he writes : 

" I care not, Fortune, what you me deny : 
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace ; 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. Clii 

Through which Aurora shows her brightening face, 

You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 

The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve ; 

Let health my nerves and finer fibres trace, 

And I their toys to the great children leave ; 

Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave. " 

This is a genuine confession of faith, for it 
represents partly what Thomson was and partly 
what he wished to be. It is strange that we 
should be reminded of Byron here ; yet Byron 
did resemble Thomson, not only in facile 
strength and the astounding carelessness with 
which he exerted it, but in the character of 
his better aspirations; and whenever those 
lines of Thomson's just quoted occur to the 
mind, the still more familiar passage starts 
up to keep them company : 

" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 

There is society, where none intrudes 

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar ; 

I love not man the less, but Nature more, 

From there our interviews, in which I steal 

From all I may be, or have been before 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 

What lean ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal." 

There is a work, which I blush to say I have 
not read, by Dr. Gr. Schmeding, entitled " Jacob 
Thomson, ein vergessner Dichter des acht- 
zehnten Jahrhunderts." Ein vergessner Dichter ! 



civ MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

Is it possible that there are no ladies left who 
remember that " the lovely young Lavinia once 
had friends " ? But the fact of the elaborate 
studies of Dr. Schmeding and Dr. Morel is of 
great significance ; and if we at home are 
disposed to depreciate Thomson, such testimo- 
nies from abroad may remind us that the place 
and function of a poet in the history of litera- 
ture may be out of all proportion to what we 
may conceive to be his intrinsic worth. The 
present writer presumes to offer nothing but 
cautions touching Thomson ; cautions all the 
more necessary, if the discovery is brought 
clearly home to us that his influence has really 
been enormous. We shall be tempted to sepa- 
rate him as a poet from his generation ; and 
this I have tried to show is a mistake. We 
shall attribute to his opinions a depth of con- 
viction which does not really belong to them, 
and forget that in his days there were fashion- 
able schools of what we now call "advanced 
thought," in which perhaps there was but one 
sincere professor; and that even the ter_rible 
earnestness of Swift was as powerless as the 
affectation of the rest, to disturb the latent 
self-satisfaction of what Lowell calls " a com- 
fortable time." Most of those very easy-going 
people, who placed now and then their own 
species in unfavourable contrast with the brute 
creation, would have opened their eyes wide 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. CV 

could they have lived into the generation which 
at the close of the century did its utmost to 
make their meaning good. The monotonous 
abundance of these opinions was an evidence 
how lightly they were held; the seed might 
fructify some day, but for the present " it 
sprung up quickly, because it had no depth of 
earth." It is customary to think of the 
eighteenth century as somewhat limited in its 
scope, but it is probable that no period ever 
offered more counsels of perfection to men. In 
these days, when dietary questions have 
assumed a gravity which almost tempts us, 
against our better knowledge, to transfer the 
mechanism of thought to the gastric regions, 
one laughs when one thinks of poets, mostly 
corpulent, and almost to a man self-indulgent 
supplying texts to the vegetarians, who now 
preach with religious fervour the new cultus of 
St. Cabbage. 1 Thackeray complains that his 
" Mrs. Spec " considers cold mutton the natural 
food of man. But nothing seems to excite 
the disgust of the austere epicures who loved 
turtle soup and pat e de foie gras whenever they 
could get it, so much as the fact that man eats 
mutton. It was all part of a general hypocrisy, 
innocent because too simple to deceive a baby. 

1 Thomson, it is fair to note, acknowledges that 
the wisdom of "the Samian Sage" is rather to be 
preached than practised. 

h 



Cvi MEMOIR OF THOMSON. 

The good lady who told Savage that she could 
discover from the writings of Thomson that 
he was " an early riser, a great swimmer, and 
rigorously abstinent " was clearly a soul sent 
prematurely to earth ; she was meant to have 
been born in the nineteenth century, some- 
where near Rydal Mount. It was a widespread 
epidemic which we are here noting. There was 
so much make-believe in the talk of all classes 
and callings, that a man of downright character 
like Johnson was apt to laugh at professions of 
public sentiment of any kind. Johnson said: 
" When a butcher tells you that his heart bleeds 
for his country, he has, in fact, no uneasy 
feeling." These were, according to him, notions 
that helped to amuse the people and keep off 
the tcedium vitce. Perhaps a man who had seen 
the pressing dangers of '45 regarded by a 
menaced public with a mixture of supineness 
and curiosity might be excused for holding 
firmly to the opinion which he gave to Gold- 
smith for his " Traveller " : 

" How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
The part that laws or kings can cause or cure." 

The American colonies, which he prophesied 
would never revolt, must have supplied him with 
uncomfortable evidence that in politics the 
gaseous may become solid ; the French Revo- 
lution, which taught the same lesson, he did 



MEMOIR OF THOMSON. cvii 

not live to see. But his memory might furnish 
him with many facts to strengthen his views 
or prejudices as to the insignificance of senti- 
mental discontents. His remarks on the work 
to which Thomson devoted so much fruitless 
pains do but repeat the cold douche which an 
ungrateful public had already thrown ; he 
traces Thomson's effort to " clamours for liberty, 
of which no man felt the want, and care for 
liberty which was not in danger," and damns 
it with the sentence " an enumeration of 
examples to prove a position which nobody 
denied, as it was from the beginning super- 
fluous, must quickly grow disgusting." These 
remarks at any rate have not lost their race; 
they savour strongly of their native soil and 
atmosphere ; an atmosphere in which Thomson 
himself lived very comfortably. We shall do 
well to admire him, and to give to his poetry 
larger functions and a wider province than 
Johnson would ever have allowed it, without 
however making poet and prophet identical, 
or confusing a great gift with the moral truths 
which it is the privilege of poetry to invest with 
beauty and light. 



The Preface to the Second Edition of " Winter " 
requires the following explanations : 

" The present sulphurous attacker of the stage " is 
William Law, the Non-juror, author of the "Serious 
Call," who, in 1726, wrote a sixpenny pamphlet, 
"The absolute Unlawfulness of the Stage-Enter- 
tainment Fully Demonstrated." To this in the 
same year Dennis replied in a shilling pamphlet, 
"The Stage Defended, from Scripture, Reason, Ex- 
perience, and the Common Sense of Mankind for 
Two Thousand Years. Occasion'd by Mr. Law's late 
Pamphlet," etc. Dennis had written, in 1698, " The 
Usefulness of the Stage . . . Occasioned by a late 
Book written by Jeremy Collier, M.A." To the 
second of these Non-jurors, as to the first, Dennis 
thus, after an interval of twenty-eight years, promptly 
replied. 

Mira, who is associated with Hill and Mallet as a 
panegyrist of " Winter," was Martha Fowkes, or 
Fowke, daughter of a Major Fowke. She is also 
called Mrs. Martha Sansom. She wrote under the 
pseudonym Clio, and a satirical writer in the "British 
Journal" of September 24th, 1726, says that Mallet 
was the first who "new-christened" her to Mira. 
Thomson to Mallet, June 23rd, 1726, not unreasonably 
anxious to be well praised, says, "Notwithstanding 
all your objections, I believe you could with a little 
trouble make Clio's verses very pretty lovely." It 
seems that an attempt was made to enlist Dyer also, 
but, says Thomson (I. c.), " Dyer has very luckily, this 
same day very handsomely excused himself. " Dyer's 
"Grongar Hill" appeared the same year (1726). 
ED. 




PROSE DEDICATIONS, ETC., TO THE 

EARLY EDITIONS OF WINTER, SUMMER, 

AND SPRING. 



ILTHOUGH the subjoined Dedications, and the 
preface to the Second Edition of Winter, did 
not appear in any collected edition of The Sen- 
sons, they possess an interest which fully justi- 
fies their being reprinted here in chronological 

order. 

The Dedication to Winter was prefixed to the First 

Edition, published 1726, and also to the four subsequent 

editions, all of which appeared before the expiration of 1728. 

It is as follows : 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR SPENCER 
COMPTON. 

SIR, 

THE Author of the following Poem begs leave to 
inscribe this his first performance to your name, 
and patronage : unknown himself, and only intro- 
duced by the Muse, he yet ventures to approach 
you, with a modest cheerfulness : for, whoever 
attempts to excel in any generous art, though he 
comes alone, and unregarded by the world, may 



cx DEDICATIONS TO 

hope for your notice, and esteem. Happy, if I can, 
in any degree, merit this good fortune : as every 
ornament and grace of polite learning is yours, 
your single approbation will be my fame. 

I dare not indulge my heart, by dwelling on your 
public character ; on that exalted honour, and in- 
tegrity, which distinguish you, in that august 
assembly, where you preside; that unshaken 
loyalty to your sovereign, that disinterested concern 
for his people, which shine out, united, in all your 
behaviour, and finish the patriot. I am conscious 
of my want of strength and skill for so delicate an 
undertaking : and yet, as the shepherd in his cot- 
tage may feel and acknowledge the influence of 
the sun, with as lively a gratitude as the great man 
in his palace, even I may be allowed to publish 
my sense of those blessings, which, from so many 
powerful virtues, are derived to the nation they 
adorn. 

I conclude with saying, that your fine discern- 
ment and humanity, in your private capacity, are 
so conspicuous, that, if this address is not received 
with some indulgence, it will be a severe conviction, 
that what I have written has not the least share 
of merit. I am, with the profoundest respect, 
Sir, your most devoted, and most 'faithful, humble 
servant, 

JAMES THOMSON. 



T 



THE EARLY EDITIONS. 



HE Second, Third, and Fourth Editions of Winter also 
contained this Preface : 



I AM neither ignorant, nor concerned, how much 
one may suffer in the opinion of several persons of 
great gravity and character, by the study and 
pursuit of Poetry. 

Although there may seem to be some appearance 
of reason fqr the present contempt of it, as managed 
by the most part of our modern writers, yet that any 
man should, seriously, declare against that divine 
art is, really, amazing. It is declaring against the 
most charming power of imagination, the most 
exalting force of thought, the most affecting touch 
of sentiment ; in a word, against the very soul of 
all : J.e^rning,_ajid_politeiifiss. It is affronting the 
universal taste of mankind, and declaring against 
what has charmed the listening world from Moses 
down to Milton. In fine, it is, even, declaring 
against the sublimest passages of the inspired 
writings themselves, and what seems to be the 
peculiar language of Heaven. 

The truth of the case is this : these weak-sighted 
gentlemen cannot bear the strong light of Poetry, 
and the finer, and more amusing, scene of things 
it displays; but must those, therefore, whom heaven 
has blessed with the discerning eye shut it, to keep 
them company. 

It is pleasant enough, however, to observe, fre- 
quently, in these enemies of Poetry, an awkward 
Imitation of it. They, sometimes, have their little 
brightnesses, when the opening glooms will permit. 



exit DEDICATIONS TO 

Nay, I have seen their heaviness, on some occasions, 
deign to turn friskish, and witty, in which they 
make just such another figure as ^Esop's Ass, when 
he began to fawn. To complete the absurdity, 
they would, even, in their efforts against Poetry, 
fain be poetical ; like those gentlemen that reason, 
with a great deal of zeal and severity, against 
reason. 

That there are frequent and notorious abuses 
of Poetry is as true as that the best things are 
most liable to that misfortune ; but is there no end 
of that clamorous argument against the use of 
things from the abuse of them ? and yet, I hope, 
that no man, who has the least sense of shame in 
him, will fall into it after the present, sulphurous, 
attacker of the staare 

O 

To insist no further on this head, let poetry, 
once more, be restored to her ancient truth and 
purity ; let her be inspired from heaven, and, in 
return, her incense ascend thither; let her ex- 
change her low, verml, trifling, ""^Vtf.for such as 
are fair useful, and magnificent: and, let her 
execute tnese so as, at once, to please, instruct, 
surprise, and astonish : and then, of necessity, the 
most inveterate ignorance, and prejudice, shall be 
struck dumb ; and poets, yet, become the delight 
and wonder, of mankind. 

But this happy period is not to be expected, till 
some long-wished, illustrious man, of equal power, 
and beneficence, rise on the wintry world of letters: 
one of a genuine, and unbounded greatness and 
generosity of mind; who, far above all the pomp, 
and pride, of fortune, scorns the little addressful 



THE EART.Y EDITIONS. cxiii 

flatterer ; pierces through the disguised, designing 
villain ; discountenances all the reigning fopperies 
of a tasteless age : and who, stretching his views 
into late futurity, has the true interest of virtue, 
learning, and mankind, entirely at heart a cha- 
racter so nobly desirable that to an honest heart, 
it is, almost, incredible so few should have the 
ambition to deserve it. 

Nothing can have a better influence towards the 
revival of Poetry than the choosing of great, and 
serious, subjects; such as, at once, amuse the 
fancy, enlighten the head, and warm the heart. 
These give a weight, and dignity, to the poem : nor 
is the pleasure, I should say rapture, both the 
writer, and the reader, feels, unwarranted by 
reason, or followed by repentant disgust. To be 
able to write on a dry, barren, theme, is looked 
upon, by some, as the sign of a happy, fruitful, 
Genius fruitful indeed ! like one of the pen- 
dant gardens in Cheapside, watered, every morning, 
by the hand of the alderman, himself. And what 
are we commonly entertained with on these occa- 
sions, save forced, unaffecting, fancies ; little glit- 
tering prettinesses ; mixed terms of wit and 
expression, which are as widely different from 
native Poetry, as buffoonery is from the perfection 
of human thinking? A genius fired with the 
charms of truth, and nature, is tuned to a sublimer 
pitch, and scorns to associate with such subjects. 

I cannot more emphatically recommend this 
poetical ambition than by the four following lines 
from Mr. Hill's Poem, called, the " Judgment Day,'' 
which is so singular an instance of it. 



cxiv DEDICATIONS TO 

" For me, suffice it to have taught my Muse, 

The tuneful Triflings of her tribe to shun ; 

And rais'd her warmth such heavenly themes to chuse, 

As, in past ages, the best garlands won." 

I know no subject more elevating, more amusing ; 
more ready to awake the poetical enthusiasm, the 
philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment, 
than the works of Nature. Where can we meet 
with such variety, such beauty, such magnificence ? 
All that enlarges, and transports, the soul ? What 
more inspiring than a calm, wide, survey of them ? 
in every dress nature is greatly charming ! whether 
she puts on the crimson robes of the morning ! the 
strong effulgence of noon ! the sober suit of the 
evening! or the deep sables of blackness, and 
tempest ! How gay looks the Spring ! how glorious 
the Summer ! how pleasing the Autumn ! and how 
venerable the Winter ! But there is no thinking 
of these things without breaking out into Poetry ; 
which is, by-the-bye, a plain and undeniable 
argument of their superior excellence. 

For this reason the best, both ancient, and mo- 
dern, Poets have been passionately fond of retire- 
ment, and solitude. The wild romantic country 
was their delight. And they seem never to have 
been more happy, than when, lost in unfrequented 
fields, far from the little busy world, they were 
at leisure, to meditate, and sing the Works of 
Nature. 

The book -oOpb, that noble and ancient poem, 
which, even, strikes so forcibly through a mangling 
translation, is crowned with a description of the 
grand works of Nature ; and that, too, from the 
mouth of their Almigthy Author. 



THK EARLY EDITIONS. CXV 

It was this devotion to the works of Nature that, 
in his Georgics, inspired the rural Virgil to write 
so inimitably ; and who can forbear joining with 
him in this declaration of his, which has been the 
rapture of ages. 

" Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musae, 
Quarum sacra fero ingenti perculsus aniore, 
Accipiant ; coelique vias et sidera monstrent, 
Defectus solis varios, lunseque labores : 
Unde tremor terris : qua vi maria alta tumescant 
Obicibus ruptis, rursusque in seipsa vesidant : 
Quid tantum oceano properent se tingere soles 
Hyberni : vel qua? tardis mora noctibus obstet. 
Sin, has ne possim naturae accedere pai'tes, 
Frigidus obstiterit circum praacordia sanguis ; 
Rura mihi et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes 
Flumina amem silvasque inglorius." 

Which may be Englished thus : 

Me may the Muses, my supreme delight ! 

Whose priest I am, smit with immense desire, 

Snatch to their care ; the starry tracts disclose, 

The sui>'s distress, the labours of the moon : 

Whence the earth quakes : and by what force the deeps 

Heave at the rocks, then on themselves reflow : 

Why winter-suns to plunge in ocean speed : 

And what retards the lazy summer-night. 

But, least I should these mystic-truths attain, 

If the cold current freezes round mv heart, 

The country me, the brooky vales may please 

Mid woods, and streams, unknown. 

I cannot put an end to this Preface, without 
taking the freedom to offer my most sincere, and 
grateful, acknowledgments to all those gentlemen 
who have given my first performance so favourable 
a reception. 

It is with the blest pleasure, and a rising am- 
bition, that I reflect on the honour Mr. Hill has 






CXV J DEDICATIONS TO 

done me, in recommending my Poem to the world, 
after a manner so peculiar to himself; than whom, 
none approves, and obliges, with a nobler, and 
more unreserving, promptitude of soul. His favours 
are the very smiles of humanity ; graceful, and 
easy ; flowing from, and to, the heart. This agree- 
able train of thought awakens naturally in my mind 
all the other parts of his great, and amiable, cha- 
racter, which I know not well how to quit, and yet 
dare not here pursue. 

Every reader, who has a heart to be moved, 
must feel the most gentle power of Poetry, in the 
lines, with which Mira has graced my Poem. 

It perhaps, might be reckoned vanity, in me, to 
say how richly I value the approbation of a gentle- 
man of Mr. Malloch's fine and exact taste, so justly 
dear and valuable, to all those that have the happi- 
ness of knowing him ; and who, to say no more of 
him, will abundantly make good to the world, the 
early promise, his admired piece of " William and 
Margaret" has given. 

I only wish my description of the various ap- 
pearance of Nature in Winter, and, as I purpose, 
in the other Seasons, may have the good fortune, 
to give the reader some of that true pleasure, which 
they, in their agreeable succession, are, always, 
sure to inspire into my heart. 



THE EARLY EDITIONS. cxvii 



nTTHE subjoined Dedication was printed in the First and 
_L Second Editions of Summer, which were issued in 1727 
and 1728: 



TO THE RIGHT HON. MR. DODINGTON, 

ONE OF THE LORDS OF HIS MAJESTY'S 
TREASURY, &C. 

SIR, 

IT is not my purpose, in this address, to run into 
the common tract of dedicators, and attempt a 
panegyric which would prove ungrateful to you, too 
arduous for me, and superfluous with regard to 
the world. To you it would prove ungrateful, 
since there is a certain generous delicacy in men 
of the most distinguished merit, disposing them to 
avoid those praises they so powerfully attract. 
And when I consider that a character, in which 
the Virtues, the Graces, and the Muses join their 
influence, as much exceeds the expression of the 
most elegant and judicious pen, as the finished 
beauty does the representation of the pencil, I have 
the best reasons for declining such an arduous 
undertaking. As, indeed, it would be superfluous 
in itself; for what reader need to be told of those 
great abilities in the management of public affairs, 
and those amiable accomplishments in private life, 
which you so eminently possess. The general voice 
is loud in the praise of so many virtues, though 
posterity alone will do them justice. But may you, 
Sir, live long to illustrate your own fame by your 
own actions, and by them be transmitted to future 
times as the British Maecenas ! 



cxviii DEDICATIONS TO 

Your example has recommended Poetry, with 
the greatest grace, to the admiration of those, who 
are engaged in the highest and most active scenes 
of life : and this, though confessedly the least con- 
siderable of those exalted qualities that dignify 
your character, must be particularly pleasing to 
one, whose only hope of being introduced to your 
regard is through the recommendation of an art in 
which you are a master. But I forget what I 
have been declaring above, and must therefore turn 
my eyes to the following sheets. I am not ignorant 
that, when offered to your perusal, they are put 
into the hands of one of the finest, and consequently 
the most indulgent judges of the age : but as there 
is no mediocrity in Poetry, so there should be no 
limits to its ambition. I venture directly on the 
trial of my fame. If what I here present you has 
any merit to gain your approbation, I am not 
afraid of its success ; and if it fails of your notice, 
I give it up to" its just fate. This advantage at 
least I secure to myself, an occasion of thus pub- 
licly declaring that I am with the profoundest 
veneration, Sir, your most devoted, humble servant, 

JAMES THOMSON. 



THE EARLY EDITIONS. cxix 

First Edition of Spring was dedicated as follows: 



TO THE RIGHT HON. THE COUNTESS OF 
HERTFORD. 

MADAM, 

I HAVE always observed that, in addresses of this 
nature, the general taste of the world demands 
ingenious turns of wit, and disguised artful period^ 
instead of an open sincerity of sentiment flowing 
in a plain expression. From what secret impa- 
tience of the justest praise, when bestowed on 
others, this often proceeds, rather than a pretended 
delicacy, is beyond my purpose here to inquire. 
But as nothing is more foreign to the disposition 
of a soul sincerely pleased with the contemplation 
of what is beautiful, and excellent, than wit and 
turn ; I have too much respect for your Ladyship's 
character, either to touch it in that gay, trifling 
manner, or venture on a particular detail of those 
truly amiable qualities of which it is composed. 
A mind exalted, pure, and elegant, a heart over- 
flowing with humanity, and the whole train of 
virtues thence derived, that give a pleasing spirit 
to conversation, an engaging simplicity to the 
manners, and form the life to harmony, are rather 
to be felt, and silently admired, than expressed. 
I have attempted, in the following Poem, to paint 
some of' the most tender beauties, and delicate 
appearances of Nature ; how much in vain, your 
Ladyship's taste will, I am afraid, but too soon 
discover : yet would it still be a much easier task 
to find expression for all that variety of colour, 



cxx DEDICATIONS. 

form, and fragrance, which enrich the season I de- 
scribe, than to speak the many nameless graces, 
and native riches of a mind capable so much at once 
to relish solitude, and adorn society. To whom 
then could these sheets be more properly inscribed 
than to you, Madam, whose influence in the world 
can give them the protection they want, while your 
fine imagination, and intimate acquaintance with 
rural nature, will recommend them with the greatest 
advantage to your favourable notice ? Happy ! if I 
have hit any of those images, and correspondent 
sentiments, your calm evening walks, in the most 
delightful retirement, have oft inspired. I could add 
too, that as this Poem grew up under your en- 
couragement, it has therefore a natural claim to 
your patronage. Should you read it with approba- 
tion, its music shall not droop ; and should it have 
the good fortune to deserve your smiles, its roses 
shall not wither. But, where the subject is so 
tempting, lest I begin my Poem before the Dedi- 
cation is ended, I here break short, and beg leave 
to subscribe myself, with the highest respect, 
Madam, your most obedient, humble servant, 

JAMES THOMSON. 



THE SEASONS. 



THE Aldine Edition of 1860 contained the following 
note : 

" In this reprint of Thomson's Seasons the Edition 
of 1746, the last which was issued during the Author's 
lifetime, has been followed, and such notes as a fair 
elucidation of the text seemed to demand have been 
added." 

The present Editor has brought the text of the 
Seasons nearer to that of 1746. The only divergence, 
he believes, from that text will be found in the more * 
frequent use of capitals where there is obvious per- 
sonification, and in some changes in the punctuation, 
which will be noted in the critical appendix. To 
punctuation, as his MS. shows, Thomson was often 
very indifferent, and hence his obvious meaning is 
sometimes obscure. 

The notes to the Seasons signed " T " are by Thom- 
son himself. By whom the unsigned notes were made 
the Editor does not know ; he has left them, only 
correcting some inaccuracies. 



[This dedication of the " Seasons " and the note on 
the next page belong to the Edition of 1746. ED.] 



TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 

FREDERICK, PRINCE OF WALES, 



CORRECTED AND MADE LESS UNWORTHY OF HIS 

PROTECTION, IS, WITH THE UTMOST 

GRATITUDE AND VENERATION, 

INSCRIBED, 

BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS'S MOST OBEDIENT AND 
MOST DEVOTED SERVANT, 

JAMES THOMSON. 



This Poem having been published several years ago, 
and considerable additions made to it lately, some 
little anachronisms have thence arisen which it is 
hoped the Header will excuse. 



SPRING 



THE AEGUMEKT. 

THE subject proposed. Inscribed to the Countess of Hart 
ford. The Season is described as it affects the various 
parts of nature, ascending from the lower to the higher ; , 
and mixed with digressions arising from the subject. Its 
influence on inanimate matter, on vegetables, on brute 
animals, and last on Man ; concluding with a dissuasive 
from the wild and irregular passion of Love, opposed to 
that of a pure and happy kind. 





SPRING. 



}OME, gentle SPUING, ethereal mild- 
ness, come; 
And from the bosom of yon dropping 

cloud, 

While music wakes around, veiled in a shower 
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 
Hartford,* fitted or to shine in courts 
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain 
With innocence and meditation joined 
In soft assemblage, listen to my song, 
Which thy own season paints when nature all 
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. 10 

And see where surly Winter passes off, 
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : 

* Frances, Countess of Hertford, daughter of the Honour- 
able Henry Thynne. She married Algernon Seymour, Earl 
of Hertford, who succeeded to the Dukedom of Somerset in 
1748. She died in 1754. The first edition of this poera 
contained a prose dedication to her. 



4 THE SEASONS. 

His blasts oby, and quit the howling hill, 
The shattered forest, and the ravaged vale ; 
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, 
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 

As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed, 
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 
Deform the day delightless ; so that scarce 21 
The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulfed, 
To shake the sounding marsh ; or, from the shore, 
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, 
And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 
. . At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, 
And the bright Bull receives him.* Then no more 
The expansive atmosphere is cramped with cold ; 
But, full of life and vivifying soul, 
Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin. 
Fleecy, and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven. 31 

Forth fly the tepid Airs ; and unconfined, 
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 
Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives 
Relenting nature, and his lusty steers 
Drives from their stalls to where the well-used plough 
Lies in the furrow, loosened from the frost. 
There, unrefusing, to the harnessed yoke 
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, 
Cheered by the simple song and soaring lark. 40 
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share 
The Master leans, removes the obstructing clay, 
Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 

* lii the latter end of April. 



SPUING. 5 

White, through the neighbouring fields the sower 

stalks 

With measured step ; and, liberal, throws the grain 
Into the faithful bosom of the ground : 
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 

Be gracious, Heaven ! for now laborious man 
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow ! 
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! 
And temper all, thou world-reviving sun, 5 

Into the perfect year ! Nor ye who live 
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, 
Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear 
Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 
To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height 
Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. 
In ancient times the sacred plough employed 
The kings and awful fathers of mankind ; 
And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes 
Are but the beings of a summer's day, 61 

Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm 
Of mighty war ; then, with victorious hand, 
Disdaining little delicacies, seized 
The plough, and, greatly independent, scorned 
All the vile stores corruption can bestow. 

YeLgenerous Britons, venerate the plough ; 
And o'er your hills and long withdrawing vales 
Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun, . 
Luxuriant and unbounded ! As the sea, TO 

Far through his azure turbulent domain, 
Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores 
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports ; 
So with superior boon may your rich soil, 
Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour 



(J THE SEASONS. 

O'er every land, the naked nations clothe, 
And be the exhaustless granary of a world ! 

Nor only through the lenient air this change, 
Delicious, breathes : the penetrative sun, 
His force deep-darting to the dark retreat so 

Of vegetation, sets tne steaming power 
At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth 

i In various hues;J>ut chiefly thee, gay green ! 

\ Thou smiling Nature's universal robe ! 

| United light and shade ! where the sight dwells 
With growing strength and ever-new delight. 

From the moist meadow to the withered hill, 
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, 
And swells, and deepens, to the cherished eye. 
The hawthorn whitens ; and the juicy groves 90 
Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, 
Till the whole leafy forest stands displayed, 
In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales ; 
Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, 
And the birds sing concealed. At once, arrayed 
I In all the colours of the flushing year 
4-By Nature's swift and secret-working hand, 
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air 
With lavish fragrance ; while the promised fruit 
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived, 100 

Within its crimson folds. Now from the town, 
Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, 
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, 
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling 

drops 

From the bent bush, as through the wrdant maze 
Of sweet-briar hedges I pursue my walk ; 
Or taste the smell of dairy ; or ascend 



SPRING. 7 

Some eminence, Augusta,* in thy plains, 

And see the country, far diffused around, 

One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower 

Of mingled blossoms ; where the raptured eye in 

Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath 

The fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies, 

If, brushed from Russian wilds, a cutting gale 
Rise not, and scatter from his humid wings 
The clammy mildew ; or, dry-blowing, breathe 
Untimely frost before whose baleful blast 
The full-blown Spring through all her foliage shrinks, 
Joyless and dead, a wide-dejected waste. 
For oft, engendered by the hazy north, 120 

'.Myriads on myriads, insect armies waft 
'Keen in the poisoned breeze, and wasteful eat, 
Through buds and bark, into the blackened core, 
Their eager way. A feeble race, yet oft 
The sacred sons of vengeance, on whose course 
Corrosive famine waits, and kills the year. 
, To check this plague, the skilful farmer chaff 
And blazing straw before his orchard burns ; 
1 Till, all involved in smoke, the latent foe 
From every cranny suffocated falls ; iso 

/Or scatters o'er the blooms the pungent dust 
'Of pepper, fatal to the frosty tribe ; 
Or, when the envenomed leaf begins to curl, 
With sprinkled water drowns them in their nest : 
Nor, while they pick them up with busy bill, 
The little trooping birds unwisely scares. 

Be patient, swains ; these cruel-seeming winds 
Blow not in vain. Far hence they keep, repressed, 

* London. 



8 THE SEASONS. 

Those deepening clouds on clouds, surcharged with 

rain, 

That, o'er the vast Atlantic hither borne, uo 

In endless train, would quench the summer blaze, 
And, cheerless, drown the crude unripened year. 

The norlh^east spejids his rage ; and now, shut up 
Within his iron caves, the effusive south 
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven 
Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. 
At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise, 
Scarce staining ether ; but by fast degrees, 
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails 
Along the loaded sky, and, mingling deep, 150 
Sits on the horizon round a settled gloom : 
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed, 
Oppressing life ; but lovely, gentle, kind, 
And full of every hope and every joy ; 
The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze. 
Into a perfect calm ; that not a breath 
Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, 
Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves 
Of aspin tall. The unending -floods, diffused 
In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse iee 
Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all, 
And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks 
Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye 
The falling verdure. Hushed in short suspense, 
The plumy people streak their wings with oil, 
To throw the lucid moisture, trickling, off; 
And wait the approaching sign to strike, at once, 
Into the general choir. Evenjoaountains, vales, 
And forests seem, impatient, to demand 
The promised sweetness. Man superior walks 170 



SPRING. 9 

Amid the glad creation, musing praise, 
\nd looking lively gratitude. At last, 
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields, 
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool 
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, 
In large effusion o'er the freshened world. 
The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, 
By such as wander through the forest-walks, 
Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves. 
But who can hold the shade while Heaven descends 
In universal bounty, shedding herbs, isi 

And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap ? 
Swift fancy fired anticipates their growth; 
And, while the milky nutriment distils, 
Beholds the kindling country colour round. 
, Thus all day long the full-distended clouds 
Indulge their genial stores, and well-showered earth 
'Is deep enriched with vegetable life ; 
Till, in the western sky, the downward sun 
Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush 190 

Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. 
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes 
The illumined mountain, through the forest streams, 
Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist, 
^ar smoking o'er the interminable plain, 
(In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. 
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs 

around. 

.Full swell the woods ; their every music wakes, 
'Mixed in wild concert, with the warbling brooks 
Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills, 200 
The hollow lows responsive from the vales, 
Whence, blending all, the sweetened zephyr springs. 



10 THE SEASONS. 

IpMeantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, 
I] ^Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow 
i] Shoots up immense ; and every hue unfolds 

In fair proportion, running from the red 
| To where the violet fades into the sky. 
| TTftr^ftwfiil Newton, the dissolving clouds 
( Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism ; 
! And to the sage-instructed eye unfold sic 

:' The various twine of light, by thee disclosed 
From the white mingling maze. Not so the swain : 
He, wondering, views the bright enchantment bend, 
Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs 
To catch the falling glory ; but, amazed, 
Beholds the amusive arch before him fly ; 
; Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, 
A softened shade, and saturated earth 
Awaits the morning beam, to give to light, 
Raised through ten thousand, different pl 



The balmy treasures of the former day. 221 

Then spring the lively herbs, profusely wild, 
O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power 
Of botanist to number up their tribes : 
Whether he steals along the lonely dale, 
In silent search ; or through the forest, rank 
With what the dull incurious weeds account, 
Bursts his blind way ; or climbs the mountain-rock, 
Fired by the nodding verdure of its brow. 
With such a liberal hand has nature flung 230 
Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds, 
Innumerous mixed them with the nursing mould, 
The moistening current, and prolific rain. 

But who their virtues can declare ? Who pierce 
With vision pure, into these secret stores 



SPRING. 11 

Of health, and life, and joy ? The food of man, 
While yet he lived in innocence, and told 
A length of golden years, unfleshed in blood, 
A stranger to the savage arts of life, 
Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease 
The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world. 

The first fresh dawn then waked the gladdened 
Of uncorrupted man, nor blushed to see. [race 
The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam : 
For their light slumbers gently fumed away, 
And up they rose as vigorous as the sun, 
Or to the culture of the willing glebe, 
Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. 
Meantime the song went round ; and dance and sport, 
Wisdom and friendly talk, successive stole 250 
Their hours away. While in the rosy vale 
Love breathed his infant sighs, from anguish free, 
And full replete with bliss ; save the sweet pain, 
That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more. 
Nor yet injurious act, nor surly deed, 
Was known among these happy sons of heaven ; 
For_rason and benevolence were few. 
Harmonious Nature too looked smiling on. 
Clear shone the skies, cooled with eternal gales, 
And balmy spirit all. The youthful sun 260 

Shot his best rays, and still the gracious clouds 
Dropped fatness down ; as o'er the swelling mead 
The herds and flocks, commixing, played secure. 
This when, emergent from the gloomy wood, 
The glaring lion saw, his horrid heart 
Was meekened, and he joined his sullen joy. 
For music held the whole in perfect peace : 
Soft sighed the flute ; the tender voice was heard, 



12 THE SEASONS. 

Warbling the varied heart ; the woodlands round 
Applied their quire ; and winds and waters flowed 
In consonance. Such were those prime of days. 271 
But now those white unblemished minutes, whence 
The fabling poets took their golden age, 
Are found no more amid these iron times 
These dregs of life ! Now the distempered mind 
Has lost that concord of harmonious powers, 
Which forms the soul of happiness ; and all 
Is off the poise within : the passions all 
Have burst their bounds ; and reason half extinct, 
Or impotent, or else approving, sees 280 

The foul disorder. Senseless and deformed, 
.Convulsive anger storms at large ; or, pale 
And silent, settles into fell revenge. 
Base envy withers at another's joy, 
And hates that excellence it cannot reach. 
Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, 
Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. 
Even love itself is bitterness of soul 
A pensive anguish pining at the heart ; 
Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no more 290 

That noble wish, that never-cloyed desire, 
Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone 
To bless the dearer object of its flame. 
Hope sickens with extravagance ; and grief, 
Of life impatient, into madness swells ; 
Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. 
These, and a thousand mixed emotions more, 
From ever-changing views of good and ill, 
Formed infinitely various, vex the mind [grows 
With endless storm; whence, deeply rankling, 
The partial thought, a listless unconcern, 301 



SPRING, 13 

Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good ; 

Then dark disgust and hatred, winding wiles, 

Coward deceit, and ruffian violence. 

At last, extinct each social feeling, fell * 

And joyless inhumanity pervades 

And petrifies the heart. Nature disturbed 

t Is deemed, vindictive, to have changed her course.,. 

y Hence, in old dusky time, a deluge came : 
When the deep-cleft djsjwting orb, that arched 310 
The central waters round, impetuous rushed, 
With universal burst, into the gulf, 
And o'er the high-piled hills of fractured earth 
Wide-dashed the waves, in undulation vast ; 
Till, from the centre to the streaming clouds, 
A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. 

The Seasons since have, with severer sway, 
Oppressed a broken world : the Winter keen 
Shook forth his waste of snows ; and Summer shot 
His pestilential heats. Great Spring, before, 32< 
Greened all the year ; and fruits and blossoms 

blushed, 

In social sweetness, on the self-same bough. 
Pure was the temperate air ; an even calm 
Perpetual reigned ; save what the zephyrs bland 
Breathed o'er the blue expanse : for then nor storms 
Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage ; 
Sound slept the waters ; no sulphureous glooms 
Swelled in the sky, and sent the lightning forth ; 
While sickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs, 
Hung not, relaxing, on the springs of life. 
But now, of turbid elements the sport, 
From clear to cloudy tossed, from hot to cold. 
And dry to moist, with inward- 68 ting change 



14 THE SEASONS. 

Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought ; 
Their period finished ere 'tis well begun. 

And yet the wholesome herb, neglected, dies ; 
Though with the pure exhilarating soul 
Of nutriment, and health, and vital powers, 
Beyond the search of art, 'tis copious blest. 
For, with hot ravine fired, ensanguined man 340 
Is now become the lion of the plain, 
And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold 
Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk, 
Nor wore her warming fleece ; nor has the steer, 
At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs, 
E'er ploughed for him. They too are tempered high, 
With hunger stung, and wild necessity ; 
Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. 
But man, whom Nature formed of milder clay, 
With every kind emotion in his heart, 350 

And taught alone to weep while from her lap 
She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs, 

, 

And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain, 
Or beams that gave them birth shall he, fair form ! 
Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven, 
E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, 
And dip his tongue in gore ? The beast of prey, 
Blood-stained deserves to bleed : but you, ye flocks. 
What have ye done ; ye peaceful people, what, 
To merit eath? You, who have given us milk 
In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat 3& 
Against the Winters cold ? And the plain ox, 
That harmless, honest, guileless animal, 
In what has he offended ? He, whose toil, 
Patient and ever ready, clothes the land 
With all the pomp of harvest shall he bleed, 



SPRING. 15 

And struggling groan beneath the cruel hands 
Even of the clowns he feeds ? And that, perhaps, 
To swell the riot of the autumnal feast, 
Won by his labour ? This the feeling heart 370 
Would tenderly suggest : but 'tis enough, 
In this late age, adventurous, to have touched 
Light on the numbers of the Samian Sage.* 
'High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous strain, 
Whose wisest will has fixed ugjn a state 
That must not yet to pure perfection rise : 
Besides, who knows, how, raised to higher life 
From stage to stage, the vital scale ascends ? 

Now, when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 
Swelled with the vernal rains, is ebbed away ; sso 
And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream 
Descends the billowy foam ; now is the time, 
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 
To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, 
The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, 
Snatched from the hoary steed the floating line, 
And all thy slender watery stores, prepare. 
But let not on thy hook the tortured worm, 
Convulsive, twist in agonizing folds ; 
Which, by rapacious hunger swallowed deep, 390 
Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast 
Of the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch, 
Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 

When, with his lively ray, the potent sun 
Has pierced the streams, and roused the finny race, 
Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair ; 
Chief should the western breezes curling play, 

* Pythagoras. 




16 THE SEASONS. 

And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 

High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, 

And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks ; 

The next, pursue their rocky-channelled maze 401 

Down to the river, in whose ample wave 

Their little naiads love to sport at large. 

Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 

Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils 

Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank, 

Reverted, plays in undulating flow ; 

There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly; 

And, as you lead it round in artful curve, 

With eye attentive mark the springing game. 4io 

Straight as above the surface of the flood 

They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap, 

Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook ; 

Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 

And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, 

With various hand proportioned to their force. 

If yet too young, and easily deceived, 

A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, 

Him, piteous of his youth, and the short space 

He has enjoyed the vital light of heaven, 420 

Soft disengage, and back into the stream 

The speckled infant throw. But should you lure 

From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 

Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, 

Behoves you then to ply your finest art. 

Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly, 

And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 

The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 

At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 

Passes a cloud, he, desperate, takes the death, 430 



SPRING. 17 

With sullen plunge. At once he darts along, 
Deep-struck, and runs out all the lengthened line ; 
Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 
The caverned bank, his old secure abode ; 
And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, 
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, 
That feels him still, yet to his furious course 
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 
Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage ; 
Till floating broad upon his breathless side, 440 
And to his fate abandoned, to the shore 
You gaily drag your unresisting prize. 

Thus pass the temperate hours : but when the sun 
Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering 

clouds, 

Even shooting listless languor through the deeps, 
Then seek the bank where flowering elders crowd, 
Where scattered wild the lily of the vale 
Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang 
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk, 
With all the lowly children of the shade ; 450 

Or lie reclined beneath yon spreading ash, 
Hung o'er the steep ; whence, borne on liquid wing, 
The sounding culver* shoots; or where the hawk, 
High in the beetling cliff, his eyry builds. 
There let the classic page thy fancy lead 
Through rural scenes ; such as the Mantuan swain 
Paints in the matchless harmony of song ; 
Or catch thyself the landscape, gliding swift 
Athwart imagination's vivid eye ; 
Or, by the vocal woods and waters lulled, 4t> 

* The Rock Pigeon. Columba Ihia. 
c 



18 THE SEASONS. 

And lost in lonely musing, in a dream, 
Confused, of careless solitude, where mix 
Ten thousand wandering images of things, 
Soothe every gust of passion into peace 

II All but the swellings of the softened heart, 
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind. 

Behold, yon breathing prospect bids the muse 
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can^paint 
/a Like_Nalure? Can imagination boast, 

;. Amid its gay creation, hues like hers ? 470 

Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, 
And lose them in each other, as appears 

i In every bud that blows ? If fancy, then, 
Unequal, fails beneath the pleasing task ; 

I Ah, what shall language do ? Ah, where find words 
Tinged with so many colours ; and whose power, 
To life approaching, may perfume my lays 
With that fine oil, those aromatic gales, 
That inexhaustive flow continual round ? 

Yet, though successless, will the toil delight. 480 
Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts 
Have felt the raptures of refining love ; 
And thou, Amanda,* come, pride of my song ! 
Formed by the graces, loveliness itself ! 
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, 
Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul 

/ Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mixed, 

^ Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart : 
Oh come ! and while the rosy-footed May 
Steals blushing on, together let us tread 490 

The morning dews, and gather in their prime 

* Miss Young, who married Vice-Admiral Campbell. Sec 
Memoir. 



SPRING. 19 

^resh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, 
And thy loved bosom that improves their sweets. 

See, where the winding jale-its lavish stores, > 
Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks 
The latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass, 
Of growth luxuriant ; or the humid bank, 
In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, 
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field 
Of blossomed beans. Arabia cannot boast 500 
A fuller gale of joy than, liberal, thence 
Breathes through the sense, and takes the ravished 
'Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot ; [soul. 

Full of fresh verdure, and unnumbered flowers, 
The negligence of nature, wide and wild ; jj ^ -v-a>--- 
Where, undisguised by mimic art, she spreads , 
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye. 
Here their delicious task the fervent bees, 
In swarming millions, tend. Around, athwart, 
Through the soft air, the busy nations fly, sio 
Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube, 
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul, 
ind oft, with bolder wing, they, soaring, dare 
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows, 
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil. 

At length the finished garden to the view 
Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. 
Snatched through the verdant maze, the hurried eye 
Distracted wanders ; now the bowery walk 
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day 520 
Falls on the lengthened gloom, protracted sweeps 
Now meets the bending sky, the river now 
Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake, 
The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, 




20 THE SEASONS. 

The ethereal mountain, and the distant main. 
But why so far excursive ? when at hand, 
Along these blushing borders, bright with dew, 
And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, 
[Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace : 
Throws out the snow-drop and the crocus first ; 53C 
The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, 
And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes ; 
The yellow wall-flower, stained with iron brown ; 
And lavish stock that scents the garden round. 
From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, 
Anemonies; auriculas, enriched 
With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves ; 
And full ranunculus, of glowing red. 
Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty plays 
Her idle freaks : from family diffused 540 

To family, as flies the father-dust, 
The varied colours run ; /and, while they break 
On the charmed eyaTthe exulting florist marks, 
With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. 
No gradual bloom is wanting ; from the bud, 
First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes : 
Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin- white, 
Low-bent, and blushing inward ; nor jonquils, 
Of potent fragrance ; nor narcissus fair, 
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ; 550 

Nor broad carnations ; nor gay-spotted pinks ; 
Nor, showered from every bush, the damask-rose. 
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, 
With hues on hues expression cannot paint, 
The breath_pf Nature, and her endless bloom. 

Hail, Source of Beings ! Universal Soul 
Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hail ! 



SPRING. 21 

To Thee I bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts, 

Continual, climb ; who, with a master-hand, 

Hast the great whole into perfection touched, seo 

By Thee the various vegetative tribes, 

Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, 

Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew. 

By Thee disposed into congenial soils, 

Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells 

The juicy tide a twining mass of tubes. 

At Thy command the vernal sun awakes 

The torpid sap, detruded to the root 

By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance, 

And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads 570 

All this innumerous-coloured scene of things. 

As rising from the vegetable world 
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, 
My panting muse ; and hark, how loud the woods 
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. 
Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! oh pour 
The mazy-running soul of melody 
Into my varied verse ! while I deduce, 
Ij From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, 
i The symphony of Spring, and touch a theme ssc 
i Unknown to fame the passion of the groves. 
When first the soul of love is sent abroad, 
i Warm through the vital air, and on the heart 
Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin, 
In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing 
And try again the long-forgotten strain, 
At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows 
The soft infusion prevalent and wide, 
Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows 
In music unconfined. Up-springs the lark, 

> . "5" & / 




22 THE SEASONS. 

j( Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of morn : 
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings 
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 
Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse 
Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush 
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads 
Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, 
Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush 
And woodlark, o'er the kind-contending throng 
Superior heard, run through the sweetest length 
Of notes ; when listening Philomela deigns eoi 
To let them joy, and purposes, in thought 
Elate, to make her night excel their day. 
The blackbird whistles from the thorny brake ; 
The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove : 
Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze 
Poured out profusely, silent. Joined to these 
Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade 
Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix 
Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, cio 

And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, 
Aid the full concert : while the stock-dove breathes 
A melancholy murmur through the whole. 

I . 'Tis love creates their melody, and all 

+-, , -^ ~~ w ' 

This waste of music is the voice of love ; 
That even to birds, and beasts, the tender arts 
Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind 
Try" every winning way inventive love 
Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates 
Pour forth their little souls. First, wide around, 
With distant awe, in airy rings they rove, 621 

Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch 
The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance 



SPRING. 2M 

Of their regardless charmer. Should she seem, 
Softening, the least approvance to bestow, 
Their colours burnish, and, by hope inspired, 
They brisk advance ; then, on a sudden struck, 
Retire disordered ; then again approach ; 
|,In fond rotation spread the spotted wing, 
I And shiver every feather with desire. eso 

Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods 
They haste away, all as their fancy leads, 
Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts ; 
That Nature!s_great command may be obeyed ; 
Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive 
Indulged in vain. Some to the holly-hedge 
Nestling repair, and to the thicket some ; 
Some to the rude protection of the thorn 
Commit their feeble offspring. The cleft tree 
Offers its kind concealment to a few, wo 

Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. 
Others, apart, far in the grassy dale, 
Or roughening waste, their humble texture weave. 
But most in woodland solitudes delight, 
In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks, 
Steep, and divided by a babbling brook, 
Whose murmurs soothe them all the live-long day, 
When by kind duty fixed. Among the roots 
Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream, 
They frame the first foundation of their domes ; 650 
Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, 
And bound with clay together. Now 'tis nought 
But restless hurry through the busy air, 
Beat by unnumbered wings. The swallow sweeps 
The slimy pool, to build his hanging house 
Intent. And often, from the careless back 



24 iHE SEASONS. 

Of herds and flocks, a thousand tugging bills 
Pluck hair and wool ; and oft, when unobserved, 
Steal from the barn a straw : till soft and warm, 
Clean and complete, their habitation grows. eeo 

As thus the patient dam assiduous sits ; 
Not to be tempted from her tender task, 
Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, 
Though the whole loosened spring around her blows, 
Her sympathizing lover takes his stand 
High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings 
The tedious time away ; or else supplies 
Her place a moment, while she sudden flits 
To pick the scanty meal. The appointed time 
With pious toil fulfilled, the callow young, 670 
Warmed and expanded into perfect life, 
Their brittle bondage break, and come to light ; 
A helpless family, demanding food 
With constant clamour. Oh, what passions then, 
What melting sentiments of kindly care, 
On the new parents seize ! Away they fly, 
Affectionate, and, undesiring, bear 
The most delicious morsel to their young, 
Which equally distributed, again 
The search begins. Even so a gentle pair, eso 
By fortune sunk, but formed of generous mould, 
And charmed with cares beyond the vulgar breast, 
In some lone cot amid the distant woods, 
Sustained alone by providential Heaven, 
Oft, as they, weeping, eye their infant train, 
Check their own appetites, and give them all. 

Nor toil alone they scorn : exalting love, 
By the great Father of the Spring inspired, 
Gives instant courage to the fearful race, 



SPRING. 25 

And to the simple, art. With stealthy wing, 690 
Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest, 
Amid a neighbouring bush they silent drop, 
And whirring thence, as if alarmed, deceive 
The unfeeling schoolboy. Hence, around the head 
Of wandering swain, the white- winged plover wheels 
Her sounding flight, and then directly on 
In long excursion skims the level lawn, 
To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence, 
O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste 
The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud ! to lead 700 
The hot pursuing spaniel far astray. 

Be not the muse ashamed, here to bemoan 
Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant man 
Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage * 

From liberty confined, and boundless air. 
Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, 
Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost ; 
Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, 
Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. 
Oh then, ye friends of love and love-taught song, 
Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear ! 
If on your bosom innocence can win, 712 

Music engage, or piety persuade. 

But let not chief the nightingale lament 
Her ruined care, too delicately framed 
To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. 
Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, 
The astonished mother finds a vacant nest, 
By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns 
Robbed, to the ground the vain provision falls ; 720 
Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, scarce 
Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade ; 



26 THE SEASONS. 

Where, all abandoned to despair, she sings 

Her sorrows through the night ; and, on the bough 

Sole-sitting, still at every dying fall ' 

Takes up again her lamentable strain 

Of winding woe, till, wide around, the woods 

Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound. 

But now the feathered youth their former bounds, 
Ardent, disdain ; and, weighing oft their wings, 730 
Demand the free possession of the sky. 
This one glad office more, and then dissolves 
Parental love at once, now needless grown : 
Unlavish wisdom never works in vain. 
'Tis on some evening, sunny, grateful, mild, 
When nought but balm is breathing through the 

woods, 

With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribes 
Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad 
On Nature's common, far as they can see 
Or wing, their range and pasture. O'er the boughs 
Dancing about, still at the giddy verge 74 1 

Their resolution fails their pinions still, 
In loose libration stretched, to trust the void 
Trembling refuse till down before them fly 
The parent guides, and chide, exhort, command, 
Or push them off. The surging air receives 
The plumy burden ; and their self-taught wings 
Winnow the waving element. On ground 
Alighted, bolder up again they lead, 
Farther and farther on, the lengthening flight ; 750 
Till, vanished every fear, and every power 
Roused into life and action, light in air 
The acquitted parents see their soaring race, 
And, once rejoicing, never know them more. 



SPRING. 27 

High from the summit of a craggy cliff, 
Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns 
On utmost Kilda's* shore, whose lonely race 
Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds, 
The royal eagle draws his vigorous young, 
Strong-pounced, and ardent with paternal fire. 760 
Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own, 
He drives them from his fort, the towering seat, 
For ages, of his empire ; which, in peace, 
Unstained he holds, while many a league to sea 
He wings his course, and preys in distant isles. 

Should I my steps turn to the rural seat, 
Whose lofty elms and venerable oaks 
Invite the rook, who, high amid the boughs, 
In early Spring, his airy city builds, 769 

And ceaseless caws amusive ; there, well-pleased, 
I might the various polity survey 
Of the mixed household-kind. The careful hen 
Calls all her chirping family around, 
Fed and defended by the fearless cock, 
Whose breast with ardour flames, as on he walks, 
Graceful, and crows defiance. In the pond, 
The finely- checkered duck, before her train, 
Rows garrulous. The stately-sailing swan 
Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale ; 
And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet 780 
Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier-isle, 
Protective of his young. The turkey nigh, 
Loud-threatening, reddens ; while the peacock 
His every-colourcd glory to the sun, [spreads 
And swims in radiant majesty along. 

* The farthest of the Western Islands of Scotland. T, 



J>8 THE SEASONS. 

O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing dove 
Flies thick in amorous chase, and wanton rolls 
The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. 

While thus the gentle tenants of the shade 
Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world 790 
Of brutes, below, rush furious into flame 
And fierce desire. Through all his lusty veins 
The bull, deep-scorched, the raging passion feels. 
Of pasture sick, and negligent of food, 
Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom, 
While o'er his ample sides the rambling sprays 
Luxuriant shoot ; or through the mazy wood 
Dejected wanders, nor the inticing bud 
Crops, though it presses on his careless sense. 
And oft, in jealous maddening fancy wrapt, soo 
He seeks the fight, and, idly-butting, feigns 
His rival gored in every knotty trunk. 
Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins : 
Their eyes flash fury ; to the hollowed earth, 
Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, 
And groaning deep the impetuous battle mix ; 
While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near, 
Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed, 
With this hot impulse seized in every nerve, 
Nor hears the rein, nor heeds the sounding thong ; 
Blows are not felt; but, tossing high his head, sn 
And by the well-known joy to distant plains 
Attracted strong, all wild he bursts away ; 
O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies ; 
And, neighing, on the aerial summit takes 
The exciting gale ; then, steep-descending, cleaves 
The headlong torrents foaming down the hills, 
Even where the madness of the straitened stream 



SWUNG. 2& 

Turns in black eddies round : such is the force 
With which his frantic heart and sinews swell. 820 

Nor undelighted by the boundless spring 
Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep i 
From the deep ooze and gelid cavern roused, 
They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy. 
Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing 
The cruel raptures of the savage kind ; 
How by this flame their native wrath sublimed, 
They roam, amid the fury of their heart, 
The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands, 
And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme 
I sing, enraptured, to the British fair, sai 

Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow, 
Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, 
Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. 
Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, 
Of various cadence ; and his sportive lambs, 
This way and that convolved, in friskful glee, 
Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race 
Invites them forth ; when swift, the signal given, 
They start away, and sweep the massy mound 840 
That runs around the hill ; the rampart once 
Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, 
When disunited Britain ever bled, 
Lost in eternal broil : ere yet she grew 
To this deep-laid indissoluble state, 
Where wealth and commerce lift the golden head ; 
And, o'er our labours, liberty and law, 
Impartial, watch the wonder of a world ! 

What is this mighty breath, ye curious say, 
That, in a powerful language, felt not heard, sso 
Instructs the fowls of heaven ; and through their 
breast 



30 



THE SEASONS. 



These arts of love diffuses? What, but God? 
Inspiring God ! who, boundless spirit all, 
And unremitting energy, pervades, 
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. 
He, ceaseless, works alone, and yet alone 
Seems not to work ; with such perfection framed 
Is this complex, stupendous scheme of things. 
But, though concealed, to every purer eye 
The informing Author in his works appears : seo 
Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes, 
The smiling God is seen ; while water, earth, 
And air attest his bounty; which exalts 
The brute creation to this finer thought, 
And, annual, melts their undesigning hearts 
Profusely thus in tenderness and joy. 

Still let my song a nobler note assume, 
And sing the infusive force of Spring on man; 
When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie 
To raise his being, and serene his soul,. 370 

Can he forbear to join the general smile 

f Nature? Can fierce passions vex his breast 
While every gale is peace, and every grove 
Is melody? hence! from the bounteous walks 
Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth, 
Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe, 
Or only lavish to yourselves : away ! 
Bui_come, ye generous minds, in whose wide 

thought, 

Of all his works, creative bounty burns 
With warmest beam; and on your open front o* 

liberal eye site, from his dark retreat 
Inviting modest Want. Nor^tilHnvoked 
Can restless Goodness wait: your active search 



SPRING. 31 

Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplored ; 

Like silent-working heaven, surprising oft 

The lonely heart with unexpected good. 

For you the roving spirit of the wind 

Blows Spring abroad ; for you the teeming clouds 

Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world ; 

And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you, soo 

Ye flower of human race ! In these green days, 

Reviving sickness lifts her languid head ; 

Life flows afresh ; and young-eyed health exalts 

The whole creation round. Contentment walks 

The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss 

Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings 

To purchase. Pure serenity apace 

Induces thought, and contemplation still. 

By swift jlegrees the Love of nature works. 

And warms the bosom ; till at last, sublimed 900 

To rapture and enthusiastic heat, 

We feel the present Deity, and taste 

The joy of God to see a happy world ! 

These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, 
Thy heart informed by reason's purer ray, 
Lyttelton,* the friend ! thy passions thus 
And meditations vary, as at large, 
Courting the muse, through Hagley Park you stray; 
Thy British Tempe ! there along the dale, 909 
With woods o'erhung, and shagged with mossy rocks, 
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, 
And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, 
Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees, 

* George Lord Lyttelton, son of Sir Thomas Lyttelton of 
Hagley Park, Worcestershire. He was born in 1709, created 
a peer in 1757, and died in 1773 



32 THE SEASONS. 

You silent steal ; or sit beneath the shade 

Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts 

Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, 

And pensive listen to the various voice 

Of rural peace : the herds, the flocks, the birds, 

The hollow- whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, 

That, purling down amid the twisted roots 920 

Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake 

On the soothed ear. From these abstracted oft, 

You wander through the philosophic world ; 

Where in bright train continual wonders rise, 

Or to the curious or the pious eye. 

And oft, conducted by historic truth, 

You tread the long extent of backward time : 

Planning, with warm benevolence of mind 

And honest 2eal unwarped by party rage, 

Britannia's weal ; how from the venal gulf 930 

To raise her virtue, and her arts revive. 

Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts 

The muses charm ; while, with sure taste refined, 

You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song, 

Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. 

Perhaps thy loved Lucinda* shares thy walk, 

With soul to thine attuned. Then Nature all 

Wears to the lover's eye a look of love ; 

And all the tumult of a guilty world, 

Tossed by ungenerous passions, sinks away. 94C 

The tender heart is animated peace ; 

And as it pours its copious treasures forth, 

In varied converse, softening every theme, 

* Miss Lucy Fortescue, daughter of Hugh Fortescue, Esq. 
of Filleigh, Devon. She was married to Mr. Lyttelton in 
1742, and died in 1747. 



SPRING. 33 

You, frequent-pausing, turn, and from her eyes, 
Where meekened sense, and amiable grace, 
And lively sweetness dwell, enraptured drink 
That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, 
Inimitable happiness ! which love 
Alone bestows, and on a favoured few. 
/Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow 
(The bursting prospect spreads immense around ; 9;.i 
And snatched o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, 
And verdant field, and darkening heath between, 
And villages embosomed soft in trees, 
And spiry towns by surging columns marked 
Of household smoke, your eye, excursive, roams ; 
Wide-stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt 
The hospitable genius lingers still, 
To where the broken landscape, by degrees 
Ascending, .roughens into rigid hills; 960 

O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds 
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky, rise. ^ 
Flushed by the spirit of the genial year, 
Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom 
Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round ; 
Her lips blush deeper sweets ; she breathes of youth ; 
The shining moisture swells into her eyes 
In. brighter flow ; her wishing bosom heaves 
With palpitations wild ; kind tumults seize 
Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. 970 
From the keen gaze her lover turns away, 
Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick 
With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair ! 
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts : 
Dare not the infectious sigh ; the pleading look, 
Downcast anl low, in meek submission dressed, 



34 THE SEASONS. 

But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, 
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, 
Gain on your purposed will. Nor in the bower 
Where woodbines flaunt and roses shed a couch, 
While evening draws her crimson curtains round, 
Trust your soft minutes with betraying man. 982 

And let the aspiring youth beware of love, 
Of the smooth glance beware ; for 'tis too late, 
When on his heart the torrent-softness pours. 
Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame 
Dissolves in air away ; while the fond soul, 
Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss, 
Still paints the illusive form, the kindling grace, 
The inticing smile, the modest-seeming eye, 990 
Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying Heaven, 
Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death : 
And still, false- warbling in his cheated ear, 
Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on 
To guileful shores and meads of fatal joy. 

Even present, in the very lap of love 
Inglorious laid while music flows around, 
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours 
Amid the roses, fierce repentance rears 
Her snaky crest : a quick-returning pang 100 > 
Shoots through the conscious heart ; where honour 

still, 

And great design, against the oppressive load 
Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. 

But absent, what fantastic woes, aroused, 
Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, 
Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life ! 
Neglected fortune flies ; and, sliding swift, 
Prone into ruin fall his scorned affairs. 



SPRING. 35 

"Tis nought but gloom around. The darkened sun 
Loses his light. The rosy-bosomed Spring 1010 
To weeping fancy pines ; and yon bright arch, 
Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. 
All nature fades extinct ; and she alone 
Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, 
Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. 
Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends ; 
And sad amid the social band he sits, 
Lonely and unattentive. From the tongue 
The unfinished period falls : while borne away, 
On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies 1020 
To the vain bosom of his distant fair ; 
And leaves the semblance of a lover, fixed 
In melancholy site, with head declined, 
And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts, 
Shook from his tender trance, and, restless, runs 
To glimmering shades and sympathetic glooms, 
Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream, 
Romantic, hangs ; there through the pensive dusk 
Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost, 
Indulging all to love ; or on the bank 1030 

Thrown, .amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze 
With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. 
Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day, 
Nor quits his deep retirement, till the moon 
Peeps through the chambers of the fleefly east, 
Enlightened by degrees, and in her train 
Leads on the gentle hours ; then forth he walks, 
Beneath the trembling languish of her beam, 
With softened soul, and woos the bird of eve 
To mingle woes with his ; or, while the world 1040 
And all the sons of care lie hushed in sleep, 



36 THE SEASONS. 

Associates with the midnight shadows drear ; 

And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours 

His idly-tortured heart into the page 

Meant for the moving messenger of love ; 

Where rapture burns on rapture, every line 

With rising frenzy fired. But if on bed 

Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies. 

All night he tosses, nor the balmy power 

In any posture finds ; till the grey morn loso 

Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch, 

Exanimate by love : and then perhaps 

Exhausted nature sinks a while to rest, 

Still interrupted by distracted dreams, 

That o'er the sick imagination rise, 

And in black colours paint the mimic scene. 

Oft with the enchantress of his soul he talks ; 

Sometimes in crowds distressed ; or, if retired 

To secret-winding flower-enwoven bowers, 

Far from the dull impertinence of man, 1060 

Just as he, credulous, his endless cares 

Begins to lose in blind oblivious love, 

Snatched from her yielded hand, he knows not how, 

J Through forests huge, and long untravelled heaths 
With desolation brown, he wanders waste, 
In night and tempest wrapt ; or shrinks aghast, 
Back from the bending precipice ; or wades 
The turbid stream below, and strives to reach 
The farther shore, where, succourless and sad, 
She with extended arms his aid implores, 1070 
But strives in vain : borne by the outrageous flood 
To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave, 
Or whelmed beneath the boiling eddy sinks. 
These are the charming agonies of love, 



SPRING. 37 

Whose misery delights. But through the heart 

Should jealousy its venom once diffuse, 

'Tis then delightful misery no more, 

But agony unmixed, incessant gall, 

Corroding every thought, and blasting all 

Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then, lose 

Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy, 

Farewell ! ye gleamings of departed peace, 

Shine out your last ! the yellow-tinging plague 

Internal vision taints, and in a night 

Of livid gloom imagination wraps. 

Ah ! then, instead of love-enlivened cheeks, 

Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes 

With flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, 

Suffused and glaring with untender fire 

A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek, 109C 

Where the whole poisoned soul, malignant, sits, 

And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears 

Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views 

Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms 

For which he melts in fondness, eat him up 

With fervent anguish and consuming rage. 

In vain reproaches lend their idle aid, 

Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, 

Giving false peace a moment. Fancy pours, 

Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought ; 1100 

Her first endearments twining round the soul 

With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love. 

Straight the fierce storm involves his mind anew, 

Flames through the nerves, and boils along the veins; 

While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart : 

For even the sad assurance of his fears 

Were peace to what he feels. Thus the warm youth, 



38 THE SEASONS. 

Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, 
Through flowery-tempting paths, or leads a life 
Of fevered rapture, or of cruel care ; 1110 

His brightest aims extinguished all, and all 
His lively moments running down to waste. 

But happy they I the happiest of their kind ! 
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, 
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 
Attuning all their passions into love ; 
Where friendship full-exerts her softest power, 1120 
Perfect esteem enlivened by/ \esire 
Ineffable and sympathy of soul ; 
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, 
With boundless confidence : for nought but love 
Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 
Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent 
To bless himself, from sordid parents buys 
The loathing virgin, in eternal care, 
Well-merited, consume his nights and days ; 
Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love nso 
Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel ; 
Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven 
Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possessed 
Of a mere lifeless, violated form : 
While those whom love cements in holy faith 
And equal transport, free as Nature live, 
Disdaining fear. What is the world to them, 
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all ! 
Who in each other clasp whatever fair 
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish ; 1140 



30 

Something than beauty dearer, should they look 
Or on the mind, or mind-illumined face 
Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love, 
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. 
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, 
And mingles both their graces. By degrees, 
The human blossom blows ; and every day, 
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm 
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls nso 
For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 
Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 
To teach the young idea how to shoot, 
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 
Oh, speak the joy ! ye, whom the sudden tear 
Surprises often, while you look around, 
And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss ; 
All various Nature pressing on the heart neo 
An elegant sufficiency, content, 
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 
Ease and alternate labour, useful life, 
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven ! 
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love ; 
And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, 
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, 
Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 
Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 
Till Evening comes at last, serene and mild ; mo 
When after the long vernal day of life, 
Enamoured more, as more remembrance swells. 



THE SEASONS. 



With many a proof of recollected love, 
Together down they sink, in social sleep ; 
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 




SUMMER. 






TUB ARGUMENT. 



The subject proposed. Invocation. Address to Mr. Dod- 
ington. An introductory reflection on the motion of the 
heavenly bodies ; whence the succession of the Seasons. As 
the face of nature in this season is almost uniform, the pro- 
gress of the poem is a description of a Summer's day. The 
dawn. Sudsing. Hymn to the sun. Forejmpn. Summer 
insectsjleseribed. Hay-making. Sheeg-shearing. Noonday. 
A woodland retreat. TlrourTpf herds and flocks. A solemn 
grove : How it affects a contemplative mind. A cataract, and 
rude scene. View of Summer in the torrid zone. Storm of 
thunder and lightning. A tale. The storm over, a serene 
afternoon. gathin&) Hour of walking. Transition to the 
prospect of a TricnTlPell cultivated country ; which introduces 
a panegyric on Great Britain. Sunset. Evening Night 
Summer meteors. A comet. The whole concluding with the" 
praise of philosophy. 




SUMMER. 




brightening fields of ether fair- 
disclosed, 
Child of the sun, refulgent SUMMER 

comes, 
In pride of youth, and felt through 

nature's depth : 

He comes, attended by the sultry hours , 

And ever-fanning breezes, on his way ; 
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring 
Averts her blushful face ; and earth and skies, 
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. 

Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade, 
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom : 
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink 11 
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak 
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large, 
And sing the glories of the circling year. 

Come, inspiration ! from thy hermit-seat, 
By mortal seldom found : may fancy dare, 
From thy fixed serious eye, and raptured glance 



44 THE SEASONS. 

Shot on surrounding heaven, to steal one look 

Creative of the poet, every power 

Exalting to an ecstacy of soul. 20 

And thou, my youthful muse's early friend, 
In whom the human graces all unite ; 
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart ; 
Genius, and wisdom ; the gay social sense, 
By decency chastised ; goodness and wit, 
In seldom-meeting harmony combined ; 
Unblemished honour, and an active zeal / 
For Britain's glory, liberty, and man : / 
Dodington ! * attend my rural song, 
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line, so 

And teach me to deserve thy just applause. 

With what an awful world-revolving power 
Were first the unwieldy planets launched along 
The illimitable void ! thus to remain, 
Amid the flux of many thousand years, 
That oft has swept the toiling race of men 
And all their laboured monuments away, 
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course ; 
To the kind-tempered change of night and day, 
And of the Seasons ever stealing round, 40 

Minutely faithful : such TH' ALL PEBFECT HAND 
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole. 

When now no more the alternate Twins are fired, 
And Canjiej; reddens with the solar blaze, 
Short is the doubtful empire of the night ; 
And soon, observant of approaching day, 

* The Right Honourable George Dodington, afterwards 
Lord Melcombe. These lines (21 31) were substituted in 
the second and subsequent editions of this poem for a prose 
dedication prefixed to the first edition. 



SUMMKR. 45 

The meek-eyed Morn appears mother of dews, 
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east ; 
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow, 
And, from before the lustre of her face, 50 

White break the clouds away. With quickened step, 
Brown night retires. Young day pours in apace, 
And opens all the lawny^pEQSpect wide. 
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, 
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine ; 
And from the bladed field the fearful hare 
Limps, awkward ; while along the forest glade 
The wild deer trip, and, often turning, gaze 
At early passenger. Music awakes, eo 

The native voice of undissembled joy ; 
And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; 
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn. 
Falsely luxurious ! will not man awake ; 
And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy 
The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, 
To meditation due, and sacred song? 70 

For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ? 
To lie in dead oblivion, losing half 
The fleeting moments of too short a life 
Total extinction of the enlightened soul ! 
Or else, to feverish vanity alive, 
Wildered, and tossing through distempered dreams ! 
Who would in such a gloomy state remain 
Longer than nature craves ; when every muse 
And every blooming pleasure wait without, 



46 THE SEASONS. 

To bless the wildly-devious morning- walk ? so 

But yonder comes the powerful king of day, 
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
Betoken glad. Lo ! now apparent all, 
Aslant the dew-bright earth and coloured air, 
He looks in boundless majesty abroad ; 
And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering 

streams, 

High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer, Light ! 
Of all material beings first, and best ! i 

Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! 
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt 
In unessential gloom ; and thou, sun ! 
Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best seen 
Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee ? 
'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force, 
As with a chain indissoluble bound, 
Thy system rolls entire ; from the far bourne 
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round 100 
Of thirty years, to Mercury, whose disk 
Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, 
Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. 

Informer of the planetary train ! 
Without whose quickening glance their cumbrous 
Were brute unlovely mass, inert and dead, [orbs 
And not, as now, the green abodes of life ; 
How many forms of being wait on thee, 
Inhaling spirit ; from the unfettered mind, 
By thee sublimed, down to the daily race, / / no 
The mixing myriads of thy setting beam, ty 



SUMMER. 47 

The vegetable world is also thine, 
Parent of Seasons ! who the pomp precede 
That waits thy throne, as through thy vast domain, 
Annual, along the bright ecliptic-road, 
In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. 
Meantime the expecting nations, circled gay 
With all the various tribes of foodful earth, 
Implore thy bounty, or send, grateful, up 119 

A common hymn : while, round thy beaming car, 
High-seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance 
Harmonious knit, the rosy-fingered hours, 
The zephyrs floating loose, the timely rains, 
Of bloom ethereal the light-footed dews, 
And, softened into joy, the surly storms. 
These, in successive turn, with lavish hand, 
Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower, 
Herbs, flowers, and fruits ; till, kindling at thy touch, 
From land to land is flushed the vernal year. 

Nor to the surface of enlivened earth, 130 

Graceful with hills and dales, and leafy woods, 
Her liberal tresses, is thy force confined ; 
But, to the bowelled cavern darting deep, 
The mineral kinds confess thy mighty power. 
Effulgent, hence the veiny marble shines ; 
Hence labour draws his tools ; hence burnished war 
Gleams on the day ; the nobler works of peace 
Hence bless mankind ; and generous commerce 
The round of nations in a golden chain. [binds 

The unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee, 
In dark retirement forms the lucid stone. ui 

The lively diamond drinks thy purest rays, 
Collected light, compact ; that, polished bright, 
And all its native lustre let abroad, 



48 THE SEASONS. 

Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one's breast, 

With vain ambition emulate her eyes. 

At thee the ruby lights its deepening glow, 

And with a waving radiance inward flames. 

From thee the sapphire, solid ether takes 

Its hue cerulean ; and, of evening tinct, 150 

The purple-streaming amethyst is thine. 

With thy own smile the yellow topaz burns ; 

Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of Spring, 

When first she gives it to the southern gale, 

Than the green emerald shows. But, all combined, 

Thick through the whitening opal play thy beams ; 

Or, flying several from its surface, form 

A trembling variance of revolving hues, 

As the sight varies in the gazer's hand. 

The very dead creation, from thy touch, ieo 
Assumes a mimic life. By thee refined, 
In brighter mazes, the relucent stream 
I Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt, 
Ij Projecting horror on the blackened flood, 
Softens at thy return. The desert joys, 
Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds. 
Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep, 
Seen from some pointed promontory's top, 
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge, 
Restless, reflects a floating gleam. But this, 170 
And all the much-transported muse can sing, 
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use, 
Unequal far great delegated source 
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below ! 
How shall I then attempt to sing of Him, 
Who, Light Himself! in uncreated light 
Invested deep, dwells awfully retired 



SUMMER. 49 

From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken ; 
Whose single smile has, from the first of time. 
Filled, overflowing, all those lamps of heaven, iso 
That beam for ever through the boundless sky : 
But, should He hide his face, the astonished sun, 
And all the extinguished stars, would, loosening, reel 
Wide from their spheres, and chaos come again. 

And yet was every faltering tongue of man, 
Almighty Father! silent in thy praise, 
Thy works themselves would raise a general voice ; 
Even in the depth of solitary woods, 
By human foot untrod, proclaim thy power ; 
And to the quire celestial Thee resound, lyo 

T he_eternal cause, support, and end of all ! 
. To me be Nature's volume broad-displayed ; 
And to peruse its all-instructing page, 
Or, haply catching inspiration thence, 
Some easy passage, raptured, to translate, 
My sole delight ; as through the falling glooms 
Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn 
On Fancy's eagle-wing excursive soar. 

Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun 
Melts into limpid air the high-raised clouds, 200 
And morning fogs, that hovered round the hills 
In party-coloured bands ; till wide unveiled 
The face of nature shines, from where earth seems, 
Far-stretched around, to meet the bending sphere. 

Half in a blush of clustering roses lost, 
Dew-dropping coolness to the shade retires ; 
There, on the verdant turf, or flowery bed, 
By gelid founts and careless rills to muse ; 
While tyrant heat, dispreading through the sky, 
With rapid sway, his burning influence darts 210 



50 THE SEASONS. 

On man, and beast, and herb, and tepid stream. 

Who can, unpitying, see the flowery race, 
Shed by the morn, their new-flushed bloom resign, 
Before the parching beam ? so fade the fair, 
When fevers revel through their azure veins. 
But one, the lofty follower of the sun, 
Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves, 
Drooping all night ; and, when he warm returns, 
Points her enamoured bosom to his ray. 219 

X Home, from his morning task, the swain retreats ; 
His flock before him stepping to the fold : 
While the full-uddered mother lows around 
The cheerful cottage, then expecting food 
The food of innocence and health ! The daw, 
The rook, and magpie, to the grey-grown oaks 
(That the calm village in their verdant arms, 
Sheltering, embrace) direct their lazy flight ; 
Where on the mingling boughs they sit embowered, 
All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. 
Faint, underneath, the household fowls convene; 230 
And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, 
The house-dog, with the vacant greyhound, lies, 
Out-stretched and sleepy. In his slumbers one 
Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults 
O'er hill and dale ; till, wakened by the wasp, 
They starting snap. Nor shall the muse disdain 
To let the little noisy summer-race 
Live in her lay, and flutter through her song ; 
Not mean though simple : to the sun allied, 
From him they draw their animating fire. 24<j 

Waked by his warmer ray, the reptile young 
Come winged abroad ; by the light air upborne, 
Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink 



SUMMER. .51 

And secret corner, where they slept away 
The wintry storms ; or, rising from their tombs 
To higher life, by myriads, forth at once, 
Swarming they pour ; of all the varied hues 
Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. 
Ten thousand forms, ten thousand different tribes 
People the blaze. To sunny waters some 250 

By fatal instinct fly ; where on the pool 
They, sportive, wheel : or, sailing down the stream, 
Are snatched immediate by the quick-eyed trout, 
Or darting salmon. Through the green-wood glado 
Some love to stray ; there lodged, amused, and fed, 
In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make 
The meads their choice, and visit every flower, 
And every latent herb : for the sweet task, 
To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap, 
In what soft beds, their young, yet undisclosed, 26t 
Employs their tender care. Some to the house, 
The fold, and dairy, hungry, bend their flight ; 
Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese : 
Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream 
'They meet their fate ; or, weltering in the bowl, 
\With powerless wings around them wrapt, expire. 
\ But chief to heedless flies the window proves 
A constant death ; where, gloomily retired, 
The villain spider lives, cunning and fierce, 
Mixture abhorred ! amid a mangled heap 271 

Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits, 
O'erlooking all his waving snares around. 
Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft 
Passes ; as oft the ruffian shows his front. 
The prey at last ensnared, he, dreadful, darts. 
With rapid glide, along the leaning line ; 



52 THE SEASONS. 

And, fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs, 
Strikes backward, grimly pleased: the fluttering 
And shriller sound declare extreme distress, [wing 
And ask the helping hospitable hand. 280 

Resounds the living surface of the ground : 
Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum, 
To him who muses through the woods at noon ; 
Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclined, 
With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade 
Of willows grey, close crowding o'er the brook. 

f Gradual, from these what numerous kinds de- 
Evading even the microscopic eye ! [scene! . 
Full nature swarms with life ; one wondrous mass 
Of animals, or atoms organized, 290 
Waiting the vital breath, when Parent-Heaven 
Shall bid his spirit blow. The hoary fen, 
In putrid streams, emits the living cloud 
Of pestilence. Through subterranean cells, 
Where searching sunbeams scarce can find a way, 
Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf 
Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure, 
Within its winding citadel, the stone 
Holds multitudes. But chief the forest boughs, 
That dance unnumbered to the playful breeze, 300 
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp 
Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed 
Of evanescent insects. Where the pool 
Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible 
Amid the floating verdure, millions stray. 
Each liquid too, whether it pierces, soothes, 
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste, 
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream 
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air, 




SUMMER. 53 

Though one transparent vacancy it seems, sic 
Void of their unseen people. These, concealed 
By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape 
The grosser eye of man : for, if the worlds 
In worlds inclosed should on his senses burst, 
From cates ambrosial, and the nectared bowl, 
He would abhorrent turn ; and in dead night, 
When Silence sleeps o'er all, be stunned with noise. 

iet no presuming impious railer tax 
Creative Wisdom, as if aught was formed/ N1/ , 
In vain, or not for admirable ends. 330 

Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce 
His works unwise, of which the smallest part 
Exceeds the narrow visjon of her mind ? 
As if upon a full proportioned dome, 
On swelling columns heaved, the pride of art, 
A critic fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads 
An inch around, with blind presumption bold, 
Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. 
And lives the man, whose universal eye 329 

Has swept at once the unbounded scheme of things ; 
Marked their dependance so, and firm accord, 
As with unfaltering accent to conclude 
That this availeth nought? Has any seen 
The mighty chain of beings, lessening down 
From Infinite Perfection to the brink 
Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss ! 
From which astonished thought, recoiling, turns? 
Till then, alone let zealous praise ascend, 
And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power, 
Whose wisdom shines as lovely on our minds, 340 
As on our smiling eyes his servant-sun. 

Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways, 



54 THE SEASONS. 

Upward and downward, thwarting and convolved, 
The quivering nations sport ; till, tempest- winged, 
Fierce winter sweeps them from the face of day. 
Even so luxurious men, unheeding, pass 
An idle summer-life in fortune's shine, 
A season's glitter ! Thus they flutter on 
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice ; 
Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes \ 350 
Behind, and strikes them from the book of lif 
^ Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead : 
The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil, 
Healthful and strong ; full as the summer-rose 
Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, 
Half-naked, swelling on the sight, and all 
Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. 
Even stooping age is here ; and infant-hands 
Trail the long rake, or with the fragrant load 
O'ercharged, amid the kind oppression roll. 360 
Wide flies the tedded grain ; all in a row 
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, 
They spread the breathing harvest to the sun 
ifhat throws refreshful round a rural smell ; 
Or, as they rake the greenj-ap_pearing ground, 
And drive the dusky_wave along tha mead, 
The russet hay-cock rises thick behind, 
In order_gay : while, heard from dale to dale, 
Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice 
Of happy labour, love, and social glee. 370 

Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, 
They drive the troubled flocks, byjmany ajlog 
Compelled, to where the mazy-running brook 
Forms a deep pool ; this bank abrupt and high, 
And that fair-spreading in a pebbled shore. 



SUMMER. 55 

Urged to the giddy brink, much is the toil, 
The clamour much of men, and boys, and dogs, 
Ere the soft, fearful people to the flood 
Comjnit_theii^woo]ly_^ides. And oft the swain, 
On some impatient seizing, hurls them in : sso 
Emboldened then, nor hesitating more, 
Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, 
And, panting, labour to the farther shore. 
Repeated this, till deep the well-washed fleece 
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 
The trout is banished by the sordid stream ; 
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow 
Slow move the harmless race; where, as they spread 
Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 
Inly-disturbed, and wondering what this wild 390 
Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints 
The country fill ; and, tossed from rock to rock, 
Incessant bleatings run around the hills. 
At last, of snowy white, the gathered flocks 
Are in the wattled pen innumerous pressed, 
Head above head ; and, ranged in lusty rows, 
The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. 
The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, 
With all her gay-drest maids attending round. 
One, chief, in gracious dignity enthroned, <ioc 

Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays 
Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king ; 
While the glad circle round them yield their souls 
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. 
Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace : 
Some mingling stir the melted tar, and some, 
Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side 
To stamp his master's cipher ready stand ; 



56 THE SEASONS. 

Others the unwilling wether drag along ; 
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy 410 
Holds by the twisted horns the indignant ram. 
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, 
By needy man, that all-depending lord, 
How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies ! 
What softness in its melancholy face, 
What dumb, complaining innocence appears ! 
Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife 
Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you waved ; 
No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, 
Who having now, to pay his annual care, 420 

Borrowed your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, 
Will send you bounding to your hills again. 
A simple scene ! yet hence Britannia sees 
Her solid grandeur rise : hence she commands 
The exalted stores of every brighter clime ; 
The treasures of the sun without his rage : 
Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts, 
Wide glows her land : her dreadful thunder hence 
Rides o'er the waves sublime, and now, even now, 
Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coast ; 430 
Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world. 
I 'Tis raging noon ; and, vertical, the sun 
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. 
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye 
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns ; and all, 
From pole to pole, is undistinguished blaze. 
In vain the sight, dejected to the ground, 
Stoops for rglip.f ; thence hot-ascending steams. 
And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root 
Of vegetation parched, the cleaving fields 440 

And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose, 



SUMMER. 57 

Blast fancy's blooms, and wither even the soul. 

Echo no more returns the cheerful sound 

Of sharpening scythe : the mower, sinking, heaps 

O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed ; 

And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard 

Through the dumb mead. Distressful nature pants. 

The very streams look languid from afar ; 

Or, through the unsheltered glade, impatient, seem 

To hurl into the covert of the grove. 4r,o 

All-conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath ! 
And on my throbbing temples, potent thus, 
Beam not so fierce ! Incessant still you flow, 
And still another fervent flood succeeds, 
Poured on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, 
And restless turn, and look around for night : 
Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. 
Thrice-happy he, who on the sunless side 
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crowned, 
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines ; 460 
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought 
And fresh bedewed with ever-spouting streams, 
Sits coolly calm ; while all the world without, 
Unsatisfied and sick, tosses in noon. 

/fimblem instructive of the virtuous man, 

\Who keeps his tempered mind serene and pure, 

/And every passion aptly harmonized, 

\Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed. 
Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets, hail ! 
Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! 470 L>*. 

Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep ! 
Delicious is your shelter to the soul, *v -. tw 

As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, 
Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling sides 



58 THE SEASONS. 

Laves, as he floats along the herbaged brink, [glides; 
Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort 
The heart beats glad ; the fresh- expanded eye 
" And ear resume their watch ; the sinews knit ; 
And life shoots swift through all the lightened limbs. 

Around the adjoining brook that puds along 480 
The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, 
Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool, 
Now starting to a sudden stream, and now 
Gently diffused into a limpid plain, 
A various group the herds and flocks compose, 
Rural confusion ! On the grassy bank 
Borne ruminating lie ; while others stand 
Half in the flood, and, often bending, sip 
The Circling surface. In the middle droops 
The strong laborious ox, of honest front, 490 

Which, ineomposed, he shakes ; and from his sides 
The troublous insects lashes with his tail, 
Reluming still. Amid his subjects safe, 
Slumbers the monarch-swain ; his careless arm 
Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustained: 
Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands filled ; 
There, listening every noise, his watchful dog. )\ 
'"" Light fly his slumbers, if perchance a flight 
Of angry gad-flies fasten on the herd ; 
That startling scatters from the shallow brook, 500 
In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam, 
They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain 
.Through all the bright severity of noon ; 
While, from their labouring breasts, a hollow moan, 
Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills. 

Oft in this season, too, the horse, provoked, 
While his big sinews full of spirits swell, 



SUMMER. 59 

Trembling with vigour, in the heat of blood, 
Springs the high fence ; and, o'er the field effused, 
Darts on the gloomy flood, with steadfast eye, 510 
And heart estranged to fear : his nervous chest, 
Luxuriant and erect, the seat of strength, 
Bears down the opposing stream ; quenchless his 
He takes the river at redoubled draughts ; [thirst, 
And with wide nostrils, snorting, skims the wave. 
Still let me pierce into the midnight depth 



That, forming high in air a woodland quire, 
Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step, i 



Of yonder grove, of wildest, largest growth ; 

That, formins- hia-h in air a woodland nuire. _^ 

Solemn and slow, the shadows blacker fall, 52o| 
And all is awful listening gloom around. 

These are the haunts of meditation, thest, 
The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath, 
Ecstatic, felt ; and, from this world retired, 
Conversed with angels and immortal forms, 
On gracious errands bent : _tn ^i.vq f.hft fall 
Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ; 
In waking whispers and repeated dreams, 
To hint pure thought, and warn the favoured soul, 
For future trials fated, to prepare ; 530 

To prompt the poet, who, devoted, gives 
His muse to better themes ; to soothe the pangs 
Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast 
(Backward to mingle in detested war, C<- 

But foremost when engaged) to turn the death ; 
And numberless such offices of love, 
Daily and nightly, zealous to perform. 

Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, 
A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk, 
Or stalk majestic on. Deep-roused, I feel MO 



60 THE SEASONS, 

A sacred terror, a severe delight, 
Creep through my mortal frame ; and thus, methinks, 
A voice, than human more, the abstracted ear 
Of fancy strikes. " Be not of us afraid, 
" Poor kindred man ! thy fellow-creatures, we 
" From the same Parent-Power our beings drew; 
" The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. 
" Once some of us, like thee, through stormy life, 
" Toiled, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain 
" This holy calm, this harmony of mind, 550 

" Where purity and peace immingle charms. 
)) 1^4) " Then fear not us; but with responsive song, 
4 " Amid these dim recesses, undisturbed 

" By noisy folly and discordant vice, 
1 1" Of nature sing with us, and nature's God. 
" Here frequent, at the visionary hour, 
" When musing midnight reigns, or silent noon, 
" Angelic harps are in full concert heard, 
\ u " And voices chanting from the wood-crowned hill, 
" The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade ; 560 
" A privilege bestowed by us, alone, 
" On contemplation, or the hallowed ear 
" Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain." 

And art thou, Stanley,* of that sacred band ? 
Alas, for us too soon ! though raised above 
The reach of human pain, above the flight 
Of human joy ; yet, with a mingled ray 
Of sadly pleased remembrance, must thou feel 
A mother's love, a mother's tender woe ; 
Who seeks thee still, in many a former scene ; 570 
Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes, 

* A young lady well known to the author, who died at 
the age of eighteen, in the year 1738. T 



SUMMER. 01 

Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense 
Inspired ; wl^ere jn_oral wisdom mildly shone 
Without the toil of art, and virtue glowed 
In all her smiles, without forbidding pride. 
. But, thou best of parents ! wipe thy tears ; 
Or rather to parental Nature pay 
The tears of grateful joy, who, for a while, 
Lent thee this younger self, this opening bloom 
Of thy enlightened mind and gentle worth. 580 
Believe the muse : the wintry blast of death 
Kills not the buds of virtue ; no, they spread, 
Beneath the heavenly beam of brighter suns, fa^ 
Through endless ages, into higher powers. 
Thus up the mount, in airy vision rapt, 
I stray, regardless whither ; till the sound 
Of a near fall of water every sense [back, 

Wakes from the charm of thought : swift-shrinking 
I check my steps, and view the broken scene. 
riSmooth to the shelving brink a copious flood 590 
Rolls fair and placid ; where, collected all 
In one impetuous torrent, down the steep 
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round. 
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad ; 
Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls, 
And from the loud-resounding rocks below 
Dashed in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft 
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower. 
Nor can the tortured wave here find repose : 
But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks, eoo 

Now flashes o'er the scattered fragments, now 
Aslant the hollow channel rapid darts ; 
And falling fast from gradual slope to slope, 
With wild infracted course and lessened roar, 



62 THE SEASONS. 

It gains a safer bed, and steals, at last, 
Along the mazes of the quiet vale..J 

Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow 
He clings, the steep-ascending eagle soars, 
With upward pinions, through the flood of day ; 
And, giving full his bosom to the blaze, eio 

Gains on the sun ; while all the tuneful race, 
Smit by afflictive noon, disordered droop, 
Deep in the thicket ; or, from bower to bower 
Responsive, force an interrupted strain. 
The stock-dove only through the forest cooes, 
Mournfully hoarse ; oft ceasing from his plaint, 
Short interval of weary woe ! again 
The sad idea of his murdered mate, 
Struck from his side by savage fowler's guile, 
Across his fancy comes ; and then resounds 620 
A louder song of sorrow through the grove. 

Beside the dewy border let me sit, 
All in the freshness of the humid air : 
There on that hollowed rock, grotesque and wild, 
An ample chair moss-lined, and over head 
By flowering umbrage shaded ; where the bee 
Strays diligent, and with the extracted balm 
Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh. 

Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade, 
While nature lies around deep-lulled in noon, 630 
Now come, bold fancy, spread a daring flight, 
And view the wonders of the torrid zone. 
Climes unrelenting ! with whose rage compared, 
Yon blaze is feeble, and yon skies are cool. 

See, how at once the bright effulgent sun, 
Rising direct, swift chases from the sky 
The short-lived twilight ; and with ardent blaze 



SUMMKH. 63 

Looks gaily fierce o'er all the dazzling air : 

He mounts his throne; but, kind, before him sends, 

Issuing from out the portals of the morn, 640 

The general breeze,* to mitigate his fire, 

And breathe refreshment on a fainting world. 

Great are the scenes, with dreadful beauty crowned 

And barbarous wealth, that see, each circling year, 

Returning suns and double seasons f pass: 

Rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines, 

That on the high equator ridgy rise, 

Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays ; 

Majestic woods, of every vigorous green, 

Stage above stage, high waving o'er the hills ; 6oG 

Or to the far horizon wide-diffused, 

A boundless deep immensity of shade. 

Here lofty trees, to ancient song unknown, 

The noble sons of potent heat and floods 

Prone-rushing from the clouds, rear high to heaven 

Their thorny stems, and broad around them throw 

Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime, 

Unnumbered fruits of keen delicious taste 

And vital spirit, drink, amid the cliffs eso 

And burning sands that bank the shrubby vales, 

Redoubled day, yet in their rugged coats 

A friendly juice, to cool its rage, contain. 

Bear me, Pomona ! to thy citron groves ; 
To where the lemon and the piercing lime, 

* Which blows constantly between the tropics from the 
east, or the collateral points, the north-east and south-east; 
caused by the pressure of the rarefied air on that before it, ac- 
cording to the diurnal motion of the sun from east to west. T. 

t In all places between the tropics, the sun, as he passes and 
repasses in his annual motion, is twice a year perpendicular, 
which produces this effect. T. 



64 THE SEASONS. 

With the deep orange, glowing through the green, 
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclined ,t 

Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes, 
Fanned by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit. 
Deep in the night the massy locust sheds, 
Quench my hot limbs ; or lead me through the maze, 
Embowering endless, of the Indian fig ; 671 

Or, thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow, 
Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cooled, 
Broad o'er my head the verdant cedar wave, 
And high palmetos lift their graceful shade. 
Oh, stretched amid these orchards of the sun, 
Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl, 
And from the palm to draw its freshening wine ; 
More bounteous far than all the frantic juice 
Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs 
Low-bending, be the full pomegranate scorned ; osi 
Nor, creeping through the woods, the gelid race 
Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells 
Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp. 
Witness, thou best anana, thou the pride 
Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er 
The poets imaged in the golden age : 
Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat, 
Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove ! 
From these the prospect varies. Plains immense 
Lie stretched below, interminable meads eui 

And vast savannahs, where the wandering eye, 
Unfixed, is in a verdant ocean lost. 
Another Flora there, of bolder hues, 
And richer sweets, beyond our garden's pride, 
Plays o'er the fields, and showers with sudden hand 
Exuberant spring : for oft these valleys shift 



SUMMER. 65 

Their green embroidered robe to fiery brown, 

And swift to green again, as scorching suns 

Or streaming dews and torrent rains prevail. 700 - 

Along these lonely regions, where, retired 

From little scenes of art, great Nature dwells 

In awful solitude, and naught is seen 

But the wild herds that own no master's stall, 

Prodigious rivers roll their fattening seas ; 

On whose luxuriant herbage, half-concealed, 

Like a fallen cedar, far diffused his train, 

Cased in green scales, the crocodile extends. 

The flood disparts : behold ! in plaited mail 

Behemoth* rears his head. Glanced from his side, 

The darted steel in idle shivers flies: 711 

He fearless walks the plain, or seeks the hills ; 

Where, as he crops his varied fare, the herds, 

In widening circle round, forget their food, 

And at the harmless stranger wondering gaze. 

Peaceful, beneath primeval trees that cast 
Their ample shade o'er Niger's yellow stream, 
And where the Ganges rolls his sacred wave ; 
Or, mid the central depth of blackening woods, 
High-raised in solemn theatre around, 720 

Leans the huge elephant ; wisest of brutes ! 
Oh truly wise ; with gentle might endowed, 
Though powerful, not destructive ! Here he sees 
Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth, 
And empires rise and fall ; regardless he 
Of what the never-resting race of men 
Project : thrice happy, could he 'scape their guile, 
Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps ; 
Or with his towery grandeur swell their state, 

* The hippopotamus, or river-horse T. 
F 



66 THE SEASONS. 

The pride of kings ! or else his strength pervert, 
And bid him rage amid the mortal fray, 731 

Astonished at the madness of mankind. 

Wide o'er the winding umbrage of the floods, 
Like vivid blossoms glowing from afar, 
Thick-swarm the brighter birds. For nature's hand, 
That with a sportive vanity has decked 
The plumy nations, there her gayest hues 
Profusely pours.* But, if she bids them shine, 
Arrayed in all the beauteous beams of day, 
Yet, frugal still, she humbles them in song. 740 
Nor envy we the gaudy robes they lent 
Proud Montezuma's realm, whose legions cast 
A boundless radiance waving on the sun, 
While Philomel is ours ; while in our shades, 
Through the soft silence of the listening night, 
The sober-suited songstress trills her lay. 

But come, my muse, the desert-barrier burst 
A wild expanse of lifeless sand and sky ; 
And, swifter than the toiling caravan, 
Shoot o'er the vale of Sennar, ardent climb 750 
The Nubian mountains, aad the secret bounds 
Of jealous Abyssinia boldly pierce. 
Thou art no ruffian, who beneath the mask 
Of social commerce comest to rob their wealth : 
No holy fury thou, blaspheming Heaven, 
With consecrated steel to stab their peace, 
And through the land, yet red from civil wounds, 
To spread the purple tyranny of Rome. 
Thou, like the harmless bee, mayst freely range 

* In all the regions of the torrid zone the birds, though 
more beautiful in their plumage, are observed to be less 
melodious than ours. T. 



SUMMER. 67 

From mead to mead bright with exalted flowers, 760 
From jasmine grove to grove ; may'st wander gay, 
Through palmy shades and aromatic woods 
That grace the plains, invest the peopled hills, 
And up the more than Alpine mountains wave. 
There on the breezy summit, spreading fair, 
For many a league ; or on stupendous rocks, 
That from the sun-redoubling valley lift, 
Cool to the middle air, their lawny tops ; 
Where palaces, and fanes, and villas rise ; 
And gardens smile around, and cultured fields ; 770 
And fountains gush ; and careless herds and flocks 
Securely stray ; a world within itself, 
Disdaining all assault : there let me draw 

'Ethereal soul, there drink reviving gales, 
Profusely breathing from the spicy groves 
And vales of fragrance ; there, at distance, hear 
The roaring floods and cataracts, that sweep 
From disembowelled earth the virgin gold ; 
And o'er the varied landscape, restless, rove, 
Fervent with life of every fairer kind. 780 

A land of wonders ! which the sun still eyes 
With ray direct, as of the lovely realm 
Enamoured, and delighting there to dwell. 

How changed the scene ! In blazing height of noon, 
The sun, oppressed, is plunged in thickest gloom. 
Still horror reigns, a dreary twilight round, 
Of struggling night and day malignant mixed, 
For to the hot equator crowding fast, 
Where, highly rarefied, the yielding air 
Admits their stream, incessant vapours roll, 790 
Amazing clouds on clouds continual heaped ; 
Or whirled tempestuous by the gusty wind, 



(j8 THE SEASONS. 

Or silent borne along, heavy and slow, 

With the big stores of steaming oceans charged. 

Meantime, amid these upper seas, condensed 

Around the cold aerial mountain's brow, 

And by conflicting winds together dashed, 

The thunder holds his black tremendous throne ; 

From cloud to cloud the rending lightnings rage ; 

Till, in the furious elemental war soo 

Dissolved, the whole precipitated mass 

Unbroken floods and solid torrents pours. 

The treasures these, hid from the bounded search 
Of ancient knowledge ; whence, with annual pomp, 
Rich king of floods ! o'erflows the swelling Nile. 
From his two springs, in Gojam's* sunny realm, 
Pure-welling out, he through the lucid lake 
Of fair Dambeaf rolls his infant stream. 
There, by the Naiads nursed, he sports away 
His playful youth, amid the fragrant isles sio 

That with unfading verdure smile around. 
Ambitious, thence the manly river breaks ; 
And gathering many a flood, and copious fed 
With all the mellowed treasures of the sky, 
Winds in progressive majesty along : 
Through splendid kingdoms now devolves his maze; 
Now wanders wild o'er solitary tracts 
Of life-deserted sand ; till, glad to quit 
The joyless desert, down the Nubian rocks 
From thundering steep to steep, he pours his urn, 
And Egypt joys beneath the spreading wave. 821 

* A province in the south-east of Abyssinia, in which the 
Blue river, a branch of the Nile, has three sources. 

t A beautiful fresh water lake, about sixty- five miles long 
and thirty miles broad iii the elevated table-land in Gojara. 



SUMMER. 69 

His brother Niger too, and all the floods 
In which the full-formed maids of Afric lave 
Their jetty limbs ; and all that, from the tract 
Of woody mountains stretched thro' gorgeous Ind, 
Fall on Cormandel's coast, or Malabar ; 
From Menam's * orient stream, that nightly shines 
With insect-lamps, to where Aurora sheds 
On Indus' smiling banks the rosy shower ; 
All, at this bounteous season, ope their urns, 830 
And pour untoiling harvest o'er the land. 

Nor less thy world, Columbus, drinks, refreshed, 
The lavish moisture of the melting year. 
Wide o'er his isles, the branching Oronoque 
Rolls a brown deluge, and the native drives 
To dwell aloft on life-sufficing trees 
At once his dome, his robe, his food, and arms. 
Swelled by a thousand streams, impetuous hurled 
From all the roaring Andes, huge descends 
The mighty Orellana.f Scarce the muse 840 

Dares stretch her wing o'er this enormous mass 
Of rushing water ; scarce she dares attempt 
The sea-like Plata; to whose dread expanse, 
Continuous depth, and wondrous length of course, 
Our floods are rills. With unabated force, 
In silent dignity they sweep along, 
And traverse realms unknown, and blooming wilds, 
And fruitful deserts worlds of solitude, 
Where the sun smiles and seasons teem in vain 
Unseen and unenjoyed. Forsaking these, 850 

* The river that runs through Siatn ; on whose banks a 
vast multitude of those insects, called fire- flies, make a beau- 
tiful appearance in the night. T. 

f The river of the Amuzous. T. 



70 THE SEASONS. 

O'er peopled plains they, fair-diffusive, flow, 
And many a nation feed, and circle safe, 
In their soft bosom, many a happy isle ; 
The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturbed 
By Christian crime and Europe's cruel sons. 
Thus pouring on they proudly seek the deep, 
Whose vanquished tide, recoiling from the shock, 
Yields to this liquid weight of half the globe ; 
And ocean trembles for his green domain. 

But what avails this wondrous waste of wealth, 
This gay profusion of luxurious bliss, sei 

This pomp of nature ? what their balmy meads, 
Their powerful herbs, and Ceres void of pain ? 
By vagrant birds dispersed, and wafting winds, 
What their unplanted fruits? what the cool draughts, 
The ambrosial food, rich gums, and spicy health, 
Their forests yield ? their toiling insects what, 
Their silky pride, and vegetable robes ? 
Ah ! what avail their fatal treasures, hid 
Deep in the bowels of the pitying earth, 870 

Golconda's* gems, and sad Potosi's mines? 
Where dwelt the gentlest children of the sun ! 
What all that Afric's golden rivers roll ; 
Her odorous woods, and shining ivory stores ? 
Ill-fated race ! the softening arts of peace, 
Whate'er the humanizing muses teach ; 
The godlike wisdom of the tempered breast ; 
Progressive truth, the patient force of thought ; 
Investigation calm, whose silent powers 
Command the world ; the light that leads to Heaven ; 
Kind equal rule, the government of laws, ssi 

* A celebrated fort in the province of Hydrabad ; used a. 
a depot for the diamonds and precious stones found in the 
district. 



SUMMER. 71 

And all-protecting freedom, which alone 
Sustains the name and dignity of man : 
These are not theirs. The parent sun himself 
Seems o'er this world of slaves to tyrannize ; 
And, with oppressive ray, the roseate bloom 
Of beauty blasting, gives the gloomy hue, 
And feature gross : or worse, to ruthless deeds, 
Mad jealousy, blind rage, and fell revenge, 
Their fervid spirit fires. Love dwells not there, 
The soft regards, the tenderness of life, S9i 

The heart-shed tear, the ineffable delight 
Of sweet humanity : these court the beam 
Of milder climes ; in selfish fierce desire, 
And the wild fury of voluptuous sense, 
There lost. The very brute creation there 
This rage partakes, and burns with horrid fire. 
Lo ! the green serpent, from his dark abode, 
Which even imagination fears to tread, 
At noon forth-issuing, gathers up his train 900 
In orbs immense, then, darting out anew, 
Seeks the refreshing fount, by which diffused, 
He throws his folds ; and while, with threatening 
And deathful jaws erect, the monster curls [tongue 
His flaming crest, all other thirst appalled, 
Or shivering flies, or checked at distance stands, 
Nor dares approach. But still more direful he, 
The small close-lurking minister of fate, 
Whose high-concocted venom through the veins 
A rapid lightning darts, arresting swift 910 

The vital current. Formed to humblgjm^n, 
This child of vengeful Nature ! There, sublimed 
To fearless lust of blood, the savage race 
Roam, licensed by the shading hour of guilt 



72 THE SEASONS. 

And foul misdeed, when the pure day has shut 
His sacred eye. The tiger, darting fierce, 
Impetuous on the prey his glance has doomed ; 
The lively shining leopard, speckled o'er 
With many a spot, the beauty of the waste ; 
And, scorning all the taming arts of man, 920 
The keen hyena, fellest of the fell : 
These, rushing from the inhospitable woods 
Of Mauritania,* or the tufted isles 
That verdant rise amid the Libyan wild, 
Innumerous glare around their shaggy king, 
Majestic, stalking o'er the printed sand ; 
And, with imperious and repeated roars, 
Demand their fated food. The fearful flocks 
Crowd near the guardian swain ; the nobler herds. 
Where round their lordly bull, in rural ease, 930 
They ruminating lie, with horror hear 
The coming rage. The awakened village starts ; 
And to her fluttering breast the mother strains 
Her thoughtless infant. From the pirate's den, 
Or stern Morocco's tyrant fang, escaped, 
The wretch half wishes for his bonds again : 
While, uproar all, the wilderness resounds, 
From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile. 
Unhappy he ! who from the first of joys, 

I Society, cut off, is left alone 940 

Arnldthis world of death. Day after day, 
Sad on the jutting eminence he sits, 
And views the main that ever toils below ; 
Still fondly forming in the farthest verge, 
Where the round ether mixes with the wave, 

* The name of a Roman province, which consisted of the 
northern Dart of Morocco and western part of Algiers. 



SUMMER. 73 

Ships, dim-discovered, dropping from the clouds. 
At evening, to the setting sun he turns 
A mournful eye, and down his dying heart 
Sinks helpless ; while the wonted roar is up, 
And hiss continual through the tedious night. 950 
Yet here, e'en here, into these black abodes 
Of monsters, unappalled, from stooping Rome, 
And guilty Caesar, Liberty retired, 
Her Cato following through Numidian * wilds ; 
Disdainful of Campania's gentle plains, 
And all the green delights Ausonia pours ; 
When for them she must bend the servile knee, 
And, fawning, take the splendid robber's boon. 

Nor stop the terrors of these regions here. 
Commissioned demons oft, angels of wrath, 960 
Let loose the raging elements. Breathed hot 
From all the boundless furnace of the sky, 
And the wide glittering waste of burning sand, 
A suffocating wind the pilgrim smites 
With instant death. Patient of thirst and toil, 
Son of the desert ! e'en the camel feels, 
Shot through his withered heart, the fiery blast. 
Or from the black-red ether, bursting broad, 
Sallies the sudden whirlwind. Straight the sands, 
Commoved around, in gathering eddies play ; 970 
Nearer and nearer still they darkening come ; 
Till, with the general all-involving storm 
Swept up, the whole continuous wilds arise ; 
And by their noon-day fount dejected thrown, 
Or sunk at night in sad disastrous sleep, 
Beneath descending hills, the caravan 

* Thfi anoient name of that part of Africa in which Algiers 
is now situated. 



74 THE SEASONS. 

Is buried deep. In Cairo's crowded streets 

The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain, 

And Mecca saddens at the long delay. 

But chief at sea, whose every flexile wave 980 
Obeys the blast, the aerial tumult swells. 
In the dread ocean, undulating wide, 
Beneath the radiant line that girts the globe, 
The circling Typhon,* whirled from point to point, 
Exhausting all the rage of all the sky, 
And dire Ecnephia* reign. Amid the heavens, 
Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy speck f 
Compressed, the mighty tempest brooding dwells. 
Of no regard, save to the skilful eye, 
Fiery and foul, the small prognostic hangs 990 
Aloft, or on the promontory's brow 
Musters its force. A faint deceitful calm, 
A fluttering gale, the demon sends before, 
To tempt the spreading sail. Then down at once, 
Precipitant, descends a mingled mass 
Of roaring winds, and flame, and rushing floods. 
In wild amazement fixed the sailor stands. 
Art is too slow. By rapid fate oppressed, 
His broad-winged vessel drinks the whelming tide, 
Hid in the bosom of the black abyss. 1000 

With such mad seas the daring GamaJ fought, 
For many a day and many a dreadful night, 
Incessant, labouring round the stormy Cape ; 
By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst 

* Typhon and Ecnephia, terms for particular storms or 
hurricanes known only between the tropics. T. 

t Called by sailors the Ox-eye, being in appearance at first 
no bigger. T. 

J Vasco de Gama, the first who sailed round Africa, by tha 
Cape of Good Hope, to the East Indies. I.. 



SUMMER. 75 

Of gold. For then from ancient gloom emerged 
The rising world of trade : the genius, then, 
Of navigation, that, in hopeless sloth, 
Had slumbered on the vast Atlantic deep 
For idle ages, starting, heard at last 
The Lnsitanian Prince;* who, Heaven-inspired, 
To love of useful glory roused mankind, 1011 

And in unbounded commerce mixed the world. 

-* Increasing still the terrors of these storms, 
His jaws horrific armed with threefold fate, 
Here dwells the direful shark. Lured by the scent 
Of steaming crowds, of rank disease, and death, 
Behold ! he, rushing, cuts the briny flood, 
Swift as the gale can bear the ship along ; 
And, from the partners of that cruel trade, <yu*s*~ 
Which spoils unhappy Guinea of her sons, mao 
Demands his share of prey demands themselves. 
The stormy fates descend : one death involves 
Tyrants and slaves ; when straight, their mangled 
Crashing at once, he dyes the purple seas [limbs 
With gore, and riots in the vengeful meal. 

""' When o'er this world, by equinoctial rains 
Flooded immense, looks out the joyless sun, 
And draws the copious steam from swampy fens, 
Where putrefaction into life ferments, 
And breathes destructive myriads; or from woods, 
Impenetrable shades, recesses foul, io.;i 

In vapours rank and blue corruption wrapt, 
Whose gloomy horrors yet no desperate foot 

* Don Henry, third son to John the First, King of Portu- 
gal. His strong genius to the discovery of new countries 
was the chief source of all the modern improvements in navi- 
gation. T. 



76 THE SEASONS. 

Has ever dared to pierce ; then, wasteful, forth 
Walks the dire power of pestilent disease. 
A thousand hideous fiends her course attend, 
Sick nature blasting, and to heartless woe 
"And feeble desolation, casting down 
The towering hopes and all the pride of man. 
Such as, of late, at Carthagena* quenched 1040 
The British fire. You, gallant Vernon, saw 
The miserable scene ; you, pitying, saw 
To infant-weakness sunk the warrior's arm ; 
Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form, 
The lip pale-quivering, and the beamless eye 
No more with ardour bright ; you heard the groans 
Of agonizing ships, from shore to shore ; 
Heard, nightly plunged amid the sullen waves. 
The frequent corse ; while on each other fixed, 
In sad presage, the blank assistants seemed, 1050 
Silent, to ask, whom fate would next demand. 
What need I mention those inclement skies, 
Where, frequent o'er the sickening city, plague, 
[I The fiercest child of Nemesis-divine, 
Descends ? from Ethiopia's poisoned woods, 
From stifled Cairo's filth, and fetid fields 
With locust-armies putrefying heaped, 
This great destroyer sprung.f Her awful rage 
The brutes escape. Man is her destined prey, 
Intemperate man ! and o'er his guilty domes ioeo 
She draws a close incumbent cloud of death ; 

* When the British fleet, under Admiral Vernon, attacked 
Carthagena, in 1740, the malaria from the land reached the 
ships and made terrible ravages amongst the sailors. 

t These are the causes supposed to be the first origin of 
the plague in Dr. Mead's elegant book on that subject. T. 



SUMMER. 77 

Uninterrupted by the living winds, 

Forbid to blow a wholesome breeze ; and stained 

With many a mixture by the sun, suffused, 

Of angry aspect. Princely wisdom, then, 

Dejects his watchful eye ; and from the hand 

Of feeble justice, ineffectual, drop 

The sword and balance : mute the voice of joy, 

And hushed the clamour of the busy world. 

Empty the streets, with uncouth verdure clad : 1070 

Into the worst of deserts sudden turned 

The cheerful haunt of men : unless, escaped 

From the doomed house where matchless horror 

reigns, 

Shut up by barbarous fear, the smitten wretch, 
With frenzy wild, breaks loose, and, loud to Heaven 
Screaming, the dreadful policy arraigns, 
Inhuman and unwise. The sullen door, 
Yet uninfected, on its cautious hinge 
Fearing to turn, abhors society. 
Dependants, friends, relations, Love himself, lost 
Savaged by woe, forget the tender tie, 
The sweet engagement of the feeling heart. 
But vain their selfish care : the circling sky, 
The wide enlivening air, is full of fate ; 
And, struck by turns, in solitary pangs 
They fall, unblest, untended, and unmourned. 
Thus o'er the prostrate city black despair 
Extends her raven wing ; while, to complete 
The scene of desolation, stretched around, 
The grim guards stand, denying all retreat, 1090 
And give the flying wretch a better death. 

Much yet remains unsung : the rage intense 
Of brazen-vanlted skies, of iron fields, 




78 THE SEASONS. 

Where drought and famine starve the blasted year; 
Fired by the torch of noon to tenfold rage, 
The infuriate hill that shoots the pillared flame ; 
And, roused within the subterranean world, 
The expanding earthquake, that resistless shakes 
Aspiring cities from their solid base, 
And buries mountains in the flaming gulf. 1100 
But 'tis enough ; return, my vagrant muse ; v^ 

A ne arer scene of horror calls thee home. / frr 

Behold, slow-settling o'er the lurid grove 
Unusual darkness broods ; and growing gains 
The full possession of the sky, surcharged 
^ With wrathful vapour, from the secret beds, 
Where sleep the mineral generations, drawn. 
Thence nitre, sulphur, and the fiery spume 
Of fat bitumen, steaming on the day, 
With various-tinctured trains of latent flame, mo 
Pollute the sky, and in yon baleful cloud, 
A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate^_ 
Ferment ; till, by the touch ethereaTroused, 
The dash of clouds, or irritating war 
Of fighting winds, while aU is calm below, 
They, furious, spring. A boding silence reigns, 
Dread through the dun expanse; save the dull sound 
That from the mountain, previous to the storm, 
Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood, 
And shakes the forest-leaf without a breath. 1120 
Prone, to the lowest vale, the aerial tribes 
Descend : the tempest-loving raven scarce 
Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze 
The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens 
Cast a deploring eye; by man forsook, 
Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast, 



SUMMER. 79 

9r seeks the shelter of the downward cave. 

"Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all : 
When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; nso 
And, following slower, in explosion vast, 
The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, 
The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes, 
And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 
fThe lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
The noise astounds ; till over head a sheet 
Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts 
And opens wider; shuts and opens still 
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze. 1140 

Follows the loosened aggravated roar, 
Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal 
Crushed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 

Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail, 
Or prone-descending rain. Wide-rent, the clouds 
Pour a whole flood ; and yet, its flame unquenched, 
The unconquerable lightning struggles through, 
' Ragged and fierce, or in red whirling balls, 
And fires the mountains with redoubled rage. 11-19 
Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine 
Stands a sad shattered trunk; and, stretched below, 
A lifeless group the blasted cattle lie : 
Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look 
They wore alive, and ruminating still 
In fancy's eye ; and there the frowning bull, 
And ox half- raised. Struck on the castled cliff, 
The venerable tower and spiry fane 
Resign their aged pride. The gloomy woods 
Start at the flash, and, from their deep recess, 



THE SEASONS. 

Wide-flaming out, their trembling inmates shake. 
Amid Carnarvon's mountains rages loud nei 

The repercussive roar : with mighty crush, 
Into the flashing deep, from the rude rocks 
Of Penmanmaur heaped hideous to the sky, 
Tumble the smitten cliffs ; and Snowden's peak, 
Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load. 
Far seen, the heights of heathy Cheviot blaze, 
And Thule* bellows through her utmost isles. 

Guilt hears appalled, with deeply troubled 

thought ; 

And yet not always on the guilty head 117. 

Descends the fated flash. Young Celadon 
And his Amelia were a matchless pair, 
With equal virtue formed, and equal grace, 
The same, distinguished by their sex alone : 
Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn, 
And his the radiance of the risen day. 

They loved : but such their guileless passion was, 
As in the dawn of time informed the heart 
Of innocence and undissembling truth. 
'Twas friendship heightened by the mutual wish ; 
The enchanting hope and sympathetic glow usi 
Beamed from the mutual eye. Devoting all 
To love, each was to each a dearer self; 
Supremely happy in the awakened power 
Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades, - 
Still in harmonious intercourse they lived 
The rural day, and talked the flowing heart, 
Or sighed, and looked unutterable things. 

* An Island supposed to be situated in the northern part 
of the German Ocean ; regarded by the ancients as the most 
northernly land in the world 



SUMMER. 81 

So passed their life, a clear united stream, 
By care unruffled; till, in evil hour, 1190 

The tempest caught them on the tender walk, 
Heedless how far and where its mazes strayed, 
While, with each other blest, creative love 
Still bade eternal Eden smile around. 
Heavy with instant fate, her bosom heaved 
Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look 
Of the big gloom, on Celadon her eye 
Fell tearful, wetting her disordered cheek. 
In vain assuring love, and confidence 1199 

In Heaven, repressed her fear ; it grew, and shook 
Her frajjne near dissolution. He perceived 
The unequal conflict, and, as angels look 
On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed, 
With love illumined high, " Fear not," he said, 
" Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence 
" And inward storm ! He who yon skies involves 
" In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee 
" With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft 
" That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour _ 
" Of noon, flies harmless; and that very voice 1210 
" Which thunders terror through the guilty heart, 
" With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. 
" 'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus 
" To clasp perfection ! " From his void embrace", 
Mysterious Heaven ! that moment, to the ground, 
A blackened corse, was struck the beauteous maid. 
But who can paint the lover, as he stood, 
Pierced by severe amazement, hating life, 

Speechless, and fixed in all the death of woe ! 
So, faint resemblance ! on the marble tomb, 1220 

I The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, 

G 



82 THE SEASONS. 

For ever silent and for ever sad. 

As from the face of heaven the shattered clouds 
Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky 
Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands 
A purer azure. Nature, from the storm, A 

Shines out afresh ; and through the lightened air 
A higher lustre and a clearer calm, 
Diffusive, tremble ; while, as if in sign 
Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, 12.30 

Set off abundant by the yellow ray, 
Invests the fields, yet dropping from distress. 

'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around, 
Joined to the low of kine, and numerous bleat 
Of flocks thick nibbling through the clovered vale. 
And shall the hymn be marred by thankless man, 
Most-favoured ; who with voice articulate 
Should lead the chorus of this lower world ? 
Shall he, so soon forgetful of the hand 1239 

That hushed the thunder, and serenes the sky, 
Extinguished feel that spark the tempest waked, 
That sense of powers exceeding far his own, 
Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears ? * 

Cheered by the milder beam, the sprightly youth 
Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth 
A sandy bottom shows. Awhile he stands 
Gazing the inverted landscape, half afraid 
To meditate the blue profound below ; 
Then plunges headlong down the circling flood. 
His ebon tresses and his rosy cheek 1250 

Instant emerge ; and through the obedient wave, 
At each short breathing by his lip repelled, 
With arms and legs according well, he makes, 
As humour leads, an easy- winding path ; 



SUMMER. 83 

While, from his polished sides, a dewy light 
Effuses on the pleased spectators round. 
This is the purest exercise of health, 
The kind refresher of the summer-heats ; 
Nor, when cold Winter keens the brightening flood, 
Would I, weak-shivering, linger on the brink. 1260 
Thus life redoubles ; and is oft preserved, 
By the bold swimmer, in the swift illapse 
Of accident disastrous. Hence the limbs 
Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm 
That rose victorious o'er the conquered earth, 
First learned, while tender, to subdue the wave. 
Even from the body's purity, the mind 
Receives a secret sympathetic aid. 

Close in the covert of an hazel copse, 
Where, winded into pleasing solitudes, mo 

Runs out the rambling dale, young Damon sat, 
Pensive, and pierced with love's delightful pangs. 
There to the stream that down the distant rocks 
Hoarse-murmuring fell, and plaintive breeze that 
Among the bending willows, falsely he [played 
Of Musidora's cruelty complained. 
She felt his flame ; but deep within her breast 
In bashful coyness, or in maiden pride, 
The soft return concealed save when it stole 
In sidelong glances from her downcast eye, 1280 
Or from her swelling soul in stifled sighs. 
Touched by the scene, no stranger to his vows. 
He framed a melting lay, to try her heart ; 
And, if an infant passion struggled there, 
To call that passion forth. Thrice-happy swam I 
A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate 
Of miffhty monarchs, then decided thine. 



84 THE SEASONS. 

For, lo ! conducted by the laughing loves, 
This cool retreat his Musidora sought : 
Warm in her cheek the sultry season glowed ; 1290 
And, robed in loose array, she came to bathe 
Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream. 
What shall he do ? In sweet confusion lost, 
And dubious flutterings, he a while remained. 
A pure ingenuous elegance of soul, 
/ A delicate refinement, known to few, 

PerplexeH hiiTbfeist and urged him to retire : 
I But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, say, 
Say, ye severest, what would you have done ? 
Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever blest isoo 
Arcadian stream, with timid eye around 
The banks surveying, stripped her beauteous limbs, 
To taste the lucid coolness of the flood. 
Ah ! then, not Paris on the piny top 
Of Ida panted stronger, when aside 
The rival-goddesses the veil divine 
Cast unconfined, and gave him all their charms, 
I Than, Damon, thou ; as from the snowy leg 
I And slender foot the inverted silk she drew ; 
. As the soft touch dissolved the virgin zone ; mo 
' And, through the parting robe, the alternate breast, 
With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze 
In full luxuriance rose. But, desperate youth, 
How durst thou risk the soul-distracting view ; 
As from her naked limbs of glowing white, 
Harmonious swelled by nature's finest hand, 
In folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn, 
And fair exposed she stood, shrunk from herself, 
With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze 
Alarmed, and starting like the fearful fawn ? 1320 



SUMMER. 85 

Then to the flood she rushed : the parted flood 

Its lovely guest with closing waves received ; 

And every beauty softening, every grace 

Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed : 

\s shines the lily through the crystal mild ; 

Or as the rose amid the morning dew, 

Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows'. 

While thus she wantoned, now beneath the wave 

But ill-concealed ; and now with streaming locks, 

That half-embraced her in a humid veil, mo 

Rising again, the latent Damon drew 

Such maddening draughts of beauty to the soul, 

As for a while o'erwhelmed his raptured thought 

With luxury too daring. Checked, at last, 

By love's respectful modesty, he deemed 

The theft profane, if aught profane to love 

Can e'er be deemed, and, struggling from the shade, 

With headlong hurry fled : but first these lines, 

Traced by his ready pencil, on the bank 1339 

With trembling hand he threw. " Bathe on, my 

" Yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye [fair, 

" Of faithful love : I go to guard thy haunt ; 

" To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot 

" And each licentious eye." With wild surprise, 

As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, 

A stupid moment motionless she stood : 

So stands the statue * that enchants the world ; 

So, bending, tries to veil the matchless boast, 

The mingled beauties of exulting Greece. 

Recovering, swift she flew to find those robes isso 

Which blissful Eden knew not ; and, arrayed 

* The Venus of Medici. T. 



86 THE SEASONS. 

In careless haste, the alarming paper snatched. 

But, when her Damon's well known hand she saw, 

Her terrors vanished, and a softer train 

Of mixed emotions, hard to be described, 

Her sudden bosom seized : shame void of guilt, 

The charming blush of innocence, esteem 

And admiration of her lover's flame, 

By modesty exalted. Even a sense 

Of self- approving beauty stole across iseo 

Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm 

Hushed by degrees the tumult of her soul ; 

And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream 

Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen 

Of rural lovers this confession carved, 

Which soon her Damon kissed with weeping joy : 

" Dear youth ! sole j udge of what these verses mean, 

" By fortune too much favoured, but by love, 

" Alas ! not favoured less, be still as now isoa 

" Discreet ; the time may come you need not fly." 

The Sun has lost his rage : his downward orb 
Shoots nothing now but animating warmth 
And vital lustre ; that, with various ray, 
Lights up the clouds those beauteous robes of 
Incessant rolled into romantic shapes ; [heaven, 
The dream of waking fancy ! Broad below, 
Covered with ripening fruits, and swelling fast 
Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth 
And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft hour 
Of walking comes ; for him who lonely loves i860 
To seek the distant hills, and there converse 
^_Wjth_naturej__there to harmonize his heart, 
And in pathetic song to breathe around 
The harmony to others. Social friends, 



SUMMER. 87 

Attuned to happy unison of soul ; 
To whose exalting eye a fairer world, 
Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse, 
Displays its charms : whose minds are richly 

fraught 

With philosophic stores, superior light ; 
And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns 1390 

Virtue the sons of interest deem romance, 
Now called abroad enjoy the falling day : 
Now to the verdant Portico of woods, 
To nature^ vast Lyceum forth they walk ; 
By that kind school where no proud master reigns, 
The full free converse of the friendly heart, 
Improving and improved. Now from the world, 
Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal, 
And pour their souls in transport, which the Sire 
Of Love approving hears, and calls it good. 1400 
Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course ? 
The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we choose? 
All is the same with thee. Say, shall we wind 
Along the streams ? or walk the smiling mead ? 
Or court the forest glades ? or wander wild 
Among the waving harvests ? or ascend, 
While radiant Summer opens all its pride, 
Thy hill, delightful Shene ? * Here let us sweep 
The boundless landscape ; now the raptured eye, 
Exulting swift, to huge Augusta t send, uio 

Now to the Sister-Hills J that skirt her plain, 
To lofty Harrow now, and now to where 

* The old name of Richmond, signifying, in Saxon, Shining 
or Splendid. T. 

.f London. See note on " Spring," line 108. 
j Highgate and Hamstead. T. 



88 THE SEASONS. 

Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow. 

In lovely contrast to this glorious view, 

Calmly magnificent, then will we turn 

The where the silver Thames first rural grows. 

There let the feasted eye unwearied stray ; 

Luxurious, there, rove through the pendant woods 

That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat ; 

And, stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks, 

Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retired, 1421 

With her, the pleasing partner of his heart, v 

The worthy Queensberry* yet laments his Gay, 

And polished Cornburyf wooes the willing muse, 

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames ; 

Fair-winding up to where the muses haunt 

In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore 

The healing GodJ to royal Hampton's pile, 

To Clermont's terrassed height, and. Esher's groves, 

Where in the sweetest solitude, embraced uso 

By the soft windings of the silent mole, 

From courts and senates Pelham finds repose. 

Inchanting vale ! beyond whate'er the muse 

Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung ! 

vale of bliss ! softly swelling hills ! 

On which the power of cultivation lies, 

And joys to see the wonders of his toil. ^ 

Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, 
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, 

* The Duke of Queensberry, in whose house Gay, the 
Author of the Fables, spent the latter part of his life. 

f Henry Lord Hyde and Cornbury, eldest son of the Earl 
of Clarendon. 

f In his last sickness. [Murdoch.] 

The Right Honourable Henry Pelham, who held various 
offices of state from 1721 uutil his death. 



SUMMER. 89 

And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all 
The stretching landscape into smoke decays ! HU 
Happy Britannia ! where the queen of arts, 
Inspiring vigor, Liberty, abroad 
Walks, uneonfined, even to thy farthest cots, 
And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. 

Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime ; 
Thy streams unfailing in the Summer's drought ; 
Unmatched thy guardian-oaks ; thy valleys float 
With golden waves ; and on thy mountains flocks 
Bleat numberless ; while, roving round their sides, 
Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. 1451 
Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquelled 
Against the mower's scythe. On every hand 
Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth ; 
And Property assures it to the swain, 
Pleased and unwearied in his guarded toil. 

Full are thy cities with the sons of art ; 
And trade and joy, in every busy street, 
Mingling are heard : even Drudgery himself, 
As at the car he sweats, or, dusty, hews ueo 

The palace stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, 
Where rising masts an endless prospect yield, 
With labour burn, and echo to the shouts 
Of hurried sailor, as he, hearty, waves 
His last adieu, and, loosening every sheet, 
Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind. 

Bold, firm, and graceful, are thy generous youth, 
By hardship sinewed, and by danger fired, 
Scattering the nations where they go ; and first, 
Or in the listed plain, or stormy seas. HIO 

Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans 
Of thriving peace thy thoughtful sires preside ; 



90 THE SEASONS. 

In genius and substantial learning, high ; 
For every virtue, every worth, renowned ; 
Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind ; 
Yet, like the mustering thunder when provoked, 
The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource 
Of those that under grim oppression groan. 

Thy sons of glory many ! Alfred thine, 
In whom the splendour of heroic war, uso 

And more heroic peace, when governed well, 
Combine ; whose hallowed name the virtues saint, 
And his own muses love the best of kings ! 
With him thy Edwards and thy Henrys shine, 
Names dear to fame ; the first who deep impressed 
On haughty Gaul the terror of thy arms, 
That awes her genius still. In statesmen thou, 
And patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More,* 
Who, with a generous though mistaken zeal, 
Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage, U9C 

Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, 
Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor 
A dauntless soul erect, who smiled on death. 
Frugal arid wise, a Walsinghamf is thine, 
A Drake,i who made thee mistress of the deep, 
And bore thy name in thunder round the world. 
Then flamed thy spirit high : but who can speak 
The numerous worthies of the maiden-reign ? 
In Raleigh mark their every glory mixed ; 

Sir Th imas More, who was executed in 1535 for refusing 
to acknowledge Henry VIII. as Supreme Head of the Church 
of England. 

( Sir Francis Walsingham. Celebrated as a skilful and 
active diplomatist; born 1530, died 1590. 

J Sir Francis Drake. The first naval commander who 
sailed round the world; born 1546, died 1595. 



SUMMER. 91 

Raleigh, the scourge of Spain ! whose breast with all 
The sage, the patriot, and the hero burned. isoi 
Nor sunk his vigour when a coward-reign 
The warrior fettered, and at last resigned, 
To glut the vengeance of a vanquished foe. 
Then, active still and unrestrained, his mind 
Explored the vast extent of ages past, 
And with his prison-hours enriched the world ; * 
Yet found no times, in all the long research, 
So glorious, or so base, as those he proved ; 
In which he conquered, and in which he bled, isic 
Nor can the muse the gallant Sidney pass, 
The plume of war ! with early laurels crowned. 
The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay. 
A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land ! 
Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul, 
Who stemmed the torrent of a downward age 
To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, 
In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. 
Bright, at his call, thy age of Men effulged ; 
Of men on whom late time a kindling eye isso 
Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. 
Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew 
The grave where Rugsjel lies ; whose tempered blood 
With calmest cheerfulness for thee resigned, 
Stained the sad annals of a giddy reign ; 
Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk 
In loose inglorious luxury. With him 
His friend, the British Cassius.t fearless bled ; 

* Sir Walter Raleigh or Ralegh. Celebrated as a scholar, 
statesman, and warrior. He completed his " History of the 
World " whilst in confinement in the Tower of London ; born 
1552, beheaded 1618. 

\ Algernon Sidney. T. Who, with Lord William Basso' 



92 THE SEASONS. 

Of high determined spirit, roughly brave, 
By ancient learning to the enlightened love 153 
Of ancient freedom warmed. Fair thy renown 
In awful sages and in noble bards ; 
Soon as the light of dawning science spread 
HeT orient ray, and waked the muses' song. 
Thine is a Bacon, hapless in his choice ; 
Unfit to stand the civil storm of state, .- 

And through the smooth barbarity of courts, 
With firm but pliant virtue, forward still 
To urge his course. Him for the studious-shade 
Kind Nature formed, deep, comprehensive, clear, 
~15xaTrtr7mtJ~eTegant ; in one rich soul, 1541 

Plato, the Stagyrite,* and Tully joined. 
The great deliverer he ! who from the gloom 
Of cloistered monks and jargon-teaching schools, 
Led forth the true philosophy, there long 
Held in the magic chain of words, and forms, 
And definitions void : he led her forth, 
Daughter of Heaven ! that slow-ascending still, 
Investigating sure the chain of things, 
With radiant finger points to Heaven again. isso 
The generous Ashley f thine, the friend of man ; 
Who scanned his nature with a brother's eye, 
His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim, 
To touch the finer movements of the mind, 
And with the moral beauty charm the heart. 

was arrested on a charge of being concerned in the Rye House 
Plot, condemned by Judge Jefferies, and executed on Tower 
Hill in 1683. 

* Aristotle the Grecian philosopher. He was born at 
Stagyra, B.C. 384. 

t Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury. T. The 
third Earl, author of the " Characteristics. "born 1071, died 
1713. 



SUMMER. 93 

Why need I name thy Boyle,* whose pious search, 

Amid the dark recesses of his works, 

The great Creator sought ? And why thy Locke, 

Who made the whole internal world his own '? 

Let Newton, pure Inteiiiycnce, whom God i5t>o 

To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works 

From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame 

In all philosophy. For lofty sense, 

Creative fancy, and inspection keen 

Through the deep windings of the human heart, 

Is not wild Skakespear thine and nature's boast ? 

Is not each great, each amiable muse 

Of classic ages in thy Milton met ? 

A genius universal as his theme, 

Astonishing as chaos, as the bloom 1570 

Of blowing Eden fair, as heaven sublime. 

Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget, 

The gentle Spenser, fancy's pleasing son ; 

Who, like a copious river, poured his song 

O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground : 

Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage, 

Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse, 

Well moralized, shines through the gothic cloud 

Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown. 

May my song soften, as thy daughters I, isso 
Britannia, hail ! for beauty is their own, 
The feeling heart, simplicity of life, 
And elegance, and taste ; the faultless form, 
Shaped by the hand of harmony ; the cheek, 
Where the live crimson, through the native white 
Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, 

* The Honourable Robert Boyle, a distinguished philoso- 
pher; born 1627, died 1691. 



94 THE SEASONS. 

And every nameless grace ; the parted lip, 

Like the red rosebud moist with morning dew, 

Breathing delight ; and, under flowing jet, 

Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown, 1590 

The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast ; 

The look resistless, piercing to the soul, 

And by the soul informed, when dressed in love 

She sits high-smiling in the conscious eye. 

Island of bliss ! amid the subject seas 
That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up, 
At once the wonder, terror, and delight 
Of distant nations ; whose remotest shores 
Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm ; 
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults leoo 

Baffling, like thy hoar cliffs the loud sea- wave. 

Thou ! by whose almighty nod the scale 
Of empire rises, or alternate falls, 
Send forth the saving virtues round the land, 
In bright patrol : white Peace, and social Love ; 
The tender-looking CKarity, intent 
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles ; 
Undaunted Truth, and Dignity of mind ; 
Courage composed and keen; sound Temperance, 
Healthful in heart and look ; clear Chastity, 1610 
With blushes reddening as she moves along, 
Disordered at the deep regard she draws ; 
Rough Industry ; Activity untired, 
With copious life informed, and all awake : 
While in the radiant front, superior shines 
That first paternal virtue, public Zeal ; 
Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey, 
And, ever musing on the common weal, 
Still labours glorious with some great design. 1619 



SUMMKR. 95 

Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, 
Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds 
Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train, 
In all their pomp attend his setting throne. 
Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And now, 
As if his weary chariot sought the bowers 
Of Amphi trite and her tending nymphs, 
(So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb ; 
Now half- immersed ; and now a golden curve 
Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. 

For ever running an enchanted round, 1630 

Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void ; 
As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, 
This moment hurrying wild the impassioned soul, 
The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, 
The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank : 
A sight of horror to the cruel wretch, 
Who, all day long in sordid pleasure rolled, 
Himself an useless load, has squandered vile, 
Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheered 
A drooping family of modest worth. iwo 

But to the generous still-improving mind, 
That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy, 
Diffusing kind beneficence around, 
Boastless, as now descends the silent dew 
To him the long review of ordered life 
Is inward rapture, only to be felt. 

Confessed from yonder slow-extinguished clouds, 
All ether softening, sober evening takes 
Her wonted station in the middle air ; 
A thousand shadows at her beck. First this leso 
She sends on earth ; then that of deeper dye 
Steals soft behind ; and then a deeper still, 



96 THE SEASONS. 

In circle following circle, gathers round, 
To close the face of things. A fresher gale 
Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, 
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn ; 
While the quail clamours for his running mate. 
Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, 
A whitening shower of vegetable down 
Amusive floats. The kind impartial care i860 
Of Nature nought disdains : thoughtful to feed 
Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year, 
From field to field the feathered seeds she wings. 

His folded flock secure, the shepherd home 
Hies, merry-hearted ; and by turns relieves 
The ruddy milk-maid of her brimming pail ; 
The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, 
Unknowing what the joy-mixed anguish means, 
Sincerely loves, by that best language shown 
Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds. 1670 

Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height, 
And valley sunk and unfrequented ; where 
At fall of eve the fairy people throng, 
In various game and revelry to pass 
The summer-night, as village-stories tell. 
But far about they wander from the grave 
Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urged 
Against his own sad breast to lift the hand 
Of impious violence. The lonely tower 1670 

Is also shunned ; whose mournful chambers hold, 
So night-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. 

Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, 
The glow-worm lights his gem ; and through the dark, 
A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields 
The world to night; not in her winter-robQ 



SUMMER. 97 

Of massy Stygian woof, but loose-arrayed 
In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, 
Glanced from the imperfect surfaces of things, 
Flings half an image on the straining eye ; 1689 
While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, 
And rocks, and mountain tops, that long retained 
The ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, 
Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven 
Thence weary vision turns ; where, leading soft 
The silent hours of love, with purest ray 
Sweet Venus shines ; and from her genial rise, 
When day-light sickens, till it springs afresh, 
Unrivalled reigns, the fairest lamp of night. 
As thus the effulgence tremulous I drink, 1699 
With cherished gaze, the lambent lightnings shoot 
Across the sky ; or horizontal dart 
In wondrous shapes : by fearful murmuring crowds 
Portentous deemed. Amid the radiant orbs 
Thatinore than deck, that animate the sky, 
The life-infusing suns of other worlds, 
Lo ! from the dread immensity of space 
Returning, with accelerated course, 
The rushing comet to the sun descends ; 
And as he sinks below the shading earth, 
With awful train projected o'er the heavens, mo 
The guilty nations tremble. But, above 
Those superstitious horrors that enslave 
The fond sequacious herd, to mystic 
And blind amazement prone, the enlightened few, 
Whose godlike minds philosophy exalts, 
The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy 
Divinely great ; they in their powers exult, [spurns 
That wondrous force of thought, which mounting 



98 THE SEASONS. 

This dusky spot, and measures all the sky ; 
While, from his far excursions through the wilds 
Of barren ether, faithful to his time, 1721 

They see the blazing wonder rise anew, 
In seeming terror clad, but kindly bent 
To work the will of all-sustaining love : 
From his huge vapoury train perhaps to shake 
Reviving moisture on the numerous orbs 
Through which his long ellipsis winds ; perhaps 
To lend new fuel to declining suns, 
Tolight_up_yvorlds, and feed the eternal fire. 

With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, 1730 
And thy bright garland, let me crown my song ! 
Effusive source of evidence and truth ! 
A lustre shedding o'er the ennobled mind, 
Stronger than summer-noon ; and pure as that, 
Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul, 
New to the dawning of celestial day. 
Hence through her nourished powers, enlarged by 
She springs aloft, with elevated pride, [thee, 

Above the tangling mass of low desires, 1739 

That bind the fluttering crowd; and, angel- winged, 
The heights of science and of virtue gains, 
Where all is calm and clear ; with nature round. 
Or in the starry regions, or tho nhynft, 
To reason's and to fancy's eye displayed : 
The first up-tracing, from the dreary void, 
The chain of causes and effects to Him, 
The world-producing Essence, who alone 
Possesses being ; while the last receives 
The whole magnificence of heaven and earth, 
And every beauty, delicate or bold, mo 

Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense, 



SUMMER. 99 

Diffusive painted on the rapid mind. 

Tutored by Thee, hence Poetry exalts 
Her voice to ages; and informs the page 
With music, image, sentiment, and thought, 
Never to die ; the treasure of mankind, 
Their highest honour, and their truest joy. 

Without Thee, what were unenlightened man? 
A savage, roaming through the woods and wilds 
In quest of prey, and with the unfashioned fur neo 
Rough-clad ; devoid of every finer art 
And elegance of life. Nor happiness 
Domestic, mixed of tenderness and care, 
Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss, 
Nor guardian law, were his ; nor various skill 
To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool 
Mechanic ; nor the heaven-conducted prow 
Of navigation bold, that fearless braves 
The burning line or dares the wintry pole, 
Mother severe of infinite delights ! " mo 

Nothing, save rapine, indolence, and guile, 
And woes on woes, a still-revolving train ! 
Whose horrid circle had made human life 
Than non-existence worse : but, taught by Thee, 
Ours are the plans of policy, and peace ; 
To live like brothers, and, conjunctive a'll, 
Embellish life. While thus laborious crowds 
Ply the tough oar, philosophy directs 
The ruling helm ; or, like the liberal breath 
Of potent heaven, invisible, the sail I 78 o 

Swells out, and bears the inferior world along. 

Nor to this evanescent speck of earth 
Poorly confined, the radiant tracts on high 
Are her exalted range ; intent to gaze 



100 THE SEASONS. 

Creation through ; and, from that full complex 
Of never ending wonders, to conceive 
//Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the ward, 
II And nature moved complete. With inward view, 
I ' 'Thence on the idjpa^kingdom swift she turns 
Her eye ; and instant, at her powerful glance, 1790 
The obedient phantoms vanish or appear ; 
Compound, divide, and into order shift, 
Each to his rank, from plain perception up 
To the fair forms of fancy's fleeting train ; 
To reason then, deducing truth from truth, 
And notion quite abstract ; where first begins 
The world of spirits, action all, and life 
Unfettered and unmixt. Butherethecloud, 
So wills Eternal Providence, site deep. 
Enough for us to know that this dark state, isoo 
In wayward passions lost and vain pursuits, 
This infancy of being, cannot prove, 
The final issue of the works of God, 
By boundless Love and perfect Wisdom formed, 
And ever rising with thb rising mind. 



AUTUMN. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

THE subject proposed. Addressed to Mr. Onslow. A pros- 
pect of the fields ready for harvest. Reflections in praise of 
industry raised by that view. Keying. A tale relative 
to it. A harvest storm. Shooting and hunting ; their bar- 
barity. A ludicrous account of foxhunting. A view of an 
orchard. Wall fruit. A vineyard. A description of fogs, 
frequent in the latter part of Autumn ; whence a digression, 
inquiring into the rise of fountains and rivers. Birdsjjf .season 
considered, that now shift their habitation. The prodigious 
number of them that cover the northern and western isles of 
Scotland. Hence a view of the country. A prospect of the 
discoloured, fading wo_ods. After a gentle dusky day, moon- 
light. Autumnal meteors. Morning ; to which succeeds a 
calm, pure, sunshiny day, such as usually shuts up the season. 
The harvest being gathered in, the country dissolved in joy. 
The whole concludes with a panegyric on a philosophical 
country life. 




AUTUMN. 




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-blossomed Spring 
Put in white promise forth, and summer-suns 
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view, 
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme. 
Onslow ! * the muse, ambitious of thy name, 
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song, 10 

Would from the Public Voice thy gentle ear 
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows, 
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought, 
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow ; 

* The Right Honourable Arthur Onslow, second son of Sir 
Richard Onslow. He was Speaker of the House of Commons 
from 17281761. 



104 THE SEASONS. 

While listening senates hang upon thy tongue, 
Devolving through the maze of eloquence 
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song. 
But she too pants for public virtue, she, 
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will, 
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart, 20 
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries 
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame. 

When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, 
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year,* 
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence.shook 
Of parting Summer, a serener blue, 
With golden light enlivened, wide invests 
The happy world. Attempered suns arise, [clouds 
Sweet-beamed, and shedding oft through lucid 
A pleasing calm ; while broad and brown, below, 
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. 31 

Rich, silent, deep, they stand ; for not a gale 
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain ; 
A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air 
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky ; 
The clouds fly different ; and the sudden sun. 
By fits effulgent, gilds the illumined field, 
And black by fits the shadows sweep along. 
A gaily chequered, heart-expanding view, 40 

Far as the circling eye can shoot around, 
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. 

These are thy blessings, Industry ! rough power ! 
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain ; 
Yet the kind source of every gentle art, 
And all the soft civility of life : 

* When the autumnal equinox begins. 



AUTUMN. 105 

Raiser of human kind ! by Nature cast, 4 

Naked and helpless, out amid the woods 

And wilds, to rude inclement elements ; 

With various seeds of art deep in the mind su 

Implanted, and profusely poured around 

Materials infinite ; but idle all. 

Still unexerted, in the unconscious breast, 

Slept the lethargic powers ; corruption still, 

Voracious, swallowed what the liberal hand 

Of Bounty scattered o'er the savage year ; 

And still the sad barbarian, roving, mixed 

With beasts of prey ; or for his acorn-meal 

Fought the fierce tusky boar ; a shivering wretch ! 

Aghast and comfortless when the bleak north, jo 

With Winter charged, let the mixed tempest fly, 

Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost- 

Then to the shelter of the hut he fled ; 

And the wild season, sordid, pined away. 

For home he had not : home is the resort 

Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where, 

Supporting and supported, polished friends 

And dear relations mingle into bliss. 

But this the rugged savage never felt, 

Even desolate in crowds ; and thus his days 70 

Rolled heavy, dark, and un enjoyed, along : 

A waste of time ! till Industry approached, 

And roused him from his miserable sloth ; 

His faculties unfolded ; pointed out 

Where_lavish Na^tm^^h 



Of Artdemanded ; showed him how to raise 
HisTeeble force by the mechanic powers, 
To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth. 
On what to turn the piercing rago of fire, 



106 THE SEASONS. 

On what the torrent, and the gathered blast ; so 

Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe ; 

Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, 

Till by degrees the finished fabric rose : 

Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, 

And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, 

Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn ; 

With wholesome viands filled his table, poured 

The generous glass around, inspired to wake 

The life-refining soul of decent wit : 

Nor stopped at barren bare necessity ; 90 

(But, still advancing bolder, led him on 

To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace ; 

And, breathing high ambition through his soul, 

Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, 

And bade him be the lord of all below. [bined, 

Then gathering men their natural powers com- 
And formed a public ; to the general good 
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all. 
For this the patriot-council met the full, 
The free, and fairly represented whole ; 100 

For this they planned the holy guardian laws, 
Distinguished orders, animated arts, 
And with joint force oppression chaining, set 
Imperial justice at the helm ; yet still 
To them accountable : nor slavish dreamed 
That toiling millions must resign their weal 
And all the honey of their search, to such 
As for themselves alone themselves have raised. 

Hence every form of cultivated life 
In order set, protected, and inspired, iK 

Into perfection wrought. Uniting all, 
Society grew numerous, high, polite, 



AUTUMN. 107 

And happy. Nurse of art ! the city reared 
In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head ; 
And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew, 
From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew 
To bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons. 

v Then commerce brought into the public walk 
The busy merchant; the big warehouse built; 119 
Raised the strong crane; choked up the loaded street 
With foreign plenty ; and thy stream, Thames, 
Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods ! 
Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, 
Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts 
Shot up their spires ; the bellying sheet between 
Possessed the breezy void ; the sooty hulk 
Steered, sluggish, on ; the splendid barge along 
Rowed, regular to harmony ; around, 
The boat, light-skimming, stretched its oary wings; 
While deep the various voice of fervent toil 130 
From bank to bank increased; whence, ribbed with 
To bear the British thunder, black and bold, [oak, 
The roaring vessel rushed into the main. 

Then too the pillared dome, magnific, heaved 
Its ample roof; and luxury within 
Poured out her glittering stores : the canvass smooth, 
With glowing life protuberant, to the view 
Embodied rose ; the statue seemed to breathe, 
And soften into flesh, beneath the touch 
Of forming art, imagination-flushed. uc 

All is the gift of Industry; whate'er 
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life 
Delightful. Pensive Winter, cheered by him, 
Sits at the social fire, and happy hears 
The excluded tempest idly rave along : 



10ft THE SEASONS. 

His hardened fingers deck the gaudy Spring ; 

Without him Summer were an arid waste ; 

Nor to the Autumnal months could thus transmit 

Those full, mature, immeasurable stores, 

That, waving round, recall my wandering song. 150 

Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, 
And, unperceived, unfolds the spreading day, 
Before the ripened field the reapers stand, 
In fair array ; each by the lass he loves, 
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate 
By nameless gentle offices her toil. 
At once they stoop, and swell the lusty sheaves ; 
While through their cheerful band the rural talk, 
The rural scandal, and the rural jest, 
Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, ieo 
And steal, unfelt, the sultry hours away. 
Behind the master walks ; builds up the shocks ; 
And, conscious, glancing oft on every side 
His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. 
The gleaners spread around, and here and there, 
Spike after spike, their sparing harvest pick. 
Be not too narrow, husbandmen ! but fling 
From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, 
The liberal handful. Think, oh ! grateful, think 
How good the God of harvest is to you ; 170 

Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields, 
While these unhappy partners of your kind 
Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven, 
And ask their humble dole. The various turns 
Of fortune ponder ; that your sons may want 
What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give. 

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends ; 
And fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth. 



AUTUMN. 109 

For, in her helpless years deprived of all, 
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven, iso 
She, with her widowed mother, feeble, old, 
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired 
Among the windings of a woody vale ; 
By solitude and deep surrounding shades, 
But more by bashful modesty, concealed. 
Together thus they shunned the cruel scorn 
Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet 
From giddy fashion and low-minded pride; 
Almoston_NaJ,ure^s_jttirunon bounty fed 
Like tfiegay birds that sung them to repose, 190 
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. 
Her form was fresher than the morning rose, 
When the dew wets its leaves ; unstained and pure 
As is the lily, or the mountain snow. 
The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, 
Still on the ground dejected, darting all 
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers ; 
Or when the mournful tale her mother told, 
Of what her faithless fortune promised once, 
Thrilled in her thought, they, like the dewy star 
Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace 201 
Sat, fair-proportioned, on her polished limbs, 
Veiled in a simple robe, their best attire ; 
Beyond the pomp of dress : for loveliness 
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, 
But is, when unadorned, adorned the most. 
Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self, 
Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. 
As in the hollow breast of Apennine, 
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, 210 

A myrtle rises, far from human eye, 



110 THE SEASONS. 

And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild 
So flourished blooming, and unseen by all, 
The sweet Lavinia ; till, at length, compelled 
By strong necessity's supreme command, 
With smiling patience in her looks, she went 
To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains 
Palemon was, the generous, and the rich ; 
Who led the rural life in all its joy 
And elegance, such as Arcadian song 220 

Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times, 
When tyrant custom had not shackled man, 
But freejo-follow Nature was the mode. 
He Then, his fancy with autumnal scenes 
Amusing, chanced beside his reaper-train 
To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye ; 
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick 
With unaffected blushes from his gaze : 
He saw her, charming, but he saw not half 
The charms her downcast modesty concealed. 230 
That very moment love and chaste desire 
Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown ; 
For still the world prevailed and its dread laugh, 
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn, 
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field ; 
And thus, in secret, to his soul he sighed : 

" What pity ! that so delicate a form, 
By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense 
And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell, 
Should be devoted to the rude embrace 240 

Of some indecent clown ! she looks, methinks, 
Of old Acasto's line ; and to my mind 
Recalls that patron of my happy life, 
From whom my liberal fortune took its rise j 



AUTUMN. Ill 

Now to the dust gone down his houses, lands, 
And once fair-spreading family, dissolved. 
'Tis said that in some lone, obscure retreat, 
Urged by remembrance sad, and decent pride, 
Far from those scenes which knew their better days, 
His aged widow and his daughter live, 250 

Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. 
Romantic wish, would this the daughter were ! " 

When, strict enquiring, from herself he found 
She was the same, the daughter of his friend, 
Of bountiful Acasto, who can speak 
The mingled passions that surprised his heart, 
And through his nerves in shivering transport ran ? 
Then blazed his smothered flame, avowed, and bold ; 
And, as he viewed her, ardent, o'er and o'er, 
Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. seo 

Confused, and frightened, at his sudden tears, 
Her rising beauties flushed a higher bloom. 
As thus Palemon, passionate and just, 
Poured out the pious rapture of his soul : 

" And art thou then Acasto's dear remains? 
She, whom my restless gratitude has sought 
So long in vain ? yes ! the very same, 
The softened image of my noble friend ; 
Alive his every feature, every look, 
More elegantly touched. Sweeter than Spring ! 
Thou sole surviving blossom from the root 271 
That nourished up my fortune ! say, ah where, 
In what sequestered desert, hast thou drawn 
The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven ? * 
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair ; 
Though poverty's cold wind and crushing rain 
Beat, keen and heavy, on thy tender years ? 



112 THE SEASONS. 

Oh ! let me now into a richer soil 

Transplant thee safe, where vernal suns and showers 

Diffuse their warmest, largest influence ; 280 

And of my garden be the pride and joy ! 

It ill befits thee, oh, it iU befits 

Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores, 

Though vast, were little to his ampler heart, 

The father of a country thus to pick 

The very refuse of those harvest fields, 

Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy. 

Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand, 

But ill-applied to such a rugged task ; 

The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ; 290 

If to the various blessings which thy house 

Has on me lavished, thou wilt add that bliss, 

That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee ! " 

Here ceased the youth : yet still his speaking eye 
Expressed the sacred triumph of his soul, 
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love, 
Above the vulgar joy divinely raised. 
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm 
Of goodness irresistible, and all 
In sweet disorder lost, she blushed consent. 300 
The news immediate to her mother brought, 
While, pierced with anxious thought, she pined 

away 

The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate ; 
Amazed, and scarce believing what she heard, 
Joy seized her withered veins, and one bright gleam 
Of setting life shone on her evening-hours : 
Not less enraptured than the happy pair ; 
Who flourished long in tender bliss, and rear'd 
A numerous offspring, J^vely like themselves. 



AUTUMN. 113 

And good, the grace of all the country round.* 310 

Defeating oft the labours of the year, 
The sultry south collects a potent blast. 
At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir 
Their trembling tops, and a still murmur runs 
Along the soft-inclining fields of corn ; 
But as the aerial tempest fuller swells, 
And in one mighty stream, invisible, 
Immense, the whole excited atmosphere 
Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world, 
Strained to the root, the stooping forest pours 
A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. 321 

High beat, the circling mountains eddy in, 
From the bare wild, the dissipated storm, 
And send it in a torrent down the vale. 
Exposed, and naked to its utmost rage, 
Through all the sea of harvest rolling round, 
The billowy plain floats wide ; nor can evade, 
Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force ; 
Or whirled in air, or into vacant chaff 329 

Shook waste. And sometimes too a burst of rain, 
Swept from the black horizon, broad, descends 
In one continuous flood. Still over head 
The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and still 
The deluge deepens ; till the fields around 
Lie sunk and flatted, in the sordid wave. 
Sudden the ditches swell ; the meadows swim. 
Red, from the hills, innumerable streams 
Tumultuous roar ; and, high above its banks, 
The river lift ; before whose rushing tide 339 

Herds, fiockf, and harvests, cottages, and swain?, 

* Founded on the story of Ruth. 

I 



J 14 THE SEASCKS. 

Roll mingled down : all that the winds had spared 

In one wild moment ruined ; the big hopes, 

And well-earned treasures of the painful year. 

Fled to some eminence, the husbandman, 

Helpless, beholds the miserable wreck 

Driving along ; his drowning ox at once 

Descending, with his labours scattered round, 

He sees ; and instant o'er his shivering thought 

Comes Winter unprovided, and a train 349 

Of clamant children dear. Ye masters, then, 

Be mindful of the rough laborious hand 

That sinks you soft in elegance and ease ; 

Be mindful of those limbs, in russet clad, 

Whose toil to yours is warmth and graceful pride ; 

And, oh ! be mindful of that sparing board, 

Which covers yours with luxury profuse, 

Makes your glass sparkle, and your sense rejoice ! 

Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains 

And all-involving winds have swept away. 359 

Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy, 
The gun fast-thundering, and the winded horn, 
Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game : 
How, in his mid-career, the spaniel struck 
Stiff, by the tainted gale, with open nose, 
Outstretched and finely sensible, draws full, 
Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey ; 
As in the sun the circling covey bask 
Their varied plumes, and, watchful every way, 
Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. 
Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat 370 
Their idle wings, entangled more aiiu more : 
Nor on the surges of the boundless air, 
Though borne triumphant, are they safe ; the gun. 



AUTUMN. 115 

Glanced just and sudden, from the fowler's eye, 

O'ertakes their sounding pinions : and again, 

Immediate, brings them from the towering wing, 

Dead to the ground ; or drives them wide dispersed, 

Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind. 

These are not subjects for the peaceful muse, 

Nor will she stain with such her spotless song ; 380 

Then most delighted, when she social sees 

The whole mixed animal creation round 

Alive and happy. 'Tis not joy to Her, 

This falsely cheerful, barbarous game of death, 

This rage of pleasure, which the restless youth 

Awakes, impatient, with the gleaming morn ; 

When beasts of prey retire, that all night long, 

Urged by necessity, had ranged the dark, 

As if their conscious ravage shunned the light, 

Ashamed. Not so the steady tyrant man, 390 

Who, with the thoughtless insolence of power 

Inflamed beyond the most infuriate wrath 

Of the worst monster that e'er roamed the waste, 

For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, 

Amid the beamings of the gentle days. 

Upbraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage, 

For hunger kindles you, and lawless want ; 

But lavish fed, in Nature's bounty rolled, 

To joy at anguish, and delight in blood, 

Is what your horrid bosoms never knew. <oo 

Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare ! 
Scared from the corn, and now to some lone seat 
Retired : the rushy fen ; the ragged furze, 
Stretched o'er the stony heath ; the stubble chapped , 
The thistly lawn ; the thick-entangled broom ; 
Of the same friendly hue, the withered fern ; 




116 THE SEASONS. 

The fallow ground laid open to the sun, 
Concoctive ; and the nodding sandy bank, 
Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain brook. 
Vain is her best precaution ; though she sits 410 
Concealed, with folded ears, unsleeping eyes, 
By Nature raised to take the horizon in, 
And head couched close betwixt her hairy feet, 
In act to spring away. The scented dew 
Betrays her early labyrinth ; and deep, 
In scattered sullen openings, far behind, 
With every breeze she hears the coming storm. 
But nearer, and more frequent, as it loads 
The sighing gale, she springs amazed, and all 
The savage soul of game is up at once : 420 

The pack full-opening, various ; the shrill horn, 
Resounded from the hills ; the neighing steed, 
Wild for the chase ; and the loud hunter's shout ; 
O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature, all 
Mixed in mad tumult and discordant joy. 

The stag too, singled from the herd, where long 
He ranged, the branching monarch of the shades, 
Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed 
He, sprightly, puts his faith ; and, roused by fear, 
Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight ; 430 

Against the breeze he darts, that way the more 
To leave the lessening murderous cry behind : 
Deception short ! though, fleeter than the winds 
Blown o'er the keen-aired mountain by the north, 
He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, 
And plunges deep into the wildest wood ; 
If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track, 
Hot-steaming, up behind him come again 
The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth 



AUTUMN. 117 

Expel him, circling through his every shift. 44u AO^ 

He sweeps the forest oft ; and, sobbing, sees 

The glades, mild opening to the golden day ; 

Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends 

He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. 

Oft in the full-descending flood he tries 

To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides : 

Oft seeks the herd ; the watchful herd, alarmed, 

With selfish care avoid a brother's woe. 

What shall he do? His once so vivid nerves, 

So full of buoyant spirit, now no more 450 

Inspire the course ; but fainting breathless toil, 

Sick, seizes on his heart : he stands at bay 

And puts his last weak refuge in despair. 

The big round tears run down his dappled face ; 

He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack, 

Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest, 

And mark his beauteous chequered sides with gore. 

Of this enough. But if the sylvan youth, 
Whose fervent blood boils into violence, 
Must have the chase ; behold, despising flight, 
The roused up lion, resolute and slow, 461 

Advancing full on the protended spear 
And coward band, that, circling, wheel aloof. 
Slunk from the cavern and the troubled wood, 
See the grim wolf; on him, his shaggy foe, 
Vindictive, fix, and let the ruffian die : 
Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar 
Grins fell destruction, to the monster's heart 
Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm. 

These Britain knows not ; give, ye Britons, then 
Your sportive fury, pitiless, to pour 471 

Loose on the nightly robber of the fold ; 



118 THE SEASONS. 

Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearthed, 
Let all the thunder of the chase pursue. 
Throw the broad ditch behind you ; o'er the hedge 
High bound, resistless ; nor the deep morass 
Refuse, but through the shaking wilderness 
Pick your nice way ; into the perilous flood 
Bear fearless, of the raging instinct full ; 
And, as you ride the torrent, to the banks 480 
Your triumph sound, sonorous, running round, 
From rock to rock, in circling echo tost ; 
Then scale the mountains to their woody tops ; 
Rush down the dangerous steep ; and o'er the lawn, 
In fancy swallowing up the space between, 
Pour all your speed into the rapid game. 
For happy he who tops the wheeling chase ; 
Has every maze evolved, and every guile 
Disclosed ; who knows the merits of the pack 
Who saw the villain seized, and dying hard, 490 
Without complaint, though by a hundred mouths 
Relentless torn. Oh ! glorious he, beyond 
His daring peers ! when the retreating horn 
Calls them to ghostly halls of gray renown, 
With woodland honours graced ; the fox's fur, 
Depending, decent, from the r^of : and spread 
Round the drear walls, with antic figures fierce, 
The stag's large front : he then is loudest heard, 
When the night staggers with severer toils, 
With feats Thessalian centaurs never knew, 500 
And their repeated wonders shake the dome. 
, But first the fuelled chimney blazes wide ; 
The tankards foam ; and the strong table groans 



AUTUMN. 119 

Beneath the smoking sirloin, stretched immense 
From side to side ; in which, with desperate knife, 
They deep incision make, and talk the while 
Of England's glory, ne'er to be defaced 
While hence they borrow vigour : or amain 
Into the pasty plunged, at intervals, 
If stomach keen can intervals allow, 510 

Relating all the glories of the chase. 
Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst 
Produce the mighty bowl ; the mighty bowl, 
Swelled high with fiery juice, steams liberal round 
A potent gale, delicious, as the breath 
Of Maia* to the love-sick shepherdess, 
On violets diffused, while soft she hears 
Her panting shepherd stealing to her arms. 
I Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn, 
*\l Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat 520 
.4, \ Of thirty years ; and now his honest front 
Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid 
Even with the vineyard's best produce to vie. 
To cheat the thirsty moments, whist a while 
Walks his grave round beneath a cloud of smoke, 
Wreathed, fragrant, from the pipe ; or the quick dice, 
In thunder leaping from the box, awake 
The sounding gammon : while romp-loving miss 
Is hauled about, in gallantry robust. / 

At last these puling_idlenesss laid N 530 
Aside, frequent and full, the dry divan 
Close in firm circle ; and set, ardent, in 
For serious drinking. Nor evasion sly, i 

* A goddess to whom sacrifices were offered on the first of 
May. 



120 THE SEASONS. 

Nor sober shift, is to the puking wretch 
Indulged apart; but earnest, brimming bowls 
Lave every soul, the table floating round, 
And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. 
Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk, 
Vociferous at once from twenty tongues, 539 

Reels fast from theme to theme; from horses, 
To church or mistress, politics or ghost, [hounds, 
In endless mazes, intricate, perplexed. 
Meantime, with sudden interruption, loud, 
The impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart : 
That moment touched is each congenial soul ; 
And, opening in a full-mouthed cry of joy, 
The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse goes round ; 
While, from their slumbers shook, the kennelled 
Mix in the music of the day again. [hounds 

VAs when the tempest, that has vexed the deep 550 
The dark night long, with fainter murmurs falls ; 
So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues 
Unable to take up the cumbrous word, 
Lie quite dissolved. Before their maudlin eyes, 
Seen dim and blue, the double troers dance, 
Like the sun wading through the misty sky. 
Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confused above, 
Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers, 
As if the table even itself was drunk, 
Lie a wet broken scene ; and wide, below, sco 
Is heaped the social slaughter : where, astride, 
The lubber Power in filthy triumph sits, 
Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side, 
And steeps them drenched in potent sleep till morn. 
Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, 
Awful and ieep, a black abyss of drink, 



AUTUMN. 121 

Outlives them all ; and from his buried flock 

Retiring, full of rumination sad, 

Laments the weakness of these latter times. 

But if the rougher sex by this fierce sport 570 
Is hurried wild, let not such horrid joy 
E'er stain the bosom of the British fair. 
Far be the spirit of the chase from them ! 
Uncomely courage, unbeseeming skill ; 
To spring the fence, to reign the prancing steed ; 
The cap, the whip, the masculine attire ; 
In which they roughen to the sense, and all 
The winning softness of their sex is lost. 
In them 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe ; 
With every motion, every word, to wave '580 

Quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blush ; 
And from the smallest violence to shrink 
Unequal, then the loveliest in their fears ; 
And by this silent adulation, soft, 
To their protection more engaging man. 
JO may their eyes no miserable sight, 
jSave weeping lovers, see ! a nobler game, 
Through love's enchanting wiles pursued, yet fled, 
In chase ambiguous. May their tender limbs 
Float in the loose simplicity of dress ! 590 

jAnd, fashioned all to harmony, alone 
{Know they to seize the captivated soul, 
In rapture warbled from love-breathing lips ; 
To teach the lute to languish ; with smooth step, 
Disclosing motion in its every charm, 
To swim along, and swell the mazy dance ; 
To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn ; 
To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page ; 
To lend new flavour to the fruitful year, 



122 THE SEASONS. 

And heighten Nature's dainties : in their race, coo 

To rear their graces into second life ; 

To give society its highest taste ; 

Well ordered home, man's best delight, to make ; 

And by submissive wisdom, modest skill, 

With every gentle care-eluding art, 

To raise the virtues, animate the bliss, 

Even charm the pains to something more than joy, 

And sweeten all the toils of human life : 

This be the female dignity, and praise. 

Ye swains, now hasten to the hazel bank ; eio 
Where, down yon dale, the wildly winding brook 
Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array, 
Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrub, 
Ye virgins, come. For you their latest song 
The woodlands raise ; the clustering nuts for you 
The lover finds amid the secret shade ; 
And, where they burnish on the topmost bough, 
With active vigour crushes down the tree ; 
Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk, 
A glossy shower, and of tOi ardent brown, 620 
As are the ringlets of Melinda's hair : 
Melinda, formed with every grace complete ; 
Yet these neglecting, above beauty wise, 
And far transcending such a vulgar praise. 

Hence from the busy joy-resounding fields, 
In cheerful error, let us tread the maze 
Of Autumn, unconfined ; and taste, revived, 
The breath of orchard big with bending fruit 
Obedient to the breeze and beating ray, 
From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower r.so 
Incessant melts away. The juicy pear 
Lies, in a soft profusion, scattered round. 




AUTUMN. 123 

A various sweetness swells the gentle race ; 
ByJNature's all-refining hand prepared ; 
Of tempered sun and water, earth and air, 
In ever-changing composition mixed. 
Such, falling frequent through the chiller night, 
The fragrant stores, the wide-projected heaps 
Of apples, which the lusty-handed year, 
Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes. 640 
A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen, 
Dwells in their gelid pores ; and, active, points 
LThe piercing cyder for the thirsty tongue : 
Thy native theme, and boon inspirer too, 
Phillips,* Pomona's bard, the second thou 
Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfettered ver.-.e, 
With British freedom sing the British song : 
How, from Silurian | vats, high-sparkling wines 
Foam in transparent floods some strong, to cheer 
The wintry revels of the labouring hind, 650 

And tasteful some, to cool the summer hours. 

In this glad season, while his sweetest beams 
The sun sheds equal o'er the meekened day ; 
Oh lose me in the green delightful walks 
Of, Dodington ! thy seat, serene and plain ; 
Where simple nature reigns ; and every view, 
Diffusive, spreads~tne pure Dorsetian downs, 
In boundless prospect ; yonder shagged with wood, 
Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks ! 
Meantime the grandeur of thy lofty dome, eeo 

* John Phillips, son of archdeacon Phillips, born 1676, died 
1708. The allusion is to a poem written by him in imitation 
of Virgil's Georgics, entitled Cider. 

t Herefordshire, famed for its cider, formed a part of the 
ancient division of "Wales, called Siluria. 



124 THE SEASONS. 

Far-splendid, seizes on the ravished eye. 
New beauties rise with each revolving day ; 
New columns swell; and still the fresh Spring finds 
New plants to quicken, and new groves to green. 
Full of thy genius all ! the Muses' seat ; 
Where, in the secret bower and winding walk, 
For virtuous Young* and thee they twine the bay. 
Here wandering oft, fired with the restless thirst 
Of thy applause, I solitary court 
The inspiring breeze ; and ineditate the book 670 
f Of_Nature. ever open ; aimingjhence, 
\ Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song. 
And, as 1 steal along the sunny wall, 
Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deep, 
My pleasing theme continual prompts my thought: 
Presents the downy peach, the shining plum, 
With a fine blueish mist of animals 
Clouded, the ruddy nectarine, and, dark 
Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig. 
The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots, eso 
Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south, 
And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky. 

Turn we a moment fancy's rapid flight 
To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent ; 
Where, by the potent sun elated high, 
The vineyard swells refulgent on the day ; 
Spreads o'er the vale ; or up the mountain climbs, 
Profuse ; and drinks amid the sunny rocks, 
From cliff to cliff increased, the heightened blaze. 
Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear, 
Half through the foliage seen, or ardent flame, 691 
Or shine transparent ; while perfection breathes, 
* Dr. Edward Young, author of the Nigkt Thoughts. 



AUTUMN. 125 

White o'er the turgent film, the living dew. 
As thus they brighten with exalted juice, 
Touched into flavour by the mingling ray ; 
The rural youth and virgins o'er the field, 
Each fond for each, to cull the autumnal prime, 
Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. 
Then comes the crushing swain ; the country floats, 
And foams unbounded with the mashy flood ; TOO 
That by degrees fermented, and refined, 
Round the raised nations pours the cup of joy : 
The claret smooth, red as the lip we press 
In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl ; 
The mellow-tasted Burgundy, and, quick 
As is the wit it gives, the gay Champagne.,. 

Now, by the cool declining year condensed, 
Descend the copious exhalations, checked 
As up the middle sky unseen they stole, 
And roll the doubling fogs around the hill. 710 
No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, 
Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, 
And high between contending kingdoms rears 
The rocky long division, fills the view 
With great variety ; but in a night 
Of gathering vapour, from the baffled sense 
Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far, 
The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain : 
Vanish the woods : the dim-seen river seems 
Sullen, and slow, to roll the misty wave. 720 

Even in the height of noon oppressed, the sun 
Sheds, weak and blunt, his wide-refracted ray ; 
'Whence glaring oft, with many a broadened orb, 
He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth, 
Seen through the turbid air, beyond the life, 



126 THE SEASONS. 

Objects appear ; and, wildered, o'er the waste 
The shepherd stalks gigantic ; till at last 
Wreathed dun around, in deeper circles still 
Successive closing, sits the general fog 
Unbounded o'er the world ; and, mingling thick, 
A formless grey confusion covers all. 731 

As when of old (so sung the Hebrew bard) 
Light, uncollected, through the chaos urged 
Its infant way ; nor order yet had drawn 
His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. 

These roving mists, that constant now begin 
To smoke along the hilly country, these, 
With weighty rains, and melted Alpine snows, 
The mountain-cisterns fill, those ample stores 739 
Of water, scooped among the hollow rocks ; [play, 
Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains 
And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw. 
Some sages say, that, where the numerous wave 
For ever lashes the resounding shore, 
Drilled through the sandy stratum, every way, 
The waters with the sandy stratum rise ; 
Amid whose angles, infinitely strained, 
They joyful leave their jaggy salts behind, 
And clear and sweeten as they soak along. 
Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still, 750 
Though oft amidst the irriguous vale it springs ; 
But to the mountain courted by the sand, 
That leads it darkling on in faithful maze, 
Far from the parent-main, it boils again 
Fresh into day ; and all the glittering hill 
Is bright with spouting rills. But hence this vain 
Amusive dream ! why should the waters love 
To take so far a journey to the hills, 



AUTUMN 127 

When the sweet valleys offer to their toil 
Inviting quiet, and a nearer bed ? 760 

Or if by blind ambition led astray, 
They must aspire ; why should they sudden stop 
Among the broken mountain's rushy dells, 
And, ere they gain its highest peak, desert 
The attractive sand that charmed their course so 
Besides, the hard agglomerating salts, [long ? 

The spoil of ages, would impervious choke 
Their secret channels ; or, by slow degrees, 
High as the hills protrude the swelling vales : 76& 
Old ocean too, sucked through the porous globe, 
Had long ere now forsook his horrid bed, 
And brought Deucalion's* watery times again. 

Say then, where lurk the vast eternal springs, 
That, like creating Nature, lie concealed 
From mortal eye, yet with their lavish stores 
Refresh the globe, and all its joyous tribes ? 
thou pervading genius, given to man 
To trace the secrets of the dark abyss ! 
Oh ! lay the mountains bare ; and wide display 
Their hidden structure to the astonished view ; 780 
Strip from the branching Alps their piny load ; 
The huge incumbrance of horrific woods 
From Asian Taurus, f from Imausf stretched 
Athwart the roving Tartar's sullen bounds ; 
Give opening Haemus to my searching eye, 

* Grecian mythology informs us that Deucalion, king of 
Thessaly, and his wife Pyrrha, were saved from the general 
deluge, and re-peopled the world, 

t A range of mountains extending from the south of Asia 
Minor to mount Ararat. 

1 The Himalayan mountains. 

A mountain in Thessaly. 



128 THE SEASONS. 

And high Olympus,* pouring many a stream. 

Oh ! from the sounding summits of the north, 

The Dofrine hills,f through Scandinavia rolled 

To farthest Lapland and the frozen main ; 

From lofty Caucasus, far seen by those 790 

Who in the Caspian and black Euxine toil ; 

From cold Riphean rocks, which the wild Russ 

Believes the stony girdle J of the world ; 

And all the dreadful mountains, wrapped in storm, 

Whence wide Siberia draws her lonely floods ; 

Oh ! sweep the eternal snows hung o'er the deep, 

That ever works beneath his sounding base, 

Bid Atlas, propping heaven, as poets feign, 

His subterranean wonders spread ; unveil 

The miny caverns, blazing on the day, soo 

Of Abyssinia's cloud-compelling cliffs. 

And of the bending Mountains of the Moon ; 

O'ertopping all these giant sons of earth, 

Let the dire Andes, from the radiant line 

Stretched to the stormy seas that thunder round 

The southern pole, their hideous deeps unfold. 

Amazing scene ! Behold ! the glooms disclose ; 

I see the rivers in their infant beds ; 

Deep, deep I hear them, labouring to get free. 

I see the leaning strata, artful ranged ; 8io 

The gaping fissures to receive the rains, 

* The mountain called by that name in the lesser Asia. T. 

t The highest of the mountain range of Sweden and 
Norway. 

I The Moscovites call the Riphean mountains WeKki Ca- 
menypoys, that is, the great stony girdle ; because they suppose 
them to encompass the whole earth. T. 

A range of mountains in Africa that surround 
all Monomotapa. T. 



AUTUMN. 129 

The melting snows, and ever-dripping fogs. 

Strowed bibulous above I see the sands, 

The pebbly gravel next, the layers then 

Of mingled moulds, of more retentive earths, 

The guttered rocks and mazy-running clefts ; q- tK 

That, while the stealing moisture they transmit, v^ 

Retard its motion, and forbid its waste. 

Beneath the incessant weeping of these drains, 

I see the rocky siphons stretched immense, 82c 

The mighty reservoirs, of hardened chalk, 

Or stiff compacted clay, capacious formed : 

O'erflowing thence, the congregated stores, 

The crystal treasures of the liquid world, 

Through the stirred sands a bubbling passage burst; 

And welling out, around the middle steep, 

Or from the bottoms of the bosomed hills, 

In pure effusion flow. United, thus, 

The exhaling sun, the vapour-burdened air, 

The gelid mountains, that, to rain condensed, sso 

These vapours in continual current draw, 

And send them, o'er the fair-divided earth, 

In bounteous rivers to the deep again, 

A social commerce hold, and, firm, support 

The full-adjusted harmony of things. 

When Autumn scatters his departing gleams, 
Warned of approaching Winter, gathered, play 
The swallow-people ; and, tossed wide around, 
O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, 
The feathered eddy floats : rejoicing once, 8-10 

Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire ; 
In clusters clung, beneath the mouldering bank, 
And where, unpierced by frost, the cavern sweats. 
Or rather into warmer climes conveyed, 




13C THE SEASONS. 

With other kindred birds of season, there 
They twitter cheerful, till the vernal months 
Invite them welcome back ; for, thronging, now 
Innumerous wings are in commotion all. 

Where the Rhine loses his majestic force 
In Belgian plains, won from the raging deep sso 
By diligence amazing, and the strong 
Unconquerable hand of liberty, 
The stork-assembly meets ; for many a day, 
Consulting deep and various, ere they take 
Their arduous voyage through the liquid sky : 
And now. their route designed, their leaders chose, 
Their tribes adjusted, cleaned their vigorous wings, 
And many a circle, many a short essay, 
Wheeled round and round, in congregation full 
The figured flight ascends ; and, riding high seo 
The aerial billows, mixes with the clouds. 

Or where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, 
Boils round the naked melancholy isles 
Of farthest Thule,* and the Atlantic surge 
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides ; 
Who can recount what transmigrations there 
Are annual made ? what nations come and go ? 
And how the living clouds on clouds arise, 
Infinite wings ! till all the plume-dark air 
And rude resounding shore are one wild cry ? ^70 

Here the plain harmless native his small flock, 
And herd diminutive of many hues, 
Tends on the little island's verdant swell, 
The shepherds sea-girt reign ; or, to the rocks 
Dire-clinging, gathers his ovarious food ; 
Or sweeps the fishy shore ; or treasures up 
* See note on Summer, line 1 1 68. 



AUTUMN. 131 

The plumage, rising full, to form the bed 
Of luxury. And here a while the Muse, 
High hovering o'er the broad cerulean scene, 
Sees Caledonia, in romantic view : 880 

Her airy mountains, from the waving main, 
Invested with a keen diffusive sky, 
Breathing the soul acute ; her forests huge, 
Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's hand 
Planted of old ; her azure lakes between, 
Poured out extensive, and of watery wealth 
Full ; winding, deep and green, her fertile vales, 
With many a cool translucent brimming flood 
Washed lovely, from the Tweed (pure parent-stream, 
Whose pastoral banks* first heard my Doric reed. 
With, silvan Jed, thy tributary brook) 89-i 

To where the north-inflated tempest foams 
O'er Orca'sf or Betubium's J highest peak. 
Nurse of a people, in misfortune's school 
Trained up to hardy deeds ; soon visited 
By learning, when before the Gothic rage 
She took her western flight. A manly race, 
Of unsubmitting spirit, wise, and brave ; 
Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard, 
(As well unhappy Wallace can attest, 900 

Great patriot- hero ! ill requited chief !) 
To hold a generous, undiminished state ; 

* Ednam, the birthplace of Thomson, is in Roxburghshire, 
near the banks of the Tweed. 

t The Orkney islands. 

I A promontory in Scotland, now called the Cape of St. 
Andrew. 

The celebrated William Wallace, son of Sir Malcolm 
Wallace of Elderslie. He was cruelly executed in Went 
Smithfield, on the twenty-second of August, 1305. 



132 THE SEASONS. 

Too much in vain ! Hence of unequal bounds 

Impatient, and by tempting glory borne 

O'er every land, for every land their life 

Has flowed profuse, their piercing genius planned, 

And swelled the pomp of peace their faithful toil : 

As from their own clear north, in radiant streams, 

Bright over Europe bursts the Boreal Morn. 

Oh ! is there not some patriot, in whose power 
That best, that godlike luxury is placed, 911 

Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn, 
Through late posterity ? some, large of soul, 
To cheer dejected industry, to give 
A double harvest to the pining swain, 
And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil ? 
How, by the finest art, the native robe 
To weave ; how, white as hyperborean snow, 
To form the lucid lawn ; with venturous oar 
How to dash wide the billow ; nor look on, 920 
Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets* 
Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms, 
That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores; t 
How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing 
The prosperous sail, from every growing port, 
Uninjured, round the sea- encircled globe ; 
And thus, in soul united as in name, 
Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep ! 

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argyle,J 
Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast, 930 

* Batavia was the ancient name of Holland. 

t The herring fishery on the Scotch coast was formerly 
monopolized by the Dutch. 

J John, second Duke of Argyle, born 1678, died 1743. 
He was distinguished both as a frenp.ral and a statesman. 



AUTUMN. 133 

From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, 
Thy fond imploring country turns her eye ; 
In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees 
Her every virtue, every grace combined, 
Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, 
Her pride of honour, and her courage tried, 
Calm and intrepid in the very throat 
Of sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field. 
Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow : 
For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue 
Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate ; 941 
While mixed in thee combine the charm of youth, 
The force of manhood, and the depth of age. 
Thee, Forbes,* too, whom every worth attends, 
As Truth sincere, as weeping Friendship kind ; 
Thee, truly generous, and in silence great, 
Thy country feels through her reviving arts, 
Planned by thy wisdom, by thy soul informed : 
And seldom has she felt a friend like thee. 

But see the fading many-coloured woods, 950 
Shade deepening over shade, the country round 
Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dun, 
Of every hue, from wan declining green 
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse, 
Low- whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, 
And give the season in its latest view. 

Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm 
Fleeces unbounded ether : whose least wave 

* Duncan Forbes, born in 1685. He was distinguished as 
an advocate, was returned to parliament in 1722, became Lord 
Advocate in 1725, and of the Lords Justiciary in 1735, and in 
1737 Lord President of the Court of Session ; he died in 1747. 
He was a great patron of learning, and an enlightened states- 
man. 



134 THE SEASONS. 

Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn 

The gentle current : while, illumined wide, 960 

The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, 

And through their lucid veil his softened force 

Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time 

For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm 

To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, 

And soar above this little scene of things ; 

To tread low-thoughted Vice beneath their feet, 

To soothe the throbbing Passions into peace, 

And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks. 

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise, 970 

Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, [heard 
And through the saddened grove, where scarce is 
One dying strain to cheer the woodman's toil. 
Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint, 
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse ; 
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, 
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late 
Swelled all the music of the swarming shades, 
Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit 
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock ! sso 
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, 
And naught save chattering discord in their note. 
Oh ! let not, aimed from some inhuman eye, 
The gun the music of the coming year 
Destroy ; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, 
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey, 
In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground. 

The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, 
/A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf 
I Incessant rustles from the mournful grove; 990 
j Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, 



AUTUMN. 135 

And slowly circles through the waving air. 
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs 
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams ; 
Till, choked and matted with the dreary shower, 
The forest walks, at every rising gale, 
Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak. 
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ; 
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race 
Their sunny robes resign. Even what remained 
Of bolder fruits falls from the naked tree ; KM 
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around 
The desolated prospect thrills the soul. 

He conies ! he comes ! in every breeze the Power 
' Of phijjtfinphir ^innflV'"*y ro mAg ! 
'His near approach the sudden-starting tear, t^j, I , 



The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, / ,^ 

The softened feature, and the beating heart, 

Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. 

O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes ; 1010 

Inflames imagination ; through the breast 

Infuses every tenderness ; and far 

Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought. 

Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such 

As never mingled with the vulgar dream, 

Cnnyd fast into the mind's creative eye. 

As fast the correspondent passions rise, 

As varied, and as high : devotion raised 

To rapture, and divine astonishment ; Jf-^ 

The love of nature unconfmed, and, chief, I 1020 / 

Of human race ; the large ambitious wish , - 

To make them blest ; the sigh for suffering worth 

Lost in obscurity ; the noble scorn 

Of tyrant pride ; the fearless great resolve ; 



136 THE SEASONS. 

The wonder which the dying patriot draws, 
Inspiring glory through remotest time ; 
* The awakened throb for virtue and for fame ; 
,^ ^C^-" The sympathies of love, and friendship dear ; 
With all the social offspring of the heart. 

Oh ! bear me then to vast embowering shades, 
To twilight groves, and visionary vales ; 1031 
To weeping grottoes, and prophetic glooms ; 
Where angel forms athwart the solemn dusk, 
j[/ Tremendous, sweep, or seem to sweep along ; fy 
And voices, more than human, through the void 
Deep-sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear. I 

Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye Powers, "~ 
That o'er the garden and the rural seat 
Preside, which, shining through the cheerful hand J 
In countless numbers, blest Britannia sees, 1040 
Oh ! lead me to the wide extended walks, 
The fair majestic paradise of Stowe.* 
Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore 
E'er saw such sylvan scenes ; such various art ^J 
By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed 
By cool judicious art ; that, in the strife, 
All-beauteous Nature fears to be outdone. 
And there, Pitt ! f thy country's early boast, 
There let me sit beneath the sheltered slopes, 
Or in that temple J where, in future times, ioso 
Thou well shalt merit a distinguished name ; 
A.nd, with thy converse blest, catch the last smiles 
Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. 
While there with thee the enchanted round I walk, 

* The seat of Lord Viscount Cobhanu T. 

t William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham. 

j The Temple of Virtue in Stowe Gardens.!'. 



AUTUMN. 137 

The regulated wild, gay fancy then 
Will tread in thought the groves of Attic land ; 
Will from thy standard taste refine her own, 
Correct her pencil to the purest truth 
Of Nature, or, the unimpassioned shades 
Forsaking, raise it to the human mind. ioeo 

Or if hereafter she, with juster hand, 
Shall draw the tragic scene, instruct her, thou, 
To mark the varied movements of the heart, 
What every decent character requires, 
And every passion speaks. Oh ! through her strain, 
Breathe thy pathetic eloquence, that moulds 
The attentive senate, charms, persuades, exalts, 
Of honest zeal the indignant lightning throws, 
And shakes corruption on her venal throne. 
While thus we talk, and through Elysian vales 1070 
Delighted rove, perhaps a sigh escapes : 
What pity, Cobham ! * thou thy verdant files 
Of ordered trees shouldst here inglorious range, 
Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field, 
And long embattled hosts ! when the proud foe, 
The faithless vain disturber of mankind, 
Insulting Gaul, has roused the world to war ; 
When keen, once more, within their bounds to press 
Those polished robbers, those ambitious slaves, 
The British youth would hail thy wise command, 
Thy tempered ardour and thy veteran skill. losi 

The western sun withdraws the shortened day ; 
And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky, 
In her chill progress, to the ground condensed 
The vapours throws. Where creeping waters ooze, 
Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers wind, 

* Sir Richard Temple, created Lord Cobham in 1714. 



138 THE SEASONS. 

Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along 

The dusky-mantled lawn. Meanwhile the moon, 

Full-orbed and breaking through the scattered 

clouds, 

Shows her broad visage in the crimsoned east. 1090 
Turned to the sun direct, her spotted disk, 
Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales descend, 
And caverns deep, as optic tube descries, 
A smaller earth, gives all his blaze again, 
Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day. 
Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop, 
Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. 
Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild 
O'er the skied mountain to the shadowy vale, 1099 
While rocks and floods reflect the quivering gleam, 
The whole air whitens with a boundless tide 
Of silver radiance, trembling round the world. 

But when, half blotted from the sky, her light, 
Fainting, permits the starry fires to burn 
With keener lustre through the depth of heaven ; 
Or near extinct her deadened orb appears, 
And scarce appears, of sickly, beamless white ; 
Oft in this season, silent from the north 
A blaze of meteors shoots : ensweeping first 
The lower skies, they all at once converge 1110 
High to the crown of heaven, and all at once 
Relapsing quick, as quickly re-ascend, 
And mix, and thwart, extinguish, and renew, 
All ether coursing in a maze of light. 

From look to look, contagious through the crowd, 
The panic runs, and into wondrous shapes 
The appearance throws : armies in meet array, 
Thronged with aerial spears, and steeds of fire ; 



AUTUMN. 139 

Till, the long lines of full- extended war 1119 

In bleeding fight commixed, the sanguine flood 

Rolls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven. 

As thus they scan the visionary scene, 

On all sides swells the superstitious din, 

Incontinent ; and busy frenzy talks 

Of blood and battle ; cities overturned, 

And late at night in swallowing earthquake sunk, 

Or, hideous, wrapt in fierce ascending flame ; 

Of sallow famine, inundation, storm ; 

Of pestilence, and every great distress ; 

Empires subversed, when ruling fate has struck 

The unalterable hour: even Nature's self mi^ 

Is deemed to totter on the brink of time. 

Not so the man of philosophic eye, 

And inspect sage ; the waving brightness 

Curious surveys, inquisitive to know 

The causes and materials, yet unfixed, 

Of this appearance beautiful and new. 

Now black and deep, the night begins to fall, 
A shade immense ! Sunk in the quenching gloom, 
Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. iuo 
Order confounded lies ; all beauty void ; 
Distinction lost ; and gay variety 
One universal blot : such the fair power 
Of light to kindle and create the whole. 
Drear is the state of the benighted wretch, 
Who then, bewildered, wanders through the dark, 
Full of pale fancies, and chimeras huge ; 
Nor visited by one directive ray, 
From cottage streaming, or from airy hall. 
Perhaps, impatient as he stumbles on, me 

Struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue, 




140 THE SEASONS. 

The wild-fire scatters round, or, gathered, trails 

A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss : 

Whither decoyed by the fantastic blaze, 

Now lost and now renewed, he sinks absorbed, 

Rider and horse, amid the miry gulf; 

While still, from day to day, his pining wife 

And plaintive children his return await, 

In wild conjecture lost. At other times, 

Sent by the better genius of the night, mo 

Innoxious, gleaming on the horse's mane, 

The meteor sits ; * and shows the narrow path 

That, winding, leads through pits of death, or else 

Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford. 

The lengthened night elapsed, the morning shines 
Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, 
Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. 
And now the mounting sun dispels the fog ; 
The rigid hoar frost melts before his beam ; 
And hung on every spray, on every blade 1170 

Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round. 

Ah ! see where, robbed and murdered, in that pit 
Lies the still heaving hive ; at evening snatched, 
Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, 
And fixed o'er sulphur : while, riot dreaming ill, 
The happy people, in their waxen cells, 
Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes 
Of temperance, for winter poor ; rejoiced 
To mark, full flowing round, their copious stores. 
Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends ; nso 
And, used to milder scents, the tender race, 
By thousands tumble from their honeyed domes, 
Convolved, and agonizing in the dust. 

* The Ignis Fatuus, or Will-o'-the-Wisp. 



AUTUMN. J41 

And was it then for this you roamed the Spring, 
Intent, from flower to flower ? for this you toiled 
Ceaseless the burning summer-heats away ? 
For this in Autumn searched the blooming waste, 
Nor lost one sunny gleam ? for this sad fate ? 
Man ! tyrannic lord ! how long, how long 
. Shall^r^mteNature groan, beneath your rage, 
Awaiting^ renovation ? When obliged, 1190 

Must you destroy ? Of their ambrosial food 
Can you not borrow ; and, in just return, 
Afford them shelter from the wintry winds ; 
Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own 
Again regale them on some smiling day ? 
See where the stony bottom of their town 
Looks desolate and wild ; with here and there 
A helpless number, who the ruined state 
Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death. 1200 
Thus a proud city, populous and rich, 
Full of the works of peace, and high in joy, 
At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep, 
(As late, Palermo, was thy fate) is seized 
By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurled. 
Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involved, 
Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame. 

Hence, every harsher sight ! For now the day, 
O'er heaven and earth diffused, grows warm and high ; 
Infinite splendour ! wide-investing all. ' 1210 

How still the breeze ! save what the filmy thread 
Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain. 
How clear the cloudless sky ! how deeply tinged 
With a peculiar blue ! the ethereal arch, 
How swelled immense ! amid whose azure throned, 
The radiant sun how gay ! how calm below, 




142 THE SEASONS. 

The gilded earth ! the harvest- treasures all 
Now gathered in, beyond the rage of storms, 
Sure to the swain ; the circling fence shut, up ; 
And instant Winter's utmost rage defied : 1220 

While, loose to festive joy, the country round 
Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth ; 
Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth, 
By the quick sense of music taught alone, 
Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. 
Her every charm abroad, the village- toast, 
Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, 
Darts not-unmeaning looks ; and where her eye 
Points an approving smile, with double force 
The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines. 1230 
Age too shines out ; and, garrulous, recounts 
The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice ; nor think 
That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil 
Begins again the never-ceasing round. 

Oh ! knew he but his happiness, of men 
The happiest he ; who far from public rage 
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, 
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. 
What though the dome be wan ting, whose proud gate, 
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd mo 
Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused ? 
Vile intercourse ! What though the glittering rob? 
Of every hue reflected light can give, 
Or floating loose, or stiff with massy gold, 
The pride and gaze of fools ! oppress him not ? 
What though, from utmost land and sea purveyed- 
For him each rarer tributary life 
Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps 
With luxury and death ? What though his bowl 



AUTUMN. 143 

Flames not with costly juice ; nor, sunk in beds, 
Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, 1251 

Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ? 
What though he knows not those fantastic joys 
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive 
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain 
Their hollow moments undelighted all ? 
Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estranged 
To disappointment and fallacious hope : 
Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, * 1259 
In herbs and fruits ; whatever greens the Spring, 
When heaven descends in showers ; or bends the 

bough 

When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams ; 
Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies 
Concealed, and fattens with the richest sap : 
These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove, 
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ; 
Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams, 
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere 
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, 
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; 1270 
Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, 
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear. 
Here too dwells simple truth, plain innocence, 
Unsullied beauty, sound unbroken youth, 
Patient of labour, with a little pleased, 
Health ever-blooming, unambitious toil, 
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease. 

Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, 
And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. 
Let such as deem it glory to destroy, 1280 

Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek ; 



144 THE SEASONS. 

Unpierccd, exulting in the widow's wail, 

The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry. 

Let some, far distant from their native soil, 

Urged or by want or hardened avarice, 

Find other lands beneath another sun. 

Let this through cities work his eager way, 

By legal outrage and established guile, 

Thfi spmal Anaq px*i'* ; and that ferment 

Mad into tumult the seditious herd, 1291; 

Or melt them down to slavery. Let these 

Insnare the wretched in the toils of law, 

Fomenting discord, and perplexing right, 

An iron race ! and those of fairer front, 

But equal inhumanity, in courts, 

Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight ; 

Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, 

And tread the weary labyrinth of state, 

While he, from all the stormy passions free 

That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, 

At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 1301 

Wrapped close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, 

The rage of nations, and the crush of states, 

Move not the man, who, from the world escaped, 

In still retreats and flowery solitudes, 

To Nature's voice attends, from month to month, 

And day to day, through the revolving year ; 

Admiring, sees her in her every shape ; 

Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart ; 130 1 

Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. 

He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, 

Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale 

Into his freshened soul ; her genial hours 

He full enjoys ; and not a beauty blows, 



AUTUMN. 145 

And not an opening blossom breathes, in vain. 

In Summer he, beneath the living shade, 

Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave, 

Or Haemus cool, reads what the muse, of these 

Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung ; 

Or, what she dictates, writes : and oft, an eye 1320 

Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year. 

When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world, 

And tempts the sickled swain into the field, 

Seized by the general joy, his heart distends 

With gentle throes : and, through the tepid gleams 

Deep-musing, then he best exerts his song. 

Even Winter wild to him is full of bliss. 

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste, 

Abrupt and deep, stretched o'er the buried earth, 

Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies, 

Disclosed and kindled by refining frost, 1331 

Pour every lustre on the exalted eye. 

A friend, a book, the stealing hours secure, 

And mark them down for wisdom. With swift wing, 

O'er land and sea imagination roams ; 

Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind, 

Elates his being, and unfolds his powers ; 

Or in his breast heroic virtue burns. 

The touch of kindred too and love he feels ; 

The modest eye, whose beams on his alone 1340 

Ecstatic shine ; the little strong embrace 

Of prattling children, twined around his neck, 

And emulous to please him, calling forth 

The fond parental soul. Nor purpose gay, 

Amusement, dance, or song, he sternly scorns : 

For happiness and true philosophy 

Are of the social still, and smiling kind. 



U-t 



146 TttE SEASONS. 

This is the life which those who fret in guilt, 
And guilty cities, never knew ; the life, 
Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt, 1350 

When angels dwelt, and God himself, with man ! 

Nature ! all-sufficient ! over all ! 
Enrich me with the knowledge of thy works ; 
Snatch me to Heaven ; thy rolling wonders there, 
World beyond world, in infinite extent, 
Profusely scattered o'er the blue immense, 
Show me ; their motions, periods, and their laws 
Give me to scan ; through the disclosing deep 
Light my blind way : the mineral strata there ; 
Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world ; 
O'er that the rising system, more complex, isei 
Of animals ; and, higher still, the mind, 
The varied scene of quick-compounded thought, 
And where the mixing passions endless shift ; 
These ever open to my ravished eye : 
A search, the flight of time can ne'er exhaust ! 
But if to that unequal ; if the blood, 
In sluggish streams about my heart, forbid 
That best ambition ; under closing shades, 
Inglorious, lay me by the lowly brook, 1370 

And whisper to my dreams. From Thee begin, 

/Dwell all on Thee, with Thee conclude my song ; 

\And let me never, never stray from Thee ! 



WINTER. 



THE ARGTTMEHT. 

THE subject proposed. Address to the Earl of Wilmington. 
First approach of Winter. According to the natural course 
of the season, various storms described. Rain. Wind. 
Snow. The driving of the snows : a man perishing among 
them ; whence reflections on the wants and miseries of human 
life. The wolves descending from the Alps and Apennines. 
A winter evening described : as spent by philosophers ; by the 
country people ; in the city. Frost. A view of Winter 
within the polar circle. A thaw. The whole concluding 
with moral reflections on a future state. 




WINTEK. 




|EE, 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 sqjenin thought 
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms ! 
Congenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot, 
^Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 

When nursed by careless solitude I lived, 
kAnd sung of Nature with unceasing joy, . 
Pleased have I wandered through your rough do- 
main ; 10 
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure ; 
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst ; 
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brewed 
In the grim evening-sky. Thus passed the time. 
Till through the. lucid chambers of the south 

w 



150 THE SEASONS. 

Looked out the joyous Spring ; looked out, and smiled. 

To thee, the patron of this^rsf essay, 
The muse, Wilmington ! * renews her song. 
Since has she rounded the revolving year : 
Skimmed the gay Spring ; on eagle-pinions borne, 
Attempted through the Summer blaze to rise ; 21 
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale ; 
And now among the wintry clouds again, 
Rolled in the doubling storm, she tries to soar ; 
To swell her note with all the rushing winds ; 
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods ; 
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great : 
Thrice happy, could she fill thy judging ear 
With bold description, and with manly thought. 
Nor art thou skilled in awful schemes alone, so 
And how to make a mighty people thrive j 
But equal goodness, sound integrity, 
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul, 
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong, 
Not vainly blazing, for thy country's weal 
A steady spirit, regularly free. 
These, each exalting each, the statesman light 
Into the patriot ; these, the public hope 
And eye to thee converting, bid the muse 
Record what envy dares not flattery call. 40 

Now, when the cheerless empire of the sky 
To Capricorn the Centaur-Archer yields,t 
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year : 

* Sir Spencer Compton, created Baron Wilmington in 1727, 
and Viscount Pevensey and Earl of Wilmington in 1730. 
He was Speaker of the House of Commons during part of the 
premiership of Sir Robert Walpole ; died 1743. This eulogy 
was substituted by Thomson for the epistolary dedication 
written by Mallet which, appeared in the first edition. 

t The twenty-first of December. 



WINTER. 151 

Hung o'er the farthest verge of heaven, the sun 
Scarce spreads o'er ether the dejected day. 
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot 
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines, 
Through the thick air ; as, clothed in cloudy storm, 
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky ; 
And, soon-descending, to the long dark night, 50 
Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns. 
Nor is the night unwished ; while vital heat, 
Light, life, and joy, the dubious day forsake. 
Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast, 
Deep-tinged and damp, and congregated clouds, 
And all the vapoury turbulence of Heaven, 
Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls, 
A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world, 
Through Nature shedding influence malign, 
And rouses up the seeds of dark disease. eo 

The soul of man dies in him, loathing life, 
And black with more than melancholy views. 
The cattle droop ; and o'er the furrowed land, 
Fresh from the plough, the dun-discoloured flocks, 
Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. 
Along the woods, along the moorish fens, 
Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm ; 
And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, 
And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook 
And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan, 70 
Resounding long in listening fancy's ear. 

Then comes the father of the tempest forth, 
Wrapt in black glooms. First, joyless rains obscure 
Drive through the mingling skies with vapour foul, 
Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, 
That grumbling wave, below. The unsightly plain. 



152 THE SEASONS. 

Lies a brown deluge ; as the low-bent clouds 
Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still 
Combine, and, deepening into night, shut up 
The day's fair face. The wanderers of heaven, so 
Each to his home, retire ; save those that love 
To take their pastime in the troubled air, 
Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. 
The cattle from the untasted fields return, 
And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls, 
Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. 
Thither the household feathery people crowd 
The crested cock, with all his female train, 
Pensive and dripping; while the cottage hind 
Hangs o'er the enlivening blaze, and taleful there 
Recounts his simple frolic : much he talks, 91 

And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows 
Without, and rattles on his humble roof. 

Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swelled, 
And the mixed ruin of its banks overspread, 
At last the roused-up river pours along : 
Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes, 
From the rude mountain and the mossy wild, 
Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far ; 
Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads, lot 
Calm, sluggish, silent ; till, again constrained 
Between 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 
through. 

Nature! great parent ! whose unceasingjiajid 
Rolls round the seasons oT the TjEangeTuTyear, 
How mighty, how majestic, are thy works ! 



WINTER. 153 

With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul, 

That sees astonished ; and astonished sings ! no 

Ye too, ye Winds ! that now begin to blow, 

With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. 

Where are your stores, ye powerful beings ! say, 

Where your aerial magazines, reserved 

To swell the brooding terrors of the storm ? 

In what far-distant region of the sky, 

Hushed in deep silence, sleep you when 'tis calm ? 

When from the pallid sky the sun descends, 
With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb 
Uncertain wanders, stained ; red fiery streaks 120 
Begin to flush around. The reeling clouds 
Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet 
Which master to obey ; while rising slow, 
Blank, in the leaden-coloured east, the moon 
Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. 
Seen through the turbid, fluctuating air, 
The stars obtuse emit a shivering ray ; 
Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, 
And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. 
Snatched in short eddies, plays the withered leaf; 
And on the flood the dancing feather floats. 131 
With broadened nostrils to the sky upturned, 
The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. 
E'en as the matron, at her nightly task, 
With pensive labour draws the flaxen thread, 
The wasted taper and the crackling flame 
Foretell the blast. But chief the plumy race, 
The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. 
Retiring from the downs, where all day long 139 
They picked their scanty fare, a blackening train 
Of clamorous rooks thick-urge their weary flight 



154 THE SEASONS. 

And seek the closing shelter of the grove. 
Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl 
Plies his sad song. The cormorant on high 
Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land. 
Loud shrieks the soaring hern ; and with wild wing 
The circling sea-fowl cleave the flaky clouds. 
Ocean, unequal pressed, with broken tide 
And blind commotion heaves; while from the shore, 
Ate into caverns by the restless wave, 150 

And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice, 
That solemn-sounding bids the world prepare. 
Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, 
And hurls the whole precipitated air 
Down, in a torrent. On the passive main 
Descends the ethereal force, and with strong gust 
Turns from its bottom the discoloured deep. 
Through the black night that sits immense around, 
Lashed into foam, the fierce conflicting brine 
Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to burn. ieo 
Meantime the mountain-billows, to the clouds 
In dreadful tumult swelled, surge above surge, 
Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, 
And anchored navies from their stations drive, 
Wild as the winds across the howling waste 
Of mighty waters : now the inflated wave 
Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot 
Into the secret chambers of the deep, 
The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. 
Emerging thence again, before the breath 170 

Of full-exerted heaven they wing their course, 
And dart on distant coasts ; if some sharp rock, 
Or shoal insidious, break not their career, 
And in loose fragments fling them floating round.. 



WINTER. 155 

Nor less at land the loosened tempest reigns. 
The mountain thunders ; and its sturdy sons 
Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. 
Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, 
The dark wayfaring stranger breathless toils, 
And, often falling, climbs against the blast. iso 
Low waves the rooted forest, vexed, and sheds 
What of its tarnished honours yet remain ; 
Dashed down, and scattered, by the tearing wind's 
Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. 
Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, 
The whirling tempest raves along the plain ; 
And on the cottage thatched, or lordly roof, 
Keen-fastening, shakes them to the solid base. 
Sleep frighted flies ; and round the rocking dome, 
For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. 190 
Then too, they say, through all the burdened air, 
Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant 
That, uttered by the demon of the night, [sighs, 
Warn the devoted wretch of woe and death. 

Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds, commixed 
With stars swift-gliding, sweep along the sky. 
All Nature reels : till nature's King, who__oft _ < 
Amid tempestuous darkness dw'ells alone, 
And on the wings of the careering wind 
Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm ; 200 
Then straight air, sea, and earth, are hushed at once. 

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds, 
Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom. 
Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep, 
Let me associate with the serious night, 
And contemplation, her sedate compeer ; 
Let me shake off" the intrusive cares of day, 



150 THE SEASONS. 

And lay the meddling senses all aside. 

Where now, ye lying vanities of life ! 
Ye ever-tempting, ever-cheating train ! 210 

Where are you now ? and what is your amount ? 
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse : 
Sad, sickening thought ! and yet deluded man, 
A scene of crude disjointed visions past, 
And broken slumbers, rises still resolved, 
With new-flushed hopes, to run the giddy round. 

Father of light_and life ! thou Good Supreme ! 
teach me what isgoodl-teach me Thyself! 
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 
From every low pursuit ; and feed my soul 220 
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure- 
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss ! 
1/f The keener tempests come ; and fuming dun 
From all the livid east, or piercing north, 
Thick clouds ascend ; in whose capacious womb 
A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congealed. 
Heavy they roll their fleecy world along ; 
And the sky saddens with the gathered storm. 
Through the hushed air the whitening shower 

descends, 

At first thin-wavering ; till at last the flakes 230 
Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. The cherished fields 
Put on their winter robe of purest white. 
'Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts 
Along the mazy current. Low, the woods 
Bow their hoar head ; and, ere the languid sun, 
Faint from the west, emits his evening ray, 
Earth's universal face, deep-hid and chill, 
Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide use 



, WINTER. 157 

) 

The works of man. Drooping, the labourer-ox 
Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands 
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, 
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 
Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 
The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, 
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, 
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves 
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man 
His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first 250 

Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights 
On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the floor, 
Eyes all the smiling family askance, 
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is ; 
Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds 
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, 
Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 
By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, 
And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, 260 
Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind 
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, 
With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad-dispersed, 
Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow. 
Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind ; 
Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens 
With food at will ; lodge them below the storm, 
And watch them strict : for, from the bellowing east, 
In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing 
Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains 270 
In one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks, 
Hid in the hollow of two neighbouring hills, 



158 THE SEASONS. 

The billowy tempest whelms ; till, upward urged, 
The valley to a shining mountain swells, 
Tipped with a wreath high-curling in the sky. 
As thus the snows arise, and, foul and fierce, 
All Winter drives along the darkened air, 
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain 
Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend, 
Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, sso 
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ; 
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 
From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; 
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 
Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of 

home 

Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth 
In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul ! 
What black despair, what horror fills his heart ! 
When for the dusky spot, which fancy feigned 290 
His tufted cottage, rising through the snow, 
He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 
Far from the track and blessed abode of man ; 
While round him night resistless closes fast, 
And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 
Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 
Then throng the busy shapes into his mind, 
Of covered pits, unfathomably deep, 
A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost ; 
Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 300 

Smoothed up with snow ; and, what is land un- 
What water, of the still unfrozen spring, [known, 
In the loose marsh, or solitary lake, 
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 



WINTER. 159 

These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks, 
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 
Mixed with the tender anguish nature shoots 
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man 
His wife, his children, and his friends unseen, sio 
In vain for him the officious wife prepares 
The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; 
In vain his little children, peeping out 
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, 
With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 
Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve 
The deadly winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 
And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 
Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse, 320 

[Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern blast, ] 

Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud, 
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; 
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
A.nd wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; 
Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, 
How many feel, this very moment, death 
And all the sad variety of pain. 
How many sink in the devouring flood, 
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, 830 
By shameful variance betwixt man and man. 
How many pine in want, and dungeon-glooms ; 
Shut from the common air and common use 
Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup 
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
Of misery. Sore pierced by wintry winds, 
How many shrink into the sordid hut 




160 THE SEASONS. 

Of cheerless poverty. How many shake 
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, 
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ; a-to 
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, 
They furnish matter for the tragic muse. 
E'en in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell, 
With friendship, peace, and contemplation joined, 
How many, racked with honest passions, droop 
In deep retired distress. How many stand 
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, 
And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man 
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, 
That one incessant struggle render life, sso 

One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, 
Vice in his high career would stand appalled, 
And heedless rambling impulse learn to think ; 
The conscious heart of charity would warm, 

d her wide wish benevolence dilate ; 
The social tear would rise, the social sigh ; 
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, 
Refining still, the social passions work. 

And here can I forget the generous band,* 
Who, touched with human woe, redressive searched 
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ? 361 

Unpitied, and unheard, where misery moans ; 
Where sickness pines ; where thirst and hunger burn, 
And poor misfortune feels the lash of vice. 
While in the land of liberty, the land 
Whose every street and public meeting glow 
With open freedom, little tyrants raged ; 
Snatched the lean morsel from the starving mouth ; 
Tore from cold wintry limbs the tattered weed ; 
* The Jail Committee in the year 1729. T. 



WINTER. 161 

Even robbed them of the last of comforts, sleep ; 
The free-born Briton to the dungeon chained, 371 
Or, as the lust of cruelty prevailed, 
At pleasure marked him with inglorious stripes ; 
And crushed out lives, by secret barbarous ways, 
That for their country would have toiled, or bled. 
great design ! if executed well, 
With patient care, and wisdom-tempered zeal. 
Ye sons of mercy ! yet resume the search ; 
Drag forth the legal monsters into light, 
Wrench from their hands oppression's iron rod, 
And bid the cruel feel the pains they give. ssi 
Much still untouched remains ; in this rank age, 
Much is the patriot's weeding hand required. 
The toils of law, (what dark insidious men 
Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth, 
And lengthen simple justice into trade) 
How glorious were the day that saw these broke, 
And every man within the reach of right ! s, 

By wintry famine roused, from all the tract 
Of horrid mountains which the shining Alps, 390 
And wavy Appennines, and Pyrenees, 
Branch out stupendous into distant lands, 
Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave, 
Burning for blood, bony, and gaunt, and grim. 
Assembling wolves in raging troops descend ; 
And, pouring o'er the country, bear along, 
Keen as the north- wind sweeps the glossy snow, 
All as their prize. They fasten on the steed, 
Press him to earth, and pierce his mighty heart. 
Nor can the bull his awful front defend, 4oe 

Or shake the murdering savages away. 
Rapacious, at the mother's throat they fly, 
M 



162 THE SEASONS. 

And tear the screaming infant from her breast. 
The godlike face of man avails him naught. 
Even Beauty, force divine ! at whose bright glance 
The generous lion stands in softened gaze, 
Here bleeds, a hapless undistinguished prey. 
But if, apprized of the severe attack, 
The country be shut up, lured by the scent, 
On churchyards drear (inhuman to relate !) 410 
The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig 
The shrouded body from the grave ; o'er which, 
Mixed with foul shades and frighted ghosts, they 
howl. 

Among those hilly regions, where, embraced 
In peaceful vales, the happy Orisons dwell, 
Oft, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs, 
Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll. 
From steep to steep, loud-thundering, down they 

come, 

A wintry waste in dire commotion all ; 419 

And herds, and flocks, and travellers, and swains, 
And sometimes whole brigades of marching troops 
Or hamlets sleeping in the dead of night, 
Are deep beneath the smothering ruin whelmed. 

Now, all amid the rigours of the year, 
In the wild depth of winter, while, without, 
The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat 
Between -the groaning forest and the shore, 
Beat by the boundless multitude of waves, 
A rural, sheltered, solitary scene ; 
Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join 430 
To cheer the gloom. There, studious, let me sit, 
And hold high converse with the mighty dead ; 
Sages of ancient time, as gods revered, 



WINTER. 'if.3 

As gods beneficent, who blessed mankind 

With arts and arms, and humanized a world. 

Roused at the inspiring thought, I throw aside 

The long-lived volume ; and, deep-musing, hail 

The sacred shades, that, slowly rising, pass 

Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, 

Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, 410 

Against the rage of tyrants single stood, 

Invincible ; calm reason's holy law, 

That Voice of God within the attentive mind, 

Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death : 

Great moral jgacher ! Wisest of mankind ! 

Solon the next, who built his common-weal 

On equity's wide base ; by tender laws 

A lively people curbing, yet undamped 

Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, 

Whence in the laurelled field of finer arts 450 

And of bold freedom, they unequalled shone 

The pride of smiling Greece, and human-kind. 

Lycurgus then, who bowed beneath the force 

Of strictest discipline, severely wise, 

All human passions. Following him, I see, 

As at Thermopylas he glorious fell, 

The firm devoted chief,* who proved by deeds 

The hardest lesson which the other taught. 

Then Aristides lifts his honest front ; 

Spotless of heart, to whom the unflattering voice 

Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just ; 461 

In pure majestic poverty revered ; 

Who, even his glory to his country's weal 

* Leonidas. T. King of Sparta, who defended the pass 
of Thermopylae against the whole Persian army under Xerxes, 
B. c. 480. 



164 THE SEASONS. 

Submitting, swelled a haughty rival's* fame. 

Reared by his care, of softer ray appears 

Cimon, sweet-souled ; whose genius, rising strong, 

Shook off the load of young debauch ; abroad 

The scourge of Persian pride, at home the friend 

Of every worth and every splendid art ; 

Modest, and simple, in the pomp of wealth. 470 

Then the last worthies of declining Greece, 

Late-called to glory, in unequal times, 

Pensive, appear. The fair Corinthian boast, 

Timoleon, tempered happy, mild, and firm, 

Who wept the brother while the tyrant bled, 

And, equal to the best, the Theban pair,t 

Whose virtues, in heroic concord joined, 

Their country raised to freedom, empire, fame. 

He too, with whom Athenian honour sunk, 

And left a mass of sordid lees behind, 480 

Phocion the Good ; in public life severe, 

To virtue still inexorably firm ; 

But when, beneath his low illustrious roof, 

Sweet peace and happy wisdom smoothed his brow, 

Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind. 

And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons, 

The generous victim to that vain attempt 

To save a rotten state, Agis, who saw 

Even Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk. 

* Themistocles. T. Although Themistocles assisted in 
procuring the banishment of Aristides, the latter, after his 
recal, exerted himself to raise Themistocles to the highest 
influence in the state, sacrificing his private feeling to the 
public good. 

t Pelopidas and Epaminondas. T. Celebrated Theban 
generals, who acquired for their state the supremacy of Greece, 
B.C. 362. 



WINTER. 165 

The two Achaian heroes close the train : 490 

Aratus, who awhile relumed the soul 
Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece ; 
And he her darling as her latest hope, 
The gallant Philopoemen, who to arms 
Turned the luxurious pomp he could not cure : 
Or toiling in his farm, a simple swain ; 
Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field. 
Of rougher front, a mighty people come ! 
A race of heroes ! in those virtuous times 
Which knew no stain, save that with parti;il flame 
Their dearest country they too fondly loved. 501 
Her better founder first, the light of Rome, 
Numa, who softened her rapacious sons : 
Servius the king, who laid the solid base 
H)n which o'er earth the vast republic spread. 
Then the great consuls venerable rise. 
The public father* who the private quelled, 
As on the dread tribunal sternly sad. 
He, whom his thankless country could not lose, 
Camillus, only vengeful to her foes. 510 

Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold ; 
And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough. 
Thy willing victim,f Carthage, bursting loose 
From all that pleading nature could oppose, 

* Marcus Junius Brutus. T. One of the first Roman 
consuls. His two sons, Titus and Tiberius, were tried and 
condemned by him for participating in a conspiracy to restore 
Tarquinius, and then scourged and beheaded in his presence, 
t Regulus. Marcus Atilius Regulus, a Roman general, 
who was taken prisoner by the Carthaginians. He was sent 
to Rome with some Carthaginian ambassadors, B.C. 250, to 
negotiate a peace, which involved his own liberation ; but he 
exhorted his countrymen to refuse the terms, and returned to 
Carthage in chains, where he soon afterwards died. 



166 THE SEASONS. 

From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith 
Imperious called, and honour's dire command. 
Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave, 
Who soon the race of spotless glory ran, 
And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade 
With friendship and philosophy retired. 520 

Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while 
Restrained the rapid fate of rushing Rome. 
Unconquered Cato, virtuous in extreme. 
And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart, 
Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urged, 
Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend. 
Thousands, besides, the tribute of a verse 
Demand ; but who can count the stars of Heaven ? 
Who sing their influence on this lower world ? 

Behold, who yonder comes ! in sober state, 530 
Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun : 
Tis Phoebus' self, or else the Mantuan Swain. 
Great Homer too appears, of daring wing, 
Parent of Song ! and equal by his side, 
The British Muse : joined hand in hand they walk, 
\p Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame. 

Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch 
Pathetic drew the impassioned heart, and charmed 
Transported Athens with the moral scene ; 
Nor those who, tuneful, waked the enchanting lyre. 

First of your kind ! society divine ! o4i 

Still visit thus my nights, for you reserved, 
And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like yours. 
Silence, thou lonely power ! the door be thine ; 
See on the hallowed hour that none intrude, 
Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign 



WINTER. 167 

To bless my humble roof, with sense refined, 
Learning digested well, exalted faith, 
Unstudied wit, and humour ever gay. 
Or from the muses' hill will Pope descend, sso 
To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, 
And with the social spirit warm the heart ? 
For though not sweeter his own Homer sings, 
Yet is his life the more endearing song. 

Where art thou, Hammond ? * thou, the darling 
The friend and lover of the tuneful throng ! [pride, 
Ah ! why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime 
Of vernal genius, where, disclosing fast, 
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay, 
Why wert thou ravished from our hope so soon ? 
What now avails that noble thirst of fame, sei 
Which stung thy fervent breast? that treasured store 
Of knowledge early gained ? that eager zeal 
To serve thy country, glowing in the band 
Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name ? 
What now, alas ! that life-diffusing charm 
Of sprightly wit ? that rapture for the muse, 
That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy, 
Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile ? 
Ah ! only showed, to check our fond pursuits, 570 
And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain. 

Thus in some deep retirement would I pass 
The winter-glooms, with friends of pliant soul, 
Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspired : 
With them would search, if nature's boundless frame 

* James Hammond, Equerry to Frederick, Prince of Wales, 
son of Anthony Hammond, Esq. of Somersham place, 
Buckinghamshire. He was born in 1710, and died, at the 
early age of thirty-two years, in 1742. 



103 THE SEASONS. 

Wasjjajled, late-rising from the void of nigh*, 
Or sprung eternal from the Eternal Mind ; 
Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end. 
Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole 
Would, gradual, open on our opening minds ; 590 
And each diffusive harmony unite 

\ 1 1 In full perfection, to the astonished eye. 

Y Then Jrould we try to scan the moral world, 

Which, though to us it seems embroiled, moves on 
In jjigher_prder ; fitted and impelled 
By wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all 
In general good. The sage historic muse 
Should next conduct us through the deeps of time: 
Show us how empire grew, declined, and fell, 589 
In scattered states ; what makes the nations smile, 
Improves their soil, and gives them double suns ; 
And why they pine beneath the brightest skies, 
In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talked, 
Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale 
That portion of divinity, that ray 
Of purest Heaven, which lights the public soul 
~ Of patriots and of heroes. But if doomed, 
In powerless humble fortune, to repress 
These ardent risings of the kindling soul ; 
Then, even superior to ambition, we eoo 

Cj. Would learn the private virtues ; how to glide 
Through shades and plains, along the smoothest 
Of rural life ; or, snatched away by hope, [stream 
Through the dim spaces of futurity, 
With earnest eye anticipate those scenes 
Of happiness and wonder, where the mind, 
In endless growth and infinite ascent, 
_Ar* Rises from state to state, and world to world. 



J 



WINTER. 1()9 

But when with these the serious thought is foiled, 
We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes eio 
Of frolic fancy ; and incessant form 
Those rapid pictures, that assembled train 
Of fleet ideas, never joined before, 
Whence lively wit excites to gay surprise ; 
Or folly-painting humour, grave himself, 
Calls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve. 

Meantime the village rouses up the fire : 
While well attested, and as well believed, 
Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round, 
Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all. 62u 

Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake 
The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round ; 
The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart, 
Easily pleased ; the long loud laugh, sincere ; 
The kiss, snatched hasty from the side-long maid, 
On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep ; 
The leap, the slap, the haul ; and, shook to notes 
Of native music, the respondent dance. 
Thus jocund fleets with them the winter-night. 

The city swarms intense. The public haunt, 
Full of each theme, and warm with mixed discourse, 
Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow 632 

Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy, 
To swift destruction. On the rankled soul 
The gaming fury falls ; and in one gulf 
Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace, 
Friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink. 
Up springs the dance along the lighted dome, 
Mixed and evolved, a thousand sprightly ways. 
The glittering court effuses every pomp ; 640 

The circle deepens ; beamed from gaudy robes, 



170 THE SEASONS. 

Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes, 
A soft effulgence o'er the palace waves : 
While, a gay insect in his summer-shine, 
The fop, light-fluttering, spreads his mealy wings. 

Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of Hamlet stalks ; 
Othello rages ; poor Monimia mourns ; 
And Belvidera pours her soul in love. 
Terror alarms the breast ; the comely tear 
Steals o'er the cheek : or else the comic muse 650 
Holds to the world a picture of itself, 
And raises sly the fair impartial laugh. 
Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes 
Of beauteous life ; whate'er can deck mankind, 
Or charm the heart, in generous Devil* showed. 

thou, whose wisdom, solid yet refined, 
Whose patriot-virtues, and consummate skill 
To touch the finer springs that move the world, 
Joined to whate'er the Graces can bestow, 
And all Apollo's animating fire, 660 

Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine 
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy, 
Of polished life ; permit the rural muse, 
() Chesterfield! lo grace with thee her song. 
Ere to the shades again she humbly flies, 
Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train, 
(For every muse has in thy train a place) 
To mark thy various full-accomplished mind : 
To mark that spirit, which, with British scorn, 
Rejects the allurements of corrupted power ; 670 
That elegant politeness, which excels, 
Even in the judgment of presumptuous France, 

* A character in Steele's " Conscious Lovers." Monimia 
and Belvidera, above, are from Otway's "Orphan" and 
" Venice Preserved " respectively. 



WINTER. 171 

The boasted manners of her shining court ; 
That wit, the vivid energy of sense, 
The truth of nature, which, with Attic point 
And kind well-tempered satire, smoothly keen, 
Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. 
Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame, 
Oh ! let me hail thee on some glorious day, 
When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd eso 
Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause. 
Then dressed by thee, more amiably fair, 
Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears : 
Thou to assenting reason givest again 
Her own enlightened thoughts ; called from the heart, 
The obedient passions on thy voice attend ; 
And even reluctant party feels a while 
Thy gracious power : as through the varied maze 
Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong, 
Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood. 690 

To thy loved haunt return, my happy muse : 
For now, behold ! the joyous Winter days, 
Frosty, succeed ; and through the blue serene, 
For sight too fine, the ethereal nitre flies ; [| 
Killing infectious damps, and the spent air 
Storing afresh with elemental life. 
Close crowds the shining atmosphere ; and binds 
Our strengthened bodies in its cold embrace, 
Constringent ; feeds, and animates our blood ; 
Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves, 
In swifter sallies darting to the brain 701 

" Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool, <^s^- 
Bright as the skies, and as the season keen. 
All nature feels the renovating force 
Of Winter ; only to the thoughtless eye 



i72 THE SEASONS. 

In ruin seen. The frost- concocted glebe 

Draws injibundairt vegetable, soul, 

And gathers vigour for the coming year ; 

A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek 

Of ruddy fire : and luculent along 710 

The purer rivers flow ; their sullen deeps, 

Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze, 

And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost. 

What art thou, frost ? and whence are thy keen 
Derived, thou secret all-invading power, [stores 
Whom even the illusive fluid cannot fly ? 
Is not thy potent energy, unseen, 
Myriads of little salts, or hooked, or shaped 
Like double wedges, and diffused, immense, 
Through water, earth, and ether ? hence at eve, 
Steamed eager from the red horizon round, 721 
With the fierce rage of Winter deep suffused, 
An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool 
Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career 
Arrests the bickering stream. The loosened ice, 
Let down the flood, and half dissolved by day, 
Rustles no more ; but to the sedgy bank 
Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, 
A crystal pavement, by the breath of heaven 
Cemented firm ; till, seized from shore to shore, 
The whole imprisoned river growls below. 731 

Loud rings the frozen earth, and, hard, reflects 
A double noise ; while, at his evening watch, 
The village dog deters the nightly thief; 
The heifer lows ; the distant water-fall 
Swells in the breeze ; and, with the hasty tread 
Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain 
Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, 



WINTER. 173 

Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, -- 
Shines out intensely keen ; and, all one cope 740 
Of starry glitter, glows from pole to pole. 
From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, 
Through the still night, incessant, heavy, strong, 
And seizes nature fast. 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 : 
Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, 
Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, 
The pendent icicle ; the frost-work fair, 750 

Where transient hues, and fancied figures rise ; 
Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, 
A livid tract, cold-gleaming on the morn ; 
The forest bent beneath the plumy wave ; 
And by the frost refined the whiter snow, 
Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread 
Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks 
His pining flock, or from the mountain top, 
Pleased with the slippery surface, swift descends. 
On blithsome frolics bent, the youthful swains, 
While every work of man is laid at rest, 761 

Fond o'er the river crowd, in various sport 
And revelry dissolved ; where mixing glad, 
Happiest of all the train ! the raptured boy 
Lashes the whirling top. Or, where the Rhine 
Branched out in many a long canal extends, 
From every province swarming, void of care, 
Batavia rushes forth ; and as they sweep, 
On sounding skates, a thousand different ways, 
In circling poise, swift as the winds, along, 770 
The then gay land is maddened all to joy. 



174 THE SEASONS. 

Nor less the northern courts, wide o'er the snow, 
Pour a new pomp. Eager, on rapid sleds, 
Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel 
The long-resounding course. Meantime, to raise 
The manly strife, with highly blooming charms, 
Flushed by the season, Scandinavia's dames, 
Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around. 

Pure, quick, and sportful, is the wholesome day ; 
But soon elapsed. The horizontal sun, TSO 

Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon ; 
And, ineffectual, strikes the gelid cliff. 
His azure gloss the mountain still maintains, 
Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale 
Relents awhile to the reflected ray; 
Or from the forest falls the clustered snow, 
Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam 
Gay-twinkle as they scatter. Thick around 
Thunders the sport of those who with the gun, 
And dog impatient bounding at the shot, 790 

Worse than the season, desolate the fields ; 
And, adding to the ruins of the year, 
Distress the footed or the feathered game. 

But what is this ? our infant Winter sinks, 
Divested of his grandeur, should our eye 
Astonished shoot into the frigid zone ; 
Where, for relentless months, continual night 
Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign. 

There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, 
Barred by the hand of Nature from escape, soo 
Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around 
Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow, 
And heavy-loaded groves, and solid floods, 
That stretch, athwart the solitary vast, 



WINTER. 1 75 

Their icy horrors to the frozen main ; v 

And cheerless towns far distant, never blessed, f 

Save when its annual course the caravan r - i r^' 

Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay, * 

With news of human-kind. Yet there life glows ; 

Yet cherished there, beneath the shining waste, 

The furry nations harbour : tipped with jet, sn 

Fair ermines, spotless as the snows they press ; 

Sables, of glossy black ; and dark-embrowned, 

Or beauteous freaked with many a mingled hue, 

Thousands besides, the costly pride of courts. 

There, warm together pressed, the trooping deer 

Sleep on the new-fallen snows; and, scarce his head 

Raised o'er the heapy wreath, the branching elk 

Lies slumbering sullen in the white abyss. 

The ruthless hunter wants nor dogs nor toils, 820 

Nor with the dread of sounding bows he drives 

The fearful, flying race ; with ponderous clubs, 

As, weak, against the mountain-heaps they push 

Their beating breast in vain, and, piteous, bray, 

He lays them quivering on the ensanguined snows, 

And with loud shouts rejoicing bears them home. 

There, through the piny forest half-absorpt, 

Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear, 

With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn ; 

Slow-paced, and sourer as the storms increase, 830 

He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift, 

And, with stern patience, scorning weak complaint, 

Hardens his heart against assailing want. 

Wide o'er the spacious regions of the north, 
That see Bootes f urge his tardy wain, 

* The old name for China. T. 

f A small star near the Great Bear. T. 



176 THE SEASONS. 

A boisterous race, by frosty Caurus* pierced, 
Who little pleasure know and fear no pain, 
Prolific swarm. They once relumed the flame 
Of lost mankind in polished slavery sunk ; 
Drove martial horde on horde, f with dreadful sweep 
Resistless, rushing o'er the enfeebled south, 841 
And gave the vanquished world another form. 
Not such the sons of Lapland : wisely they 
Despise the insensate barbarous trade of war ; 
They ask no more than simple Nature gives ; * 
They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms. 
No false desires, no pride-created wants, 
Disturb the peaceful current of their time ; 
And, through the restless ever-tortured maze 
Of pleasure, or ambition, bid it rage. sso 

Their reindeer form their riches. These their tents, 
Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth 
Supply, their wholesome fare, and cheerful cups. 
Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe 
Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift 
O'er hill and dale, heaped into one expanse 
Of marbled snow, or far as eye can sweep 
With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed. 
By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake 
A waving blaze refracted o'er the heavens, sco 
And vivid moons, and stars that keener play 
With double lustre from the radiant waste, 
Even in the depth of polar night, they find 
A wondrous day enough to light the chase, 
Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs. 
Wished Spring returns ; and, from the hazy south, 

* The north-west wind. T. 

t The wandering Scythian clans. T. 



WINTER. 177 

While dim Aurora slowly moves before, 
The welcome sun, just verging up at first, 
By small degrees extends the swelling curve ; 
Till seen at last for gay rejoicing months, 870 

tillj round and round, his spiral course he winds, 
And as he nearly dips his flaming orb, 
Wheels up again, and re-ascends the sky. 
In that glad season, from the lakes and floods, 
Where pure Niemi's* fairy mountains rise, 
And, fringed with roses, Tenglio f rolls his stream, 
They diaw the copious fry. With these, at eve, 
They, cheerful, loaded to their tents repair ; 
Where, all day long in useful cares employed, 
Their kind unblemished wives the fire prepare, sso 
Thrice happy race ! by poverty secured 
From legal plunder and rapacious power ; 
In whom fell interest never yet has sown 
The seeds of vice; whose spotless swains ne'er knew 
Injurious deed, nor, blasted by the breath 
Of faithless love, their blooming daughters woe. 

Still pressing on, beyond Tornea's lake, 
And Hecla flaming through a waste of snow, 
And farthest Greenland, to the pole itself, 

* M. de Maupertuis, in his book on the Figure of the Earth, 
after having described the beautiful lake and mountain of 
Nie'mi, in Lapland, says, " From this height we had occasion 
several times to see those vapours rise from the lake, which 
the people of the county call Haltios, and which they deem 
to be the guardian spirits of the mountains. We had been 
frighted with stories of bears that haunted this place, but saw 
none. It seemed rather a place of resort for fairies and genii, 
than bears." T. 

f The same author observes, " I was surprised to see upon 
the banks of this river (the Tenglio) roses of as lively a red 
as any that are in our gardens." T. 
N 



178 , .HE SEASONS. 

Where, failing gradual, life at length goes out, 880 
The muse expands her solitary flight ; 
And, hovering o'er the wild stupendous scene, 
Beholds new seas beneath another sky.* 
Throned in his palace of cerulean ice, 
Here Winter holds his unrejoicing court ; 
And through his airy hall the loud misrule 
Of driving tempest is for ever heard : 
Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath ; 
Here arms his winds with all-subduing frost ; 
Moulds his fierce hail, and treasures up his snows, 
With which he now oppresses half the globe. 901 
Thence winding eastward to the Tartar's coast, 
She sweeps the howling margin of the main ; 
Where undissolving, from the first of time, 
Snows swell on snows amazing to the sky ; 
And icy mountains high on mountains piled, 
Seem to the shivering sailor from afar, 
Shapeless and white, an atmosphere of clouds. 
Projected huge and horrid, o'er the surge, 
Alps frown on alps ; or rushing hideous down, 910 
As if old chaos was again returned, 
Wide-rend the deep, and shake the solid pole. 
Ocean itself no longer can resist 
The binding fury ; but, in all its rage 
Of tempest taken by the boundless frost, 
Is many a fathom to the bottom chained, 
And bid to roar no more : a bleak expanse, 
Shagged o'er with wavy rocks, cheerless, and void 
Of every life, that from the dreary months 
Flies conscious southward. Miserable they ! 920 
Who, here entangled in the gathering ice, 
* The other hemisphere. T. 



179 

Take their last look of the descending sun ; 

While, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost, 

The long, long night, incumbent o'er their heads, 

Falls horrible. Such was the Briton's* fate, 

As with first prow, (what have not Britons dared!) 

He for the passage sought, attempted since 

So much in vain, and seeming to be shut 

By jealous nature with eternal bars. 

In these fell regions, in Arzina caught, 930 

And to the stony deep his idle ship 

Immediate sealed, he with his hapless crew, 

Each full-exerted at his several task, 

Froze into statues ; to the cordage glued 

The sailor, and the pilot to the helm. 

Hard by these shores, where scarce his freezing 
Rolls the wild Oby, live the last of men ; [stream 
And half-enlivened by the distant sun, 
That rears and ripens man, as well as plants, 
Here human nature wears its rudest form. 940 
Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, 
Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, 
They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs, 
Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest, nor song, 
Nor tenderness, they know ; nor aught of life, 
Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without. 
Till morn at length, her roses drooping all, 
Sheds a long twilight brightening o'er their fields, 
And calls the quivered savage to the chase. 

What cannot active government perform, 950 
New-moulding man ? Wide-stretching from these 
A people savage from remotest time, [shores, 

* Sir Hugh Willoughby, sent by Queen Elizabeth to 
discover the north-east passage. T. 



180 THE SEASONS. 

A huge neglected empire, one vast mind, 
By Heaven inspired, from gothic darkness called. 
Immortal Peter ! first of monarchs ! He 
His stubborn country tamed, her rocks, her fens, 
Her floods, her seas, her ill-submitting sons ; 
And while the fierce barbarian he subdued, 
To more exalted soul he raised the man. 
Ye shades of ancient heroes, ye who toiled 960 
Through long successive ages to build up 
A labouring plan of state, behold at once 
The wonder done ! behold the matchless prince ! 
Who left his native throne, where reigned till then 
A mighty shadow of unreal power ; 
Who greatly spurned the slothful pomp of courts ; 
And roaming every land, in every port 
His sceptre laid aside, with glorious hand 
Unwearied plying the mechanic tool, 
Gathered the seeds of trade, of useful arts, 970 
Of civil wisdom, and of martial skill. 
Charged -with the stores of Europe home he goes ! 
Then cities rise amid the illumined waste ; 
O'er joyless deserts smiles the rural reign ; 
Far-distant flood to flood is social joined ; 
The astonished Euxine hears the Baltic roar ; 
Proud navies ride on seas that never foamed 
With daring keel before ; and armies stretch 
Each way their dazzling files, repressing here 
The frantic Alexander of the north,* 980 

And awing there stern Othman's shrinking sons. 
Sloth flies the land, and ignorance, and vice, 
Of old dishonour proud : it glows around, 
Taught by the royal hand that roused the whole, 
* Charles the Twelfth, King of Sweden. 



WINTER. 181 

One sceno of arts, of arms, of rising trade : 

For what his wisdom planned, and power enforced, 

More potent still, his great example showed. 

Mattering, the winds at eve, with blunted point, 
Blow hollow-blustering from the south. Subdued, 
The frost resolves into a trickling thaw. 990 

Spotted the mountains shine ; loose sleet descends, 
And floods the country round. The rivers swell, 
Of bonds impatient. Sudden from the hills, 
O'er rocks and woods, in broad brown cataracts, 
A thousand snow-fed torrents shoot at once ; 
And, where they rush, the wide-resounding plain 
Is left one slimy waste. Those sullen seas, 
That washed the ungenial pole, will rest no more 
Beneath the shackles of the mighty north ; 
But, rousing all their waves, resistless heave. 1000 
And hark ! the lengthening roar continuous runs 
Athwart the rifted deep : at once it bursts, 
And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds. 
Ill fares the bark with trembling wretches charged, 
That, tossed 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 force endure 
The assembled mischiefs that besiege them round ? 
Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness, 1010 
The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice, 
Now ceasing, now renewed with louder rage, 
And in dire echoes bellowing round the main. 
More to embroil the deep, Leviathan 
And his unwieldy train, in dreadful sport, 
Tempest the loosened brine ; while, through the 
Far from the bleak inhospitable shore, [gloom, 



182 THE SEASONS. 

Loading the winds, is heard the hungry howl 
Of famished monsters, there awaiting wrecks. 
Yet Providence, that ever-waking eye, 1020 

Looks down with pity on the feeble toil 
Of mortals lost to hope, and lights them safe 
Through all this dreary labyrinth of fate. 
'Tis done ! dread Winter spreads his latest 

glooms, 

And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. 
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! 
How dumb the tuneful ! Horror wide extends 
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! 
See here thy pictured life ; pass some few years, 
Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, ! 
Thy sober Autumn fading into age, 1031 

And pale concluding Winter comes at last, 
And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled 
Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes 
Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 
Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? 
Those gay-spent, festive nights ? those veering 

thoughts, 

Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? 
All now are vanished ! Virtue sole survives, 
Immortal, never-failing friend of man, 10-10 

His guictaHo happiness on high. And see ! 
'Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 
Of heaven and earth ! awakening nature hears 
The new-creating word, and starts to life, 
In every heightened form, from pain and death 
For ever free. The great eternal scheme, 
Involving all, and in a perfect whole 
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, 



WINTER. 183 

To reason's eye refined clears up apace. 

Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 1050 

Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 

And Wisdom oft arraigned : see now the cause, 

Why unassuming worth in secret lived, 

And died, neglected : why the good man's share 

In life was gall and bitterness of soul : 

Why the lone widow and her orphans pined 

In starving solitude ; while luxury, 

In palaces, lay straining her low thought 

To form unreal wants : why heaven-born truth, 

And moderation fair, wore the red marks 1000 

Of superstition's scourge ; why licensed pain, 

That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, 

Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed ! 

Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 

Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile, 

And what your bounded view, which only saw 

A little part, deemed evil, is no more : 

The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, 

And one unbounded Spring encircle all. 1059 




A HYMN. 




JHESE, as they change, Almighty Fa- 
ther, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling 

year 

Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 
Wide-flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
And every sense, and every heart, is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the summer months, 
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; 
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; n 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
By brooks and groves, in hollow- whisper ing gales. 
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
In Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms 
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled. 
Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing, 
Riding sublime, Thou bidst the world adore, 
And humblest nature with thy northern blast. 20 






A HYMN. 185 

Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, 
Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, 
Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
And all so forming an harmonious whole, 
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand, 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 30 
Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thenco 
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring; 
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
With transport touches all the springs of life. 

Nature, attend ! join every living soul, 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 40 
Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes: 
Oh ! talk of Him in solitary glooms, 
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 
Who shake the astonished world, lift high to Heaven 
The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
His praise ye brooks attune, ye trembling rills ; 
And let me catch it as 1 muse along. 
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; so 

Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
A secret world of wonders in thyself, 



186 A HYMN. 

Sound His stupendous praise, whose greater voice 
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
Soft-roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, eo 
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
Ye that keep watch in Heaven, as earth asleep 
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, 
Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 
Great source of day ! best image here below 
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 
From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
On nature write with every beam His praise. 69 
The thunder rolls : be hushed the prostrate world ; 
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks, 
Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low, 
Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; 
And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 
Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
Burst from the groves ; and when the restless day, 
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 70 
The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 
Crown the great hymn ; in swarming cities vast, 
Assembled men, to the deep organ join 
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 






A HYMN. 187 

And, as each mingling flame increases each, 

In one united ardour rise to Heaven. 

Or if you rather choose the rural shade, 

And find a fane in every sacred grove ; & 

There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 

The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 

Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. 

y<>r me, when I forget the darling theme, 

Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray 

Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 

Or Winter rises in the blackening east, 

Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, 

And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 99 

Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
Rivers unknown to song where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles 'tis nought to me; 
Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where He vital spreads there must be joy. 
When even at last the solemn hour shall come, 
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 
I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, nc 
Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go 
Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons ; 
From seeming evil still educing good, 
And better thence again, and better still, 
In infinite progression. But I lose 
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable ! 
Come then, expressive silence, muse His praise. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON " THE SEASONS." 
BY THE REV. D. C. TOVET. 

IT lias long been accepted as a fact among scholars 
that Pope assisted Thomson in the composition of the 
" Seasons." Our original authority for the statement 
is, I suppose, Joseph Warton. Johnson, who had 
heard, through Savage, a great deal about Thomson, 
does not mention this. 

But the opinion receives at first sight much con- 
firmation from a volume in the British Museum, C 
28 E. We have here in fact two volumes in one, but 
it is only the first that concerns us. This is an octavo 
edition of the " Seasons " with " Britannia " and bears 
date London, 1738. l It is substantially, I think, a repro- 
duction of the edition of 1730, with some changes in 
the manner of printing and not many alterations. 
The engravings are reproduced from the subscription 
edition of 1730, but in smaller size. Facing the book- 
plate ("John Mitford, Esq.") are remarks, all, I think, 
in Mitford's handwriting (I quote only what is 
material to my present purpose) : 

" Mitford. 1812 June. 

"1. This Volume contains the MSS. Emendations 

l It is the first volume of the " Works " ; the thing bound up 
with it is " Sophonisba." 



APPENDIX. 



of Thomson on his own Poems : written in the larger 
Hand. The smaller Hand is (as appears by some of 
the Notes) that of some friend, to whom the author 
trusted the revision of his Poems. It appears to me 
upon comparison, that this writing is Pope's. Some 
of the best Alterations are in this small Hand, vide 
br. * /P e saw some P^ces of Thomson's in 
SS is clear from a Letter in Bowles's supplement, 
p -iy4. 

"2. Since writing the above, the writing in this 
book (in the smaller hand) has been collated by 
Messrs. Combe and Ellis, of the British Museum^ 
with Pope's MSS. which are contained there; and 
proved by the comparison to be Pope's, without the 
slightest doubt. . . 

" On Thomson's submitting his Poems to Pope, see 
VVarton s edition, vol. viii., p. 340 " 

A specimen of Pope's handwriting is bound up with 
the double volume at the end, and comparison with 

J MS corrections attributed to him is therefore 
easy The passage to which Mitford refers supra 

'Autumn," 1. 290 sq., which ran thus in 1730 : 

" With harvest shining, all these fields are thine 
And, if my wishes may presume so far 
Their master too, who then indeed were blest 
To make the daughter of Acasto so." 

Our present reading, due to the unknown hand is : 

'The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ; 
If to the various blessings which thy house 
Has on me lavished, thou wilt add that bliss 
That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee ! " 

Mitford might have pointed to a still more classic 
place, invariably cited as Pope's contribution to 
JLhomson-tiie suggestion, we may well believe, of 
Gray s Full many a flower," etc. As this matter is 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "THE SEASONS." 191 

sometimes not quite accurately stated, I will give the 
lines as they stood in 1730 : 

"Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self 

Recluse among the woods ; if City-dames 

Will deign their faith. And thus she went compelled 

By strong necessity, with as serene, 

And pleas'd a look as patience can put on, 

To glean Palaemon's fields." 

What the "Unknown " writes is what we have now 
in "Autumn," 208 sq., save that he gives " eyes " for 
eye in the fourth line : 

"Recluse amid the close-embow'ring woods. 
As in the hollow breast of Apennine, 
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, 
A myrtle rises, far from human eyes, 
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild, 
So flourished blooming, and unseen by all, 
The sweet Lavinia ; till, at length, compelled 
By strong necessity's supreme command, 
With smiling patience in her looks, she went 
To glean Palemon's fields." 

The same hand also suggested " deep-embow'ring " 
for close- embow 'ring. 

But if the best authorities at the Museum many 
years ago were positive that this handwriting is 
Pope's, their successors at the present time are equally 
positive that it is not. On this point the opinion of 
Mr. Warner, whom Mr. W. Y. Fletcher kindly con- 
sulted for me, is very decided. Nor does Mr. 
Courthope, to whom I have shown the volume, 
recognize the hand as bearing much resemblance to 
Pope's. Without pretending to an independent judg- 
ment upon such matters, I must say that it has all 
along been perplexing to me how the opinion that 
this was Pope's handwriting could ever have been 
confidently entertained. 

Mr. Fletcher, however, has referred me to fac- 



192 APPENDIX. 

similes of Pope's handwriting in an article of the 
"Pall Mall Magazine" for August, 1894, by the 
Duke of Maiiborough on " Blenheim and Its Memo- 
ries," which certainly bear more resemblance to the 
disputed handwriting than any specimens of Pope's 
MS. that I have yet seen ; and the difference may 
be accounted for by the cramping of the hand, inevit- 
able in writing in an interleaved book. 

I will give a few conclusions at which I have arrived 
from a careful study of this volume. 

(a) Whoever was the author of these passages was 
most intimately acquainted with Thomson's work, 
including things he had by him in MS. Avhich had not 
yet appeared in the " Seasons," and do not appear in 
the MS. here, or at all until the edition of 1744. For 
example, after 1. 707 of " Autumn " is a suggestion on 
the interleaf, in the unknown hand, " Here bring in 
the verses on Stowe" (a suggestion not adopted in 
1744, when they were inserted in their present place, 
in accordance with a direction in Thomson's hand- 
writing in this volume, which indicates the first and 
last words of the piece, but does not give it). The 
lines are 1036-1081 of "Autumn." Thomson had 
these somewhere in reserve. In like manner, after 
"Winter," 652, the Unknown suggests on the inter- 
leaf, "Here the verses upon Hammond, and L d 
Chesterfield." This suggestion was followed in 1744 
as far as Chesterfield is concerned ; but these verses 
on Hammond were inserted in the same edition after 
the compliment to Pope (" For though not sweeter 
his own Homer sings," etc.), and are 11. 555-571 of 
"Winter." These, again, are not in the MS. of 
this volume, but yet were known to Thomson's 
friend. 

(b) Since Hammond died in 1742, the friend must 
have made the suggestion just mentioned between 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "THE SEASONS." 193 

1742 and 1744. (One of Thomson's MS. notes was 
perhaps made between still narrower limits. The 
compliment to the Duke of Argyle "Autumn," 929 
sq. is retained in 1744 as it stood in 1730, but in this 
volume Thomson has the MS. note " the late Duke of 
Argyle." The Duke died in 1743.) 

(c) Sometimes, when the Unknown has altered his 
own suggestions, it is the deleted suggestion that is 
adopted in 1744. A good instance of this is ' ' Autumn," 
1127. The line in 1730 ran 

" Or painted hideous with ascending flame." 
The Unknown first wrote on the interleaf 

" Or hideous wrapt in all-consuming flame," 

then obliterated from "or" to "all," substituthig for 
these words the words "Or blazing dreadful with." 
But the expressions "hideous, wrapt," traceable under 
the obliteration, are adopted in 1744. 

So far nothing has been said to militate strongly 
against the opinion that the notes in this handwriting 
may after all have come from Thomson himself, but 

(d) Take the place in ' ' Winter " (after 1. 652) referred 
to supra. Here Thomson has been talking of winter 
life in the city, and ends with the stage, the tragic 
and comic muse; after which in 1730 he proceeds 
" Clear Frost succeeds," etc. And the Unknown 
pertinently remarks : " Quere does not there want a 
better connection here ? " This suggestion is indeed 
erased, but only because it is acted upon ; the verses 
on Chesterfield being, after other experiments, at last 
chosen, in accordance with the friend's suggestion, to 
fill up the gap, and then a link added to lead up to 
the description of the frost. Is it likely that a 
"qusere" in this form, not in the author's hand- 
writing, could have proceeded from the author ? 

O 



194 APPENDIX. 

For () that the handwriting is not Thomson's I 
take to be quite certain. The large and rough hand of 
Thomson, as shown in these pages, could never in pro- 
cess of time have been converted into the other, which 
may be described by contrast as small and scholarly. 
(I say this advisedly, though students of these 
annotations will discover that in some places, where 
the handwriting is small, I have been unable to make 
up my mind whether it is Pope's or Thomson's. ) Nor 
is the converse conceivable ; nor is there any great 
interval between the making of the two sets of notes ; 
indeed, as appears from (b), they are practically con- 
temporary. Thomson has an archaic way of making 
some of his letters ; for example, his e's are made in 
Elizabethan fashion, the upstroke first and the loop the 
reverse way. In the other writing this trick never 
appears. The Unknown very commonly separates his 
letters : double o, for instance, is seldom joined to- 
gether, or connected with the letters before or after ; 
Thomson generally connects all his letters, except 
perhaps the first two, when they are consonants. 

(/) The erasures and substitutions in this hand- 
writing are those of a man writing whilst composing. 
The phenomena therefore exclude the notion of a 
transcript. Whether they are compatible with dicta- 
tion while composing in blank verse I cannot say ; but 
my own impression would, I am sure, be the impression 
of everyone at first sight I mean that the maker was 
the writer. 

At present I am inclined to believe these notes to 
be the work of a very intimate and even devoted 
friend. If space permitted, I think I could show 
that they were written by a man of finer taste 
than Thomson himself, but perhaps not sufficiently 
tolerant of some rough felicities which marked the 
earlier editions of the " Seasons." But within the 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "THE SEASONS." 195 

dates to which we are limited we know no one but 
Pope who would have at once the capacity and the 
opportunity to improve Thomson's work, except 
perhaps Young. But this is not Young's handwriting. 
Collins is out of the question, for he did not graduate 
at Oxford until November 18th, 1743 ; his " Epistle 
to Hanmer " is dedicated from Oxford in December 
of that same year. It is probable that he only 
quitted the University in 1744; and his acquaintance 
with Thomson is not dated before 1746. 

Certain inferior writers, some of them known to have 
been Thomson's friends and advisers, are excluded by 
their handwriting. That of Mallet, his collaborates, 
for example, is a vulgar, almost commercial hand. 
Lyttelton's is neat and scholarly, but quite unlike 
the Unknown's manuscript. Aaron Hill's I cannot 
describe from recollection, but the writing in question 
is not his. Glover's writing I have not seen. Mr. Flet- 
cher assures me that the writing is not Armstrong's. 
Touching the names here cited, it may perhaps be 
said that, if the writer was one of them, he did much 
better work for a friend than he ever did for him- 
self. 

This interleaved copy is the starting-point of these 
annotations. I have made, I believe, a complete 
transcript of all the MS. contained in it, and reprint 
everything except what, for want of space, I have 
been compelled to reject as microscopic. I worked 
with the edition of 1730 beside me, detecting, as will 
be seen, few differences between that and the copy 
dated 1738. But this copy seemed so much more 
carelessly printed than the edition of 1730, that I at 
first took it for a proof (and perhaps it is) of the 
edition of 1738. However that may be, it is to this 
copy, and to this alone, that I refer in these notes as 
'33. If there is any other exemplar of the edition of 



196 APPENDIX. 

1738 in the British Museum, it has escaped my 
search. There is one in the Bodleian. 

Considering that these MS. corrections \vere made 
(some of them at any rate) not long before the 
edition of 1744, it would be natural to suppose that 
in transcribing them I had made the comparison 
between the three editions under discussion fairly 
complete. But at the eleventh hour passages for 
which we have no MS. evidence were introduced, 
some of these, as already shown, from stores which 
Thomson had in reserve. The corrections which also 
appear under the same circumstances are perhaps less 
numerous ; but from one at least of these may be ex- 
tracted the food for amusement which is not often to 
be found in the dry bones of textual criticism. The 
reader may see here (on "Summer," 1269 sq.) what 
were Thomson's first thoughts for the episode of 
"Damon and Musidora." He had then the judg- 
ment of Paris, to which he refers in his second 
version more distinctly in view. There were then 
three victims of Thomson's despicable "Peeping 
Tom," more innocent than the later Musidora, 
because as he never had the impudence to let them 
know that the offence had been committed, they 
never had the opportunity of forgiving it after 
Musidora's prompt and coarsely affected fashion. 
Damon is a Stoic philosopher, cured of his indiffer- 
ence to beauty by this incident. The whole episode 
is less vulgar, because it does not pretend to be moral. 

With this exception almost all the more important 
corrections (as distinguished from additions) which 
appeared in 1744, are, I think, to be found in Thom- 
son's manuscript; and Thomson may be presumed 
to have been quite satisfied with his Damon until 
very late in the day, since he has left the interleaf to 
his story a virgin page. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "THE SEASONS." 197 

One is tempted to link this little piece of critical 

istory closely with the story of Thomson's Amanda. 

She must have taken a particular interest in the 

edition of 1744. For in Thomson's MS. we find the 

lines ("Spring," 483^.): 

" And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song ! 
Formed by the graces, loveliness itself! 
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, 
Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul- 
Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mixed, 
Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart." 

She would have been very ungrateful if she had 
not given her mind to the forthcoming edition in 
which this pretty compliment, and another in "Sum- 
mer," were to appear. She may well have objected 
to the company of Damon the first and sug- 
gested that some improvement in his tone was 
necessary ; but we are not bound to suppose that 

" The pure ingenuous elegance of soul 
And delicate refinement " 

of Damon the second and his Musidora pleased her 
any better. 

I quite agree with Mr. J. Logic Robertson (whose 
admirable edition of the "Seasons" I have only 
recently had the opportunity of consulting) that a 
comparison between the editions of the "Seasons," 
will confirm Johnson's opinion that these poems have 
"lost something of their race" their native vigour, 
by emendation; and what I have said in the Memoir 
in limitation of Johnson's phrase, must be understood 
only of certain vulgarisms. How much that is really 
beautiful was omitted altogether after 1738 the 
reader has an opportunity of judging for himself. 



198 APPENDIX. 

SPUING. 

[In these notes T. stands for Thomson's MS. correc- 
tions on the copy dated 1738 ; P. for Pope's.] 

1. 1 sq. 

" Come, gentle Spring, fair Queen of Seasons, come 
And from the Bosom of yon dropping cloud 
With the glad Hours, the Zephirs, Loves and Joys 
Gay fluttering round thee, on our Plains descend." 

T. (cancelled.) 

1. 62. "empire . . . storm "T. ; "Justice, shook the 
lance " '30, '38. 

1. 78. "only. . . air" "thro' the lenient air "'30, '38. 
1. 87. " withered "" brown-brow'd " '30, '38. 
1. 104. "trembling" "lucid" '30, '38. 
1. 113. "spies." '30, '38, '44, '46. [But the comma is 
necessary, the sense is carried on into the next section. ] 

I. 119. "Joyless . . . a" "Into a smutty wide- 
dejected " '30, '38. 

II. 124-136. "A feeble . . . scares." Thus in '30, '38: 

" A feeble race scarce seen 
Save by the prying Eye ; yet Famine waits 
On their corrosive Course and kills the year. 
Sometimes o'er Cities as they steer their flight, 
Where rising Vapour melts their Wings away, 
Gaz'd by th' astonish'd Croud the horrid Shower 
Descends. And hence the skilful Farmer Chaff 
And blazing straw before his Orchard burns ; 
Till, all involv'd in Smoke, the latent Foe, 
From every cranny suffocated falls ; 
Or Onions, steaming hot, beneath his Trees 
Exposes, fatal to the frosty Tribe : 
Nor, from their friendly Task, the busy Bill 
Of little trooping Birds instinctive scares." 

1. 137 sq. 

"These are not idle philosophick Dreams : 

Full Nature swarms with life. Th' unfaithful Fen 

In putrid Steams emits the livid Cloud 






CRITICAL NOTES ON "SPRING." 199 

Of Pestilence. Thro" subterranean cells 
Where searching Sun-beams never found a way 
Earth animated heaves. The flowery Leaf 
Wants not its soft Inhabitants. The Stone, 
Hard as it is, in every winding Pore 
Holds Multitudes. But chief the Forest-boughs 
Which dance unnumber'd to th' inspiring Breeze, 
The downy Orchard, and the melting Pulp 
Of mellow Fruit the nameless Nations feed 
Of evanescent Insects. Where the Pool 
Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible, 
Amid the floating Verdure millions stray. 
Each Liquid too ; whether of acid taste, 
Potent, or mild, with various Forms abounds. 
Nor is the lucid Stream, nor the pure Air, 
Tho" one transparent Vacancy they seem, 
Devoid of theirs. Even Animals subsist 
On Animals, in infinite descent ; 
And all so fine adjusted, that the Loss 
Of the least species would disturb the Whole. 
Stranger than this th' inspective Glass confirms 
And to the Curious gives th' amazing Scenes 
Of lessening Life ; by wisdom kindly hid 
From Eye and Ear of Man ; For if at once 
The Worlds in Worlds enclos'd were push'd to Light, 
Seen by his sharpen'd Eye, and by his Ear 
Intensely bended heard, from the choice Gate, 
The freshest Viands, and the brightest Wines, 
He'd turn abhorrent, and in dead of Night, 1 
When Silence sleeps o'er all, be stunn'd with Noise." 2 

' '30, '38. 

11. 137-142. "Be patient . . . Year." Not in '30, '38. 
1. 120. "deep," T. ; "thick," '30, '38. 
1. 151. Insert comma after "round," though none in 
'44 and '46. 

1. 166. Not in '30, '38. 
1. 169. " impatient "" expansive " '30, '38. 

J " He would abhorrent turn and in dead Night," T. 

2 All this passage T. cancels down to " amazing Scenes," and 
substitutes the passage which is now 287-317 of " Summer," indi- 
cating that it is to be placed there by quoting opposite it "Of 
willows grey, close crowding o'er the brook " ("Summer," 1. 286). 



200 APPENDIX. 

1. 177. " Tis scarce to patter heard, the stealing 
shower "'30, '38. 

1. 183. "Swift . . . anticipates" "Imagination fir'd 
prevents " '30, '38. 

1. 190. " Breaks forth effulgent from amid " T. ; 
"Looks out illustrous from amid " '30; "amidst " '38. 

1. 199. " concert "" consort " '30, '38. 

1. 200. "the distant " T. ; "th' unnumber'd '"30, '38. 

1. 208. "awful" "mighty" '30, '38, '44. 

1.209. "Are, as they (sic) scatter'd round, thy 
numerous prism." '30, '38. 

1. 210. " Untwisting to the philosophic Eye " '30, 
'38, '44. 

1. 211. " disclosed " T. ; " pursu'd " '30, '38. 

I. 212. "From " T. ; " Thro' " .'30, '38. 

II. 220, 221. "Rais'd . . . treasures" "Transmuted 
soon by Nature's Chymistry The blooming blessings " 
'30, '38. 

I. 242. "The. . . waked" "Then the glad morning 
wak'd " '30, '38. 

II. 253, 254. "And full . . . more "" Replete with 
Bliss, and only wept for joy." '30, '38. 

1. 259. " Clear " T. ; " clean " '30, '38. 
1. 264. " This " '44 ; " which " '30, '38. 
1. 271. "Those prime of" '44 ; "these joyous " '30, 
'38; " those vary'd " T. 
1. 272. Here in '30, '38 followed : 

" This to the Poets gave the golden Age ; 

When-as they sung in elevated 1 Phrase, 

The Sailor-pine had not the Nations yet 

In commerce mix'd ; for every Country teem'd 

With every thing. Spontaneous Harvest wav'd, 

Still in a Sea of yellow Plenty round. 

The Forest was the Vineyard, where untaught 

To climb, unprun'd and wild the juicy Grape 

Burst into Floods of Wine. The knotted Oak 

i " Boldly-figured;' T. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SPRING." 201 

Shook from his Boughs the long transparent Streams 
Of Honey, creeping thro' the matted Grass. 
Th' uncultivated Thorn a ruddy Shower 
Of Fruitage shed, on such as sat below, 
In blooming Ease, and from brown Labour free, 
Save what the copious gathering, grateful, gave. 
The Rivers foam'd with Nectar ; or diffuse * 
Silent, and soft, the milky Maze devolv'd. 
Nor had the spongy full-expanded Fleece, 
Yet drunk the Tyrian Dye. The stately Bam 
Shone thro' the Mead, in native Purple clad, 
Or milder Saffron ; and the dancing Lamb 
The vivid Crimson to the Sun disclos'd. 
Nothing had power to hurt ; the savage Soul 
Tet untransfus'd into the Tyger's heart, 
Burn'd not his Bowels, nor his gamesome Paw 
Drove on the fleecy Partners of his Play : 
While from the flowery Brake the Serpent roll'd 
His fairer Spires; and play'd his pointless Tongue.' 

11. 272-276. 

" But now whate'er these gaudy Fables meant, 
And the white Minutes which they shadow'd out 
Are found no more amid those iron times 
Those dregs of life ! in which the human Mind 
Has lost that Harmony ineffable 
Which forms the Soul of Happiness ; " 

'30, '38. 

This erased by T., who gives 

" Now the distemper'd Mind 
Has lost that concord of Harmonious Powers 
That forms the Soul of Happiness ; " 

1. 281 sq. "Senseless" etc. 

" Anger storms at large, 
Without an equal cause ; and fell Revenge 
Supports the falling rage. Close Envy bites 
With venom'd tooth, while weak, unmanly Fear, 
Full of frail Fancies, loosens every Power." 

1.285. "that. . . reach" " whate'er in excellent 
and good " '44. 

1 " Calm-spread " T. 



202 APPENDIX. 

I. 289. "pensive" "pleasing" '30, '38. 

II. 291-293. First in '44, with " restless " instead of 
" noble " and " infinite " for " never-cloyed." 

11. 303-307. Thus in '30, '38 : 

"Then dark Disgust, and Malice, winding Wiles, 
Sneaking Deceit, and coward Villany ; 
At last deep-rooted Hatred, lewd Reproach, 
Convulsive Wrath, and thoughtless Fury, quick 
To deeds of vilest aim. Even Nature's self," etc. 

Text, T., retaining, however, "Even Nature's self." 
1. 307. "petrifies" "gangrenes all" T. (deleted). 
1. 309. "dusky time" "time, they say," '30, '38. 
1. 310 sq. 

" When the disparting Orb of Earth, that arch'd 
Th' imprison'd Deep around, impetuous rush'd, 
With ruin inconceivable, at once 
Into the Gulph, and o'er the highest Hills 
Wide-dash'd," etc. 

'30, '38. 

T. corr. to text, except that he gives "Lapse 1 
for" burst "1. 312; and suggests " new-form 'd" for 
"high-piled" 1. 313 ; and in 11. 311, 312: 

"The rarify'd Abyss, whose searching Streams 

Expansive sought a Vent," 

1. 316. 

" The Seasons since, as hoar Tradition tells 
Have kept their constant chace." 

'44. 
1. 317. '30, '38 thus : 

" The Seasons since, as hoar Tradition tells 
Have kept their constant chase." 

1. 319. " Shook forth "" Poured out " '30, '38. 

I. 323. " Pure " T. ; " Clear " '30, '38. 

II. 331-335. T. ; '30, '38 give 

"But now, from clear to cloudy, moist to dry, 
And hot to cold, in restless Change revolv'd, 
Our drooping Days are dwindled down to nought, 
The fleeting Shadow of a Winter's Sun." 



CRITICAIr NOTES ON "SPRING." 203 

1. 336 sq. After "dies" '30, '38 give 
" In lone Obscurity, unpriz'd for food ; 
Altho' the pure, exhilarating Soul, 
Of Nutriment, and Health, salubrious breathes, 
By Heaven infus'd, along its secret Tubes." 

1. 338, 339. Thus in '44 : 

" Of nutriment and Health, salubrious, blest 
And deeply stor'd with wondrous vital Powers." 

1. 358. 

"Tis true, deserves the Fate in which he deals, 
Him, from the Thicket, let the hardy Youth 
Provoke, and foaming thro' th' awaken'd Woods 
With every Nerve pursue. But you, ye Flocks 
What have ye 1 done?" 

'30, '38. 

1. 362. After "cold," '30, '38 read 

" Whose Usefulness 
In Living only lies." 
T. deletes. 
1. 369. "autumnal" "gathering" '30, '38. 

I. 374. "forbids. . . strain" " beside forbids the 
daring strain," '30, '38. 

II. 377-378. Not in '30, '38, '44. 
11. 379-466. Not in '30, '38. 

1. 457. 

" Paints in immortal verse, and matchless song" 

'44. 

1. 467. " But yonder," '30, '38 ; text, T. 
1. 468. 

" Throw all her Beauty forth, that daubing all 
Will be to what I gaze ; for who can paint," etc. 

'30, '38. 
Text, T. 
1. 472, Before this line '30, '38 give 

" And lay them on so delicately fine" 



204 



APPENDIX. 



I. 479. " That " T. ; " Which " '30, '38. 

II. 483-488. "And thou . . . feeling heart:" T. ; 
Not in '30, '38. 

1. 492. " to deck the braided Hair " '30, '38. 
1. 493. " The white bosom " '30, '38 ; " full " T. 
1. 498. "In fair profusion, decks" "Profusely 
climbs. ", '30, '38, which proceed : 

" Turgent, in every Pore 

The gummy Moisture shines ; new Lustre lends, 
And feeds the Spirit that diffusive round 
Refreshes all the Dale. Long let us " etc. 

1. 507. "roving " T. ; " boundless" '30 (?), '38. 

1. 508. "'Tis here that their delicious Task thej 
Bees," '30, '38. 

1. 510. "Through the soft air," " This way, and 
that," '30, '38. 

1. 512 sq. 

" Its Soul, its Sweetness, and its Manna suck. 

The little Chymist thus, all moving Heaven 

Has taught : and oft, of bolder Wing, he dares " etc. 

'30, '38. 



" Suck its soft Essence, its ethereal soul : 
And oft, of bolder Wing, he soaring dares 
The purple " etc. 



T. 



1. 515. "load them" "leads him" '30, '38. 

1. 521. " sweeps "" darts " '30, '38 ; text, T. 

1. 523. "Breezy-ruffled" '30, '38. " Stet" T. 
after suggesting " Zephir-ruffled " and "Bree 
discoloured." 

1. 524. "darkening . . . glittering," T. ; 
ning . . . rising," '30, '38. Perhaps we shoul 
delete comma after "round." 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SPRING." 205 

1. 532 sq. " And polyanthus " etc. 

"Dew-bending Cowslips, and of nameless Dyes 
Anemonies, Auriculas a Tribe 
Peculiar powder'd with a shining Sand, 
Renunculas, and Iris many-hued." 

'30, '38. 

" With Polyanthus of unnumber'd dies ; 

The yellow Wall-Flower, mark'd with iron Brown ; 

And lovely-tinctur'd Stock, of mild Perfume ; 

By the soft Breath of vernal Breezes blown, 

Anemones ; Auriculas, a Tribe, 

Peculiar, powder'd with a shining sand 

Renunculas," etc. 

T. 

1. 538. " Renuncalas " is the spelling both in '44 and 
'46. 
1. 543 sq. 

" On the charm'd Florist's Eye, he curious stands, 
And new-flush'd Glorias all ecstatic marks. 
Nor Hyacinths are wanting, nor Junquils 
Of potent Fragrance, nor Narcissus white 
Nor strip'd Carnations, nor enamell'd Pinks," 

'30, '38. 

Eye, with secret Pride 
He marks the gay Creation of his Hand. 
No gradual Bloom is wanting ; from the Bud 
The first Spring blows, to Summer's musky Tribes : 
Nor Hyacinths sweet-breatheing, nor Jonquils " 

T. 
1. 547. 

" Nor Hyacinths, deep-purpled : nor Jonquils " 

'44. 

1. 549. "fair" T. ; "white" '30, '38. 
1. 550. T. Not in '30, '38. 
1. 551. 

" Nor bright Carnations, nor enamell'd Pinks," 
T., having first written "full" for "bright" and 
gay-spotted" for "enamell'd." 



206 APPENDIX. 

1. 556. " Source of Beings ! " T. ; " Mighty Being ! " 
'30, '38. 

1. 572. " As rising " " Ascending " '30, '38. 

1. 573. "My theme ascends," " To higher Life," 
'30, '38. 

1. 582. "When first the soul"" Just as the 
Spirit " '30, '38. 

1. 595. " Deep-tangled,"" Thick-wove, and " '30, 
'38. 

1. 608 sq. " Innumerous" etc. 

" Thousands beside, thick as the covering Leaves 

They warble under, or the nitid Hues 

That speck them o'er, their Modulations " etc. 

'30, '38. 

1.612. "Aid the full concert "" Here aid the 
Consort : " '30, '38. 

1. 614. " melody "" Gaiety " '30, '38. 
1. 616. "That " T. ; "which" '30, '38. 
1. 619. 

"and in fluttering Courtship pour 
Their little Souls before her. Wide around 
Respectful first " etc. 

'30, '38. 

" and in Courtship to their Fair 
Pour out their little Souls. First wide around 
Aw'd by Eespect, in airy " etc. 

T. 

1. 629. 

" And throwing out the last Efforts * of Love, 
In fond " etc. 

'30, '38. 

1. 639. T. ; "Resolve to trust their Young. The 
clefted Tree "'30, '38. 

1 Note accent. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SPRING." 207 

1. 643. Text, T. 

" Their humble Texture weave. But most delight 
In unfrequented Glooms," etc. 

'30, '38. 

1. 648. "by kind duty" "for a Season" '30, '38, 
44; T. (suggests) 

"And lull their labours," 
and 

" When flx'd by duty, dark, among the roots 
Of Hazel," etc. 

1. 653. "restless hurry " T. ; "hurry hurry" '30 
38. 

1. 656. T. "Ingeniously intent. Oft from the 
Back " '30, '38. 

1. 659. " a straw " T. ; " the straw " '30, '38. 

1. 664. " blows," with comma, '30, '38, rightly. 

1. 676. " Seize the new Parents' Hearts ! " '30, '38 ; 

1 Heart " T. 

I. 680 sq. " Even so a gentle pair " etc. 

" So pitiful and poor, 
A gentle Pair on providential Heaven 
Cast, as they weeping eye their clamant Train, 
Check " etc. 

'30 '38 
For "Cast," "Thrown," T. 

II. 687-694. 

" Nor is the Courage of the fearful Kind, 

Nor is their Cunning less, should some rude Foot 

Their woody Haunts molest ; stealthy aside 

Into the centre of a neighbouring Bush 

They drop, and whirring thence alarm'd, decieve (sic) 

The rambling School-Boy." 

'30, '38. 

1. 695. "Wandering swain," " Traveller," '30, 
38. 

1. 698. " him " T. ; " you " '30, '38. 
1. 700. " pious fraud ! ""as if hurt," '30, '38. 



208 APPENDIX. 

1. 709 sq. 

"That warbles from the Beech. Oh then desist 
Ye Friends of Harmony ! this barbarous Art 
Forbear, if Innocence and Music can 
Win on your Hearts, or Piety persuade." 

'30, '38. 
T. writes : 

" Oh then forbear 

Ye friends of Harmony, this barbarous Art ! 
If on your Bosoms Innocence can win, 
Music engage, or Piety persuade." 

but cancels the first two lines, and writes instead : 
<v 

" Oh then, ye Friends 
Of Harmony, this barbarous Art forbear I" 

I. 729. "And now '"30, '38. 

II. 733-734. 

"for needless grown, 
Unlavish Wisdom " etc. 

'38. 

1. 743. "to trust the void" "the Void abrupt" 
'30, '38 ; " void Abrupt " T. 

1. 752. "light in air ""in the Void " '30, '38. 

1. 753. "The acquitted "" Th' exoner'd " '30, 
'38; "The faithful" (cancelled), then " Th' ac- 
quitted " T. 

1. 756 sq. 

" Hung o'er the green Sea, grudging at its Base, 
The Royal Eagle draws his Young, resolv'd 
To try them at the Sun. Strong-pounc'd and bright 
As burnish'd Day, they up the blue Sky wind, 
Leaving dull Sight below, and with flx'd Gaze 
Drink in their native Noon : the Father-King 
Claps his glad Pinions, and approves the Birth." 

'30, '38. 
1. 768. 

" Invite the noisy Book ; with pleasure there, 
I might the " etc. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON " SPRING." 209 

Thomson cancels " with pleasure " and substitutes 
in margin "delighted"; but over "with pleasure 
there " a hand, apparently Pope's, has written " there 
well pleasd," and on the interleaf, perhaps the same 
hand, gives, after adding " s" to Rook in the text, 

" Who high amid the boughs 
In early Spring their airy City build 
And caw with ceaseless Clamour." 

1. 785. " radiant "" floating " '30, '38. 

I. 793. "the raging passion feels." T. ; "receives 
the raging flame." '30, '38. 

II. 800-801. 

" For, wrapt in mad imagination, he 
Roars for the fight,' 

'30, '38. 

1.802. " A rival'"30, '38. 
1. 807. "Redolent, in view," '30, '38 ; text, T. 
1. 816. "exciting" "informing" '30, '38. 
1. 826. After this line '30 and '38 give : 

" How the red lioness, her whelps forgot 
Amid the thoughtless fury of her heart ; 
The lank rapacious wolf ; th' unshapely bear ; 
The spotted tyger, fellest of the fell ; 
And all the terrors of the Libyan swain, 
By this new flame their native wrath sublim'd, 
Roam the resounding " etc. 

1. 831. "enraptured" "transported," '30, '38. 
1. 838. "Their little frolics play. And now the 
race " '30, '38. 

1. 848. "Impartial," T. ; "Illustrious," '30, '38. 
1. 850. 

" That in a language rather felt than heard " 

'44. 

So '30, '38, with " Which " for " That " T. 
1. 851. " breast " " breasts " '30, '38. 
1. 854. "unremitting" T. ; " unremitted " '30, '38. 
P 



210 APPENDIX. 

1. 860. After this line '30 and '38 have : 

" His grandeur in the heavens : the sun, and moon,i 

Whether that fires the day, or falling, this 

Pours out a lucid softness o'er the night, 

Are but a beam from him. The glittering stars, 

B the deep ear of meditation heard, 

Still in theiv midnight watches sing of him. 

He nods a calm. The tempest blows his wrath, 

Roots up the forest, and o'erturns the main. 

The thunder is his voice ; and the red flash 

His speedy sword of justice. At his touch 

The mountains flame. He takes * 2 the solid earth, 

And rocks the nations. Nor in these alone, 

In every common instance God is seen ; 

And to the man, who casts his mental eye 

Abroad, unnotic'd wonders rise. But chief 3 

In thee, born Spring, and in thy softer scenes, 

The smiling God appears ; " etc. 

* " takes " '30 ; " shakes " '38. 

Through all this in '38 the pen has been drawn, and 
through the emendations by T. given in footnote. 

Then in a handwriting which is probably T.'s, but 
may be Pope's : 

" But cheif in Thee, Boon Spring, and thy kind Scenes," 

and (next line) "appears " struck out and "is seen " 
substituted (by T. certainly) in margin. 

1. 863. " which exalts " " which instils " '30, '38 ; 
" that " for " which " T. in margin. 

1. 864. 

"Into the Brutes this temporary thought " 

'30, '38. 

1. 870. '30, '38 as text; over "raise "and "serene" 
erased), in '38, are written "chear" and "elate." 

1 " The Heavens his Grandeur speak : the Sun " etc. 

2 "takes "for "shakes." 

3 "To range abroad, new wonders rise. But" etc. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SPRING." 211 
11. 871-872. T. 

" Can he forbear to smile with Nature ? Can 
The stormy passions in his bosom rowl," 

'30, '38. 

11.879-880. "burns With warmest beam" T. 
" bounty, most, Divinely burns " '30, '38. 

11. 882-883. "till . . . wait Nor only fair, And easy 
of approach ; " '30, '38. 

1. 890. "sheds . . . rays "" spreads his genial 
blaze," '30, '38. 

1. S92. " Reviving " " Sad-pining " '30, '38. 

1. 899. " swift " " small " '30, '38. 

I. 900. " Sublimed " " arriv'd " '30, '38. 

II. 904-962. "These are ... rise." Not found 
in '30, '38, which here give : 

"'Tis Harmony, that world-attuning power, 

By which all Beings are adjusted, each 

To all around, impelling, and impell'd, 

In endless circulation, that inspires 

This universal smile. Thus the glad skies, 

The wide-rejoycing earth, the woods, the streams, 

With every Life they hold, down to the flower 

That paints the lowly vale, or insect-wing 

Wav'd o'er the shepherd's slumber, toucli the mind 

To nature tun'd, with a light-flying hand, 

Invisible ; quick-urging, thro' the nerves, 

The glittering spirits in a flood of day." 

For "glittering" in last line, T. writes "Th" enliven'd." 

1. 956. " household " " rising" '44. 

1. 963. "Flushed by the Spirit" etc., line not in 
in '30, '38, which give, "Hence from the virgin's 
cheek," etc. 

1. 976. T. 

" In meek submission drest, deject and low," 

'30, 38. 



212 APPENDIX. 

1. 977. T. 

" But full of tempting Guile. Let not the tongue,' 

'30, '38. 

1. 988. 

" Is wrapt in dreams of ecstacy, and bliss ;" 

'30, '38. 

1. 1000. "pang" T. ; "twinge" '30, '38. 

1. 1004. " woes " " pangs," '30, '38 ; " Fears," T. 

1. 1018. " unattentive " '44 ; "inattentive " '30, '38. 

1. 1019. "born away" '30, "borne away" '38; T. 
inserts comma. 

1. 1063. " yielded " '30 and T. ; " yielding" '38. 

1. 1070. T. ; " Wild as a Bacchanal she spreads her 
Arms," '30, '38. 

1. 1073. After this line follows in '30 and '38 : 

" Then a weak, wailing lamentable cry 
Is heard, and all in tears he wakes, again 
To tread the circle of revolving woe." 

1.1083. " yellow tinging " '38 ; "yellow-tinging" 
'30. 

1. 1088. "Raptures" '38; "rapture " '30 and T. 

1. 1096. "rage" "pine." '30, '38; T. (or P.) 
"Care." 

1. 1099. "Giving a Moment's Ease. Reflection 
pours," '30, '38. 

I. 1156. " in " " from " T. (with " call forth "). 

II. 1161-63. T. (with 'first "social" then "useful" 
life); "Obedient fortune, and approving Heaven." 
'30, '38. 

1. 1165. " These are the blessings of diviner Love," 
'30, '38. 

1. 1170. "serene and mild " " cool, gentle, calm ; " 
'30, '38; "pleasing, serene;" T. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SUMMER." 213 

11. 1173-76. T. 

" Enamour'd more, as Soul approaches Soul 
Together down they seek in social Sleep " 

Thus the poem ends in '30, '38. 



SUMMER. 

There are variations from our text in the Argument 
of '30, '38, which followed the text as it then stood. 
These it seems needless to record. 

1. 1. "brightening" T. ; "yonder" '30, '38. 

1.2. "refulgent" " resplendent " T. 

1. 17. " Eye or raptured glance " T. ; " Muse 
and raptur'd Eye " '30, '38. 

1. 21. " . . . the Muse's Honour ! and her Friend ! " 
'30, '38. 

1. 31. "just" T. ; "best" '30, '38. 

1. 32. " An awful " T. ; "a perfect " '30, '38. 

1. 33. " the unwieldy " " the cumbrous " T. (sug- 
gests and deletes). 

1. 38. " Firm, unremitting " (or " unabating "), T. ; 
"Unresting, changless," '30, '38. 

1. 39 sq. 

" To Night and Day, with the delightful round 
Of Seasons, faithful ; not excentric once : 
So pois'd, and perfect is the vast Machine." 

'30, '38. 

1. 49. " spreads the widening "" shoots the trcm 
bling " '30, '38. 

1. 51. " quickened "" tardy " '30, '38. 

1. 58. " aukward" (with u), '30, '38. 

1. 68. "springing" T. ; "starting" '30, '38. 

1. 83. " brow " " brim " '30, '38. 

1. 84. "Illumed witli fluid gold " " Tipt with 
/Ethereal gold, "'30, '38. 



214 APPENDIX. 

I. 93. " Sun ! " T. ; "red Sun," '30, '38. 

II. 95, 96. 

" In whose wide circle worlds of radiance lie, 
Exhaustless brightness, may I sing of thee ! " 

'30, '38. 

I. 96. Here follows a fresh paragraph in '30 and '38 
(T. deletes). 

"Who would the blessings, first and last, recount, 
That in a full effusion from thee flow, 
As soon might number at the height of noon, 
The rays that radiate from thy cloudless sphere, 
A universal glory darting round." 

II. 100-104. Thus in '30, '38 : 

" Of slow-pac'd Saturn to the scarce-seen disk 
Of Mercury, lost in excessive blaze." 

1. 105. Thus in '30, '38 : 

" Without whose vital and effectual glance 
They would be l brute, uncomfortable Mass," 

T. corrects " vital" to " quickening." 
1. 109. "Spirit" "gladness" '30, '38. 
1. 110. " down to the daily race " " to that Day- 
living Race, " '30, '38. 
1. 112. After " Parent of Seasons, "in '30, '38 came: 

" from whose rich-stained Rays 
Reflected various, various Colours rise : 
The freshening Mantle of the youthful Year ; 
The wild Embroidery of the watery Vale ; 
With all that chears the sense, and charms the heart." 

(T. deletes.) 

" thine the lovely Spring 
Thy fairest Offspring ; Her each Beauty owes 
Its Birth to Thee ; as from thy rich-stain'd Rays, 
Reflected various, various Colours rise : 
The freshening mantle of the youthful year, 
The wild EmbYoidery of the watery Vale, 

1 "They'd be but "'30. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SUMMED." 215 

The meadow blooming broad, the blossom'd Woods, 
And all the Flowery Pride of rising May. 
Summer is thine ; there his expanding Force, 
His vital l vigour, his prolific Heat, 
Whence pregnant Earth swells joyous to thy Bay, 
And whence the Grove " etc. 

T. 

After "charms the heart," in '30 and '38, followed : 

" The branching Grove thy lusty Product stands, 
Diffus'd, and deep ; to quench the Summer Noon " 
And croud a Shade for the retreating Swain, 
When on his russet Fields you look direct. 

Fruit is thy Bounty too, with Juice replete, 
Acid or mild ; 3 and from thy ray receives 
A flavour pleasing to the taste of man. 
By thee concocted blushes, and by thee 
Fully matur'd, into the verdant lap 
Of Industry the mellow Plenty falls. 
Extensive harvests wave at thy command, 
And the bright ear, consolidate by thee, 
Bends unwithholding to the reaper's hand. 
Even Winter speaks thy power ; whose every blast, 
O'ercast with tempest, or severely sharp 
With breathing frost is eloquent of thee, 
And makes us languish for thy vernal gleams. 

Shot to the bowels of the teeming earth 
The ripening ore confesses all thy power. 
Hence Labour draws his tools ; hence waving * War 
Flames on the day ; hence busy commerce binds 
The round of nations in a golden chain ; 
And hence the sculptur'd palace, sumptuous, shines 
With glittering silver and refulgent gold." 

1. 142. T. (inserts). 

1 At first T. wrote "quickening." 

2 " dog-stars Rage " T. 

3 "or sweetly- various mixt : 
Whatever Autumn o'er the Garden showers, 

In radiant Heaps ; or, in bright Prospect round, 
Spreads unwithholding to the Reaper's hand. 
Even Winter," etc. T. 

4 " burnish'd " P. (?) 



216 APPENDIX. 

11. 145, 146. T. ; " Shines proudly on the Bosom of 
the Fair." '38. 

1. 148. T. ; "A bleeding Radiance, grateful to the 
view. "'38. 

1. 162. "In brighter mazes," T. ; "In brisker 
measures," '30, '38. 

I. 163. " Plays thro' " T. ; " Frisks o'er" '30, '38. 

II. 169, 170. T., with "waving" for "floating." 

"Reflects from every fluctuating Wave 
A Glance extensive as the Day." 

'30, '38. 

1. 176. Punctuate " Who, Light Himself, in " etc., 
as in '30, '38. 

I. 186. " Father " " Poet " '30, '38. 

II. 187-191. 

"Thy matchless Works in each exalted Line 
And all the full harmonic Universe, 
Would vocal, or expressive, thee attest 
The Cause, the Glory, and the End of all ! " 

'30, '38. 

1. 192. " wide " " broad" '30, '38, hyphen in '44. 

1. 193. "all-instructing" " broad-illumin'd " '30, 
'38. 

1. 197. " dawn " " day " '30, '38. 

1. 199. "Now," T. ; " Fierce," '30, '38. 

1. 201. " fogs," '44; "mists," '30, '38. 

I. 202. "wide" "all" '30, '38. 

II. 207, 208. Not in '30 or '38. T. first deletes then 
restores from " Half " to " stream." 

1. 209. "while" "and" '30, '38. 

I. 210. "With rapid sway," "By sharp degrees," 
30, '38. 

II. 214, 215. "the parching "" th' unbating " 
'30, '38. T. strikes out both lines, giving 

" And withering fade before the fervid Beam " 
suggesting but deleting "nagging" for "withering." 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SUMMER." 217 

1. 216. "the follower of the Sun, they say," '30, 
'38. 

1. 218. " Drooping " " Weeping " '30, '38. 

1. 230. " household "" homely " '30, '38.. 

1. 232. "the vacant" T. (but deletes); " th' era- 
ployless " '30, '38. 

1. 236. "starting" T. ; "bootless" '30, '38. 

1.240. "they . . . fire" "their high Descent, 
direct they draw " '30, '38. 

1. 243. "soul" "life" '30, '38. 

1. 245. "storms" "glooms" '30, '38. 

1. 246. "forth" "all" '30, '38. 

1. 247. After "pour;" 

" green, speckled, yellow, grey, 
Black, azure, brown ; more than th' assisted Eye 
Of poring Virtuoso can discern." 

'30, '38. 

T. strikes out from " green " to " brown." 
1. 249. " forms " " hues ! " T. 

I. 253. "quick-ey'd" T. ; "springing" '30, '38. 

II. 254, 255. " Or . . . stray ;" T. ; 

"Often beguil'd. Some thro' the greenwood Glade 
Delight to stray : " 

'30, '38. 

11. 258-261. After "herb": 

" but careful still 

To shun the Mazes of the sounding Bee 
As o'er the Blooms he sweeps." 

'30, '38. 

1. 264. " by the boiling Stream" '30, '38 ; " from " for 
"by" T. 

1. 265. "They . . . fate" T. ; "Are pierc'd to 
death " '30, '38. 



218 APPENDIX. 

1. 273. "Near the dire cell" T. ; "Within an 
inch"'30(?), '38. 

1. 277. " wretch " T. ; " fly " '30, '38. 
1. 281. " Resounds"" Echoes " '30, '38. 
1. 284. " drowsy " " slumbering " T. 

I. 286. After this line follow ('30, '38) 11. 318 sq., 
" Let no presuming " etc. 

II. 287-317. See on 1. 137 of " Spring." 

I. 287. "Gradual" "Downward "T. (in "Spring"). 

II. 306-308. "it pierces . . . abounds" T. (in 
" Spring ") gives 

" of acid Taste 1 

Or oily smooth, whether severe and harsh 
Or rais'd to racy Flavour, quick and high 
With various Forms abounds, whence is [ . . . ? 
Deriv'd their various Gusts." 

I. 323. " her "" his " '30, '38. 

II. 324-328. 

"Thus on the concave of a soundings dome 
On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art ! 
Wanders a critic fly ; his feeble ray 
Extends 3 an inch around, yet blindly bold 
He dares dislike the structure of the whole." 

'30, '38. 

1. 330. "scheme" '30 and T. ; " scene " '38. 
1. 337 sy. 

" Recoiling giddy thought ; or with sharp glance 
Such as remotely- wafting spirits use, 
Beheld the glories of the little world ? " 

'30, '38. 

I. 339. " holy "" heavenly " '30, '38. 

II. 334, 335. "till, "etc. 

" with tempest wing 
Till Winter" etc. 



1 "Point "substituted by T. ( " lofty "T. 

3 "Scarce spreads "T. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SUMMER." 219 

1. 348 sy. "Thus "etc. 

" In soft-circling Robes 

Which the hard hand of Industry has wrought, 
The human insects glow ; by Hunger fed, 
And chear'd by toiling Thirst, they rowl about 
From Toy to Trifle, Vanity to Vice ; " 

'30, '38. 

1. 360. "kind ""soft " '30, '38. 
1. 363. " breathing " " tawny " '30, '38. 
1. 364. " throws " T. ; " casts " '30, '38. 
TH. 371-431. First in '44. 
1. 377. " dogs " " dog " '44. 
1, 433. 

" Shoots thro' th' expanding Air a torrid Gleam * 

'30, '38. 

1. 435. " pierce " T. ; " sweep " '30, '38. 
1. 437. 

" Down to the dusty earth, the sight, o'erpower'd " 

'30, '38. 

I. 438. " but thence ascending " '30, '38. 

II. 439-442. " Deep . . . soul." 

" Burnt to the heart 

Are the refreshless Fields ; their arid Hue 
Adds a new Fever to the sickening Soul ; " 

'30 '38 
1. 442. Here followed in '30, '38 : 

' ' And o'er ' their slippery Surface wary treads 
The Foot of thirsty Pilgrim, often dipt . 
In a cross rill, presenting to his wish 
A living Draught : he feels before he drinks !" 3 



1 "On"T. 

2 " The thirsty Pilgrim, who, to firm his Step 

Dips in the passing Rill his dusty Foot." T. 



220 APPENDIX. 

1. 443. " cheerful "" sandy " '30, '38. 

1. 445. "humid" '30, '38; T., "breathing" (can 
celled). 

I. 447. After " pants " : 

"The Desarfc reddens, and the stubborn Rock 
Split to the centre, sweats at every Pore." 

'30, '38. 

II. 449, 450. 

" Or thro' the fervid Glade, impetuous hurl 
Into the shelter of the crackling Grove." 

'30, '33. 

" Or thro' the fervid Glade, impatient seem 
To hurl into the shelter of the Grove." 

T. first writing " sultry " for " fervid." 
1. 457. After " approach " : 

" "Who can endure ? The too resplendent Scene 
Already darkens on the dizzy Sight, 
And double objects dance ; unreal Sounds 
Sing deep around ; a weight of sultry Dew 
Hangs deathful on the limbs ; shiver the Nerves ; 
The supple Sinews sink ; and on the Heart, 
Misgiving, Horror lays his heavy Hand." 

'30, '38. 

1. 479. "all . . . limbs" "every . . .limb' 
'30, '38. 

I. 480. " Around the" "All in th' " '30, '38. 

II. 493-495. " Amid . . . sustained " : 

" Stretch'd on the grassy Bed 
To Guilt and Care unknown, slumbers the Swain, 
Around his Head, on downy moss, sustain'd 
His loosen'd arm in careless manner thrown." 

'30, '38. 
1. 496. T. 

" And there his Sceptre-Crook, and watchful Dog." 

'30, '38. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON " SUMMER." 221 

1. 499. " gadflies " " hornets " '30, '38 (T. can- 
cels). 

1. 508. "Trembling with vigour," '30, '38; "with 
ardour trembling," T. 

1. 510. " steadfast " " steady " '30, '38. 

1. 521. " listening " " silent " '30, '38. 

1. 526. " gracious " " heavenly " '30, '38. 

1. 526. " errands " " errand " T. 

1. 533. " worth," T. ; " Saints" '30, '38. 

I. 540. "Deep-roused,"" Arous'd," '30, '38. 

II. 543, 544. 

" Those accents murmur' d in th' abstracted ear, 
Pronounce distinct." 

'30, '38. 

I. 556 sq. 

" And frequent at the middle waste of night, 
Or all day long, ' in desarts still, are heard 
Now here, now there, now wheeling in mid-sky 
Around, or underneath, aerial Sounds, 
Sent from angelic harps, and voices join'd, 
A happiness," etc. 

'30, '38. 

II. 564-584. Not in '30, '38. 

1. 586. " stun ""sound " '30, '38. 
1. 589. "check my steps "" stand aghast" '30, 
'38. 
1. 590. "shelving" "shaggy " '30, '38. 

I. 590. " copious " " spreading " '30, '38. 

II. 592-606. 

" In one big Glut, as sinks the shelving Ground, 
Th' impetuous Torrent, tumbling down the Steep, 
Thunders, and shakes th' astonish'd country round 
Now a blue watry Sheet ; anon dispers'd, 
A hoary Mist ; then gather' d in again, 
A darted Stream aslant the hollow Bock, 



" Here frequent at the solemn midnight Hour 
Or silent depth of noon " T. 



222 APPENDIX. 

This way, and that tormented, dashing check 
From steep to steep, with wild, infracted Course 
And restless Roaring to the humble Vale 
With the rough prospect tir'd, I turn my gaze 
Where, in long Vista, the soft-murmuring Main 
Darts a green lustre, trembling thro' the Trees ; 
Or to yon silver-streaming Threads of Light, 
A showery Radiance, beaming through the boughs." 

'30, '38. 

1. 603. " slope to slope " " steep to steep," '44. 
1.609. "the flood of day" T. ; "th' attractive 
gleam " '30, '38. 

1. 611. "tuneful" "feathery" '30, '38. 
1. 612. " Smit " T. ; " Smote " '30, '38. 

I. 624. T. 

" There on that Rock by Nature's chissel carv'd" 

'30, '38. 

II. 627, 628. " balm .... woodbine " " sweet Of 
honeysuckle " '30, '38. 

1. 628. After this followed, in '30, '38, 11. 1438 to 
1619 (the praise of Britannia down to "great 
design "). 

1. 629 sq. In '30 and '38 this digression on foreign 
summers followed the praise of Britannia, and ran 
(the reader must make the comparison between this 
and '46 for himself) : 

" Thus far transported by my country's love, 

Nobly digressive from my theme, I've aim'd 

To sing her praises in ambitious verse ; 

While, slightly to recount, I simply meant 

The various summer-horrors which infest 

Kingdoms that scorch below severer suns : 

Kingdoms on which, direct, the flood of day 

Oppressive falls, and gives the gloomy hue, 

And feature gross ; or worse, to ruthless deeds, 

Wan jealousy, red rage, and fell revenge, 10 

Their hasty spirit prompts. Ill-fated race ! [Cf . 1. 875. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON " SUMMER." 223 

Altho' the treasures of the sun be theirs, 
Bocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines ; 
Whence, over sands of gold, the Niger rolls 
His amber wave ; while on his balmy banks, 
Or in. the spicy Abyssinian vales, 

The citron, orange, and pomegranate, drink 17 

Intolerable day, yet in their coats 
A cooling juice contain. Peaceful beneath, 
Leans the huge elephant ; and in his shade 20 

A multitude of beauteous creatures play, 
And birds of bolder note rejoice around. 
And oft amid their aromatic groves 
Touch'd by the Torch of Noon, the gummy Bark, 
Smould'ring begins to roll the dusky Wreath. 
Instant, so swift the ruddy Ruin spreads, 
. A cloud of Incense shadows all the land ; 
And o'er a thousand thundering Trees at once, 
Riots with lawless rage the running blaze : 
But chiefly should fomenting winds assist, 
And doubling blend the circulated waves 
fjf flame tempestuous ; or directly on, 
Far streaming, drive them thro' the forest's length. 1 

But other views await : where Heaven above 
Glows like an arch of brass ; and all below, 
The brown-burnt earth a mass of iron lies ; 
Of fruits, and flowers, and every verdure spoilt ; 
Barren, and bare, a joyless, weary waste 
Thin-cottag'd ; and in time of trying need, 
Abandon'd by the vanish'd brook ; like one 
Of fading fortune by his treacherous friend. 

Such are thy horrid desarts, Barca ; such 
Zaara, thy hot inhospitable sands ; 
Continuous rising often with the blast, 
Till the sun sees no more ; and unknit earth, 
Shook by the south into the darken'd air, 
Falls in new hilly Kingdoms o'er the waste 

Hence 2 late expos'd (if distant fame says true) 

1 '38 omits " length." 

2 Here Mitford makes MS. note : "On this fabulous enchanted 
City in Africa see Shaw's ' Travels,' ii. p. 286. Beechy's ' Travels 
in Africa,' p. 502. Bruce's ' Travels,' I. Ixxiv. 44, 8vo. Called 
Ras Sorn' (?) or the 'fountain of Poison' 1 day's journey 
south from Bin Gazi." 



224 APPENDIX. 

A smother'd city from the sandy wave 

Emergent rose ; with olive-fields around, 

Fresh woods, reclining herds, and silent flocks, 

Amusing all, and incorrupted seen. 

For by the nitrous penetrating salts, 

Mix'd copious with the sand, pierc'd, and preserv'd 

Each object hardens gradual into stone, 

Its posture fixes, and its colour keeps. 

The statue-folk, within, unnumber'd crowd 

The streets, in various attitudes surpriz'd 

By sudden fate, and live on every face 

The passions caught, beyond the sculptor's art. 

Here leaning soft, the marble-lovers stand, 

Delighted even in death ; and each for each 

Feeling alone, with that expressive look, 

Which perfect Nature only knows to give. 

And there the father agonizing bends 

Fond o'er his weeping wife, and infant train 

Aghast, and trembling, tho' they know not why. 

The stiffen'd vulgar stretch their arms to heaven, 

With horror staring ; while in council deep 

Assembled full, the hoary-headed sires 

Sit sadly-thoughtful of the public fate. 

As when old Rome, beneath the raging Gaul, 

Sunk her proud turrets, resolute on death, 

Around the Forum sat the grey divan 

Of Senators, majestic, motionless, 

With ivory-staves, and in their awful robes 

Dress'd like the falling fathers of mankind ; 

Amaz'd, and shivering, from the solemn sight 

The red barbarians shrunk, and deemed them Gods. 

'Tis here that Thirst has fix'd his dry domain, 
And walks his wide, malignant round, in search 
Of pilgrim lost ; or on the Merchant's tomb 1 
Triumphant sits, who for a single cruise 
Of unavailing water paid so dear : 
Nor could the gold his hard associate save. 
Here the green serpent gathers up his train, [Cf . 1. 898 sq. 

l In the desart of Araoan are two tombs with inscriptions on 
them, importing that the persons there interr'd were a rich 
merchant, and a poor carrier, who both died of thirst ; and that 
the former had given to the latter ten thousand ducats for one 
cruise of water. Thomson. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SUMMER." 225 

In orbs immense ; then darting out anew, 
Progressive, rattles thro' the wither'd brake ; 
And, lolling frightful, guards the scanty fount, 
If fount there be : or of dirninish'd size, 
But mighty mischief, on th' unguarded swain 
Steals, full of rancour. Here the savage race 
Roam, licens'd by the shading hour of blood, 
And foul misdeed, when the pure day has shut 
His sacred eye. The rabid tyger then, 
The fiery panther, and the whisker'd pard, 
(Bespeckled fair, the beauty of the waste) 
In dire divan, surround their shaggy King, 
Majestic, stalking o'er the burning sand, 
With planted step ; while an obsequious crowd 
Of grinning forms at humble distance wait. 
These all together join'd from darksome caves, 
Where o'er gnaw'd bones they slumber'd out the day, 
By supreme hunger smit, and thirst intense, 
At once their mingling voices raise to Heaven ; 
And, with imperious and repeated roars, 
Demanding food, the wilderness resounds 
From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile. 

All this T. cancels, after making following correc- 
tions : 

I. 10. 

" Wild Jealousy, blind Rage, and fell Revenge" 

(Cf. 1. 899.) 

II. 17-18. 

" Unnumber'd Fruits of keen refreshful Taste, 
Pomegranates, Citrons, and Ananas drink " etc. 

I. 20. 

" A gelid Juice to cool its Rage contain. 
Peaceful, meantime, amid the mighty Woods," 

II. 939-958. '44, '46. T. strikes through. '30 and 
'38 have these readings : 

I. 941. " Day after day " " Ceaseless he sits " 

II. 942, 943. " He sits," etc. 

"and views 
The rowling Main," etc. 



226 APPENDIX. 

I. 956. " Ausonia pours" "Of Italy." 

1 958. "the splendid robber's boon " " the bless- 
ings once her own." 

II. 959-1051. Not in '30, '38. 

I. 1054. "child" P. ; "son" '30, '38. 

II. 1071-80. 

" And ranged at open noon by beasts of prey, 
And birds of bloody beak. The sullen door 
No visit knows, nor hears the wailing voice 
Of fervent want. Even soul-attracted friends 
And relatives endeared for many a year," etc. 

'30, '38. 

I. 1081. " close" ..." kindred " '30, '38. 

II. 1083-84. Not in '30, '38. 
11. 1085-88. 

" And, sick in solitude, successive die, 
Untended, and unmourn'd. While to compleat " etc. 

'30, '38. 

1. 1089. "stretched" "wide" '30, '38. 

I. 1090. 

" Denying all retreat, the grim guards stand," 

'30, '38. 

II. 1092-1102. 

" Much of the Force of foreign Summers still, 
Of growling Hills that shoot the pillar'd Flame, 
Of Earthquakes, and pale Famine, could I sing : 
But equal Scenes of Horror call me home." 

11. 823-826 of '30, '38. 

Against " Earthquakes " T. writes " described." 
1. 1105. "full ""broad " '30, '38. P. here writes 

" and spreading gains 
The wide dominion of the Sky, surcharg'd 
With wrathfull Vapour from the dark Abyss 
Where sleep the mineral Generations, drawn." 

1. 1106. "secret beds,"" damp Abrupt," '30, '38. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "SUMMER." 227 

1. 1108. "and the" etc. 

" Vitriol, on the Day 

Steam, and fermenting in yon baleful Cloud, 
Extensive o'er the World ' a reddening Gloom 1 
In dreadful Promptitude to spring, await 
The high command." 

1. 1128. 

"'Tis dumb amaze, and listening terror all " 

'30, '38. 
1. 1129. 

" When to the quicker Eye the livid glance " 

'30, '38. 

" When darting from the Cloud the livid glance " 

P. 

1. 1130. " emissive " '30, '38. 
1. 1131. 

" And by the powerful breath of God inflate " 

'30, '38. 
1. 1134-36. 

" At first low-muttering ; but at each approach 
The lightnings " etc. 

'30, '38. 
1. 1145. 

" In the white heavenly Magazines congeal'd ; 

And often fatal to th' unshelter'd head 

Of man, or rougher beast. Wide-rent," etc. 

'30, '38. 

1. 1146. " flame " " rage " '30, '38. 
1. 1149 sq. 

" And strikes the Shepherd, as he shuddering sits 
Presaging ruin, 'mid the rocky cleft. 
His inmost marrow feels the gliding flame ; 
He dies ; and like a statue grim'd with age, 
His live dejected posture still remains ; 



That o'er the world extends" etc. P. 



228 APPENDIX. 

His russet sing'd, anil rent his hanging hat, 
Against his crook his sooty cheek reclin'd, 
While, whining at his feet, his half-stun'd dog 
Importunately kind, and fearful, pants 
On his insensate master for relief. 
Black from the stroke above, the mountain-pine 
A leaning shatter' d trunk, stands scath'd to heaven 
The talk of future ages ; and, below," etc 

T. corr. last two lines into 1. 1151. 
1. 1156-68. (" Struck on isles.") 

" A little further, burns 
The guiltless cottage, and the haughty dome 
Stoops to the base. In one immediate flash 
The forest falls, or, flaming out, displays 
The savage haunts, unpierc'd by day before. 
Scarr'd is the mountain's brow, and from the cliff 
Tumbles the smitten rock. The desart shakes, 
And gleams, and grumbles, thro" his deepest dens." 

'30, '38. 

1. 1169. "dubious hears," '30, '38. 
1. 1171. "falls the devoted " '30, '38. 
1. 1172. " pair " " twain " '30, '38. 
1. 1176. " His the full radiance " P. 
1. 1179. T. suggests "nameless" (sic) or "charm- 
ing " as epithets for " innocence." 

I. 1182. "Struck from the charmful eye." '30, '38 ; 
"of mutual hearts high-tun'd. " T. 

II. 1257-1268 followed the Damon episode in '38. 

1. 1269. " Nor when the Brook pellucid, Winter 
keens " '30, '38. 
1. 1269 sy. Thus in '30, '38 : 

" 'Twas then beneath a secret waving Shade, 
Where winded into lovely solitudes 
Runs out the rambling Dale, that Damon sat, 
Thoughtful, and flx'd in Philosophic Muse : 
Damon, who still among the savage Woods, 
And lonely Lawns, the Force of Beauty scorn'd, 
Firm, and to false Philosophy devote. 



CRITICAL JS T OTES ON "SUMMER." 229 

The Brook ran babbling by ; and sighing weak, 

The Breeze among the bending willows play'd ; 

When Sacharissa to the cool Retreat, 

With Amoret, and Musidora stole. 

Warm in their Cheek the sultry Season glow'd ; 

And, rob'd in loose Array, they came to bathe 

Their fervent limbs in the refreshing stream. 

Tall and majestic, Sacharissa rose, 

Superior treading, as on Ida's top, 

(So Grecian Bards in wanton Fable sung) 

High-shone the Sister and the Wife of Jove. 

Another Pallas Musidora seem'd 

Meek-ey'd, sedate, and gaining every Look 

A surer Conquest of the sliding Heart. 

While, like the Cyprian goddess, Amoret, 

Delicious dress'd in rosy dimpled Smiles, 

And all one softness, melted on the Sense. 

Nor Paris panted stronger, when aside 

The Rival-Goddesses the Veil divine 

Cast unconfln'd, and gave him all their charms, 

Than, Damon, thou ; the Stoic now no more, 

But Man deep-felt, as from the snowy Leg, 

And slender Foot, th' inverted Silk they drew, 

As the soft Touch dissolv'd the Virgin-Zone ; 

And thro' the parting Robe, th' alternate Breast, 

With Youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze 

Luxuriant Rose (sic). Yet more enamour'd still, 

When from their naked Limbs of glowing white, 

In folds loose-floating felt (sic) the fainter Lawn ; 

And fair expos'd they stood, shrunk from themselves; 

With Fancy blushing ; at the doubtful Breeze 

Arous'd, and starting, like the fearful Fawn. 

So stands the Statue that enchants the World, 

Her full Proportions such, and bashful so 

Bends ineffectual from the roving Eye. 

Then to the Flood they rush'd ; the plunging Fair 

The parted Flood with closing waves receiv'd ; 

And, every Beauty softening, every Grace 

Flushing afresh, a mellow Lustre shed : 

As shines the Lilly thro' the Crystall mild ; 

Or as the Rose amid the Morning-Dew 

Puts on a warmer Glow. In various Play 

While thus they wanton'd ; now beneath the Wave, 

But ill-conceal'd ; and now with streaming Locks 



230 APPENDIX. 

That half-embrac'd them in a humid Veil, 

Rising again ; the latent Damon drew 

Such Draughts of Love and Beauty to the Soul, 

As put his harsh Philosophy to flight, 

The joyless Search of long-deluded years ; 

And Musidora fixing in his Heart, 

Inform'd, and humaniz'd him into Man." 

11. 1371-1437. Not in '30, '38. 

1. 1438. " Heavens ! " " And " ; 30, '38 ; " See " T. 

1. 1438. "goodly" "various "'30, '38. 

1. 1438. " spreads "" lies " '30, '38. 

1. 1440. " towns betwixt " '30, '38. 

1. 1444. T. 

" Walks thro' the land of Heroes, unconfin'd." 

'30, '38. 

1. 1452. " glow " P. (?) "flame " '30, '38. 
1. 1455. " guarded " " certain " '30, '38 (erased). 
1. 1479-1488. Not in '30, ; 38 : which after "many " 
give 

" thine a More 
As Cato firm, as Aristides just," etc. 

1. 1505 sq. (to " luxury " 1. 1527) T., with "Wide" for 
" Bright," 1. 1519. He wrote, and then erased 1. 1525. 

" Then deep thro' Fate his mind retorted saw, 
And with his Prison-hours " etc. [to " bled " 1. 1510. 

'30, '38. 

1. 1511. 

" A Hambden (sic) thine, of unsubmitting soul, 

Who stemm'd " etc. [but " fierce " in 1. 1518 for " bold * 

'30, '38. 
1. 1522 sq. 

" Nor can the Muse the gallant Sidney pass, 

The Plume of War ! " etc. [to " bay " as in text 

" Not him of later name, firm to the Cause 
Of Liberty, her rough. determin'd friend, 
The British Brutus ; whose united blood 



CRITICAL NOTES ON " SUMMER." 231 

With, Russel, thine, thou Patriot wise, and calm, 
Stain'd " etc. 

'30, '38. 

I. 1527. "luxury ""sloth" '30, '38. 

II. 1532-1534. 

" In Sages too, far as the sacred Light 
Of Science spreads, and wakes " etc. 

'30, '38. 

11. 1535-1541. 

" formed of happy mold, 

When Nature smil'd, deep, comprehensive, clear 
Exact, and elegant " etc. 

'30, '38. 

11. 1543-1550. Not in '30, 38. 
11. 1557, 1558. 

" Still sought the great Creator in his Work 
By sure Experience led ? " 

'30, '38. 

11. 1560-1564. "Let . . . Philosophy" P. 

" Let comprehensive Newton speak thy Fame 
In all Philosophy." 

'30, '38. 

I. 1563. Corrected to text by P., save that he 
writes "vast and boundless"!. 1569; "universal" T. 

" For solemn Song 

Is not wild Shakespear Nature's Boast and thine, 
And every greatly amiable Muse 
Of elder Ages in thy Milton met ? 
His was the Treasure of two thousand Years, 
Seldom indulg'd to Man ; a God-like Mind, 
Unlimited, and various, as his Theme, 
Astonishing as Chaos ; as the Bloom 
Of blowing Eden fair ; soft as the talk 
Of our Grand Parents, and as Heaven sublime." 

II. 1572-1579. T., with " his " for " thy " 1. 1579. 



232 APPENDIX. 

1. 1693. 

" Doubtful if seen ; whence sudden Vision turns 
To heaven ; where Venus in the starry front 
Shines eminent : " 

'30, '38. 
1. 1697. 

"Sheds Influence on earth, to love, and life, 
And every form of vegetation kind." 

'30, '38. 
1. 1700. " With glad peruse," '30, 38. 

1. 1702. 

"O'er half the nations, in a minute's space 
Conglob'd, or long. Astonishment succeeds, 
And silence, e'er the various talk begin " 

'30, : 38. 

1. 1738. "springs aloft" "soaring spurns" '30, 
'38. 
1. 1739. 

" The tangling mass of Cares, and low Desires " 

'30, '38. 

1. 1745. " dreary void " " vast Inane " '30, '38. 
1. 1747. 

" Who all-sustaining in himself, alone " 

'30, '38. 
1. 1752. 

" A world swift-painted on th' attentive mind" 

'30, '38. 

1. 1758. " unassisted " '30, '38. 
1. 1761. "finer" "honest" '30, '38. 
1. 1762. " happiness " " home, nor joy " ; 30, '38. 
1. 1764. "nor" "or" '44. 
1. 1765 sq. 

" Nor law were his ; nor property, nor swain 
To turn the furrow, nor mechanic hand 
Hard en' d to toil ; nor sailor bold, nor trade 
Mother " etc. 

'30, '38. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 233 

1. 1779. " Star-led, the helm ; " '30. 

I. 1790. " powerful "- " virtual " '30. 

II. 1794-1796. (to "abstract"). "To notion quite 
abstract." '30. 

1. 1798. " Unfettered " " Immediate" '30. 
1. 1804. '44. 

"By Love and Wisdom inexpressive fovm'd," 

'30, '38. 

AUTUMN. 

1. 14. "bosom " T. ; "conduct" '30, '38. 
1. 27. " enlivened " T. ; " irradiate " '30, '38. 
1. 31. " Extensive " T. ; " Unbounded " '30, '38. 
1.40. "heart-expanding" T. ; "wide-extended" 
'30, '38. 
1. 42. P. ; " Convolved and " '30, '38. 

" O'er waving golden seas of Ripend Corn." 
P. (deleted.) 

1. 50. "seeds" etc., T. ; "Powers of deep effici- 
ency " '30, '38. 

1. 60. "red" P. ; "bleak" '30, '38. 

1. 91. (after "on") 

" By hardy patience and experience slow " 

'30, '38 (T. deletes). 

1. 101. "they planned "" devis'd " '30, '38. 

I. 111. " wrought " '30, '38 ; " rose " P. 

II. 113, 114. " rear'd . . . head " P. ; " rose " '30, '38. 

I. 115. " drew " T. ; " led " '30, '38. 

II. 115-117. P. would delete these, together with 
what followed in '30, '38, viz : 

"'Twas nought but labour, the whole dusky gvoupe 
Of clustering houses, and of mingling men, 
Restless design, and execution strong. 



234 APPENDIX. 

*In every street the sounding hammer ply'd 
*His massy task ; while the corrosive file, 
*In Hying touches, form'd the fine machine." 

1. 121. "on thee, thou Thames," '30, '38; "thy 
streams, O Thames," P. 
1. 122. '30, '38. 

"Than whom no River heaves a fuller Tide" 

P. (?) deletes ; T. restores. 
1. 123. "Chose" P. ; "Seiz'd'"30, '38. 

I. 151. "trembles" (T. restores; P. corrects to 
something illegible.) 

II. 158-160. T. 

1. 158. " While bandied round and round" '30, '38. 

" While thro' their chearful band the Rural Talk " 

P. 



1. 1GO. " harmless "" hearty " '30, '38. 

" With hearty Mirth deceive the tedious task." 



P. 



1. 161. P.; "And chearly steal" '30, '38; "And 
Rural Jests smooth all the Sense of Pain " (or) 
"painful Task." P. 

1. 182. "far retired " T. ; " lost far up" '30, '38. 

I. 183. " Among " P. ; " Amid " '30, '38. 
After 1. 183 followed : 

" Safe from the cruel, blasting, arts of man" 

'30, '38. 

II. 184-187. P. 
1. 188. T. 

"From the base Pride of the malignant world" 

P. 
* T. deletes. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 235 

I. 198. P. 

" Or when the stories that her Mother told, 
Of what her faithless fortune flatter'd l once," 

'30, '38. 

II. 203, 204. P. 

" Veil'il in a simple robe ; for loveliness " 

'30, 38. 
11. 208-217. P. 

" Recluse among the woods ; if City-dames 

Will deign their faith. And thus she went compelled 

By strong necessity, with as serene, 

And pleas'd a look as patience can put on, 

To glean Palaemon's fields." 

'30, '38. 

1. 208. " deep-embow'ring " P. (suggests). 

I. 211. "eyes" P. 

II. 238, 239. "where . . . dwell," P. (who first wrote 
" exalted " for " enlivened "). 

"... and harmonious shap'd 
Where sense sincere, and goodness secm'd to dwell," 

'30, '38. 

I. 247. "Tis . . . lone"T. ; " I've heard than in 
some waste " '30, '38. 

. 256. " mingled " T. ; " mingling" '30, '38. 
. 259. " viewed her " T. ; " run her " '30, '38. 
. 270. " Sweeter" T. ; " Fairer" '30, '38. 
. 273. " sequestered" P. ; "unsmiling" '30, '38. 
. 286. P. 

"His bounty taught to gain, and right enjoy." 

'30, '38. 

II. 290-294. P. 

1.292. " Has showr'd upon me " P. (T. Corrects.) 

1 " prornis'd " T. 



236 APPENDIX. 

11. 290-294. '30, '38. 

" With harvest shining, all these fields are thine ; 
And, if my wishes may presume so far, 
Thoir master too, who then indeed were blest, 
To make the daughter of Acasto so." 

1. 308. "tender bliss "" mutual bliss," '30, '38; 
" tender Peace," P. 

1. 327. " The billowy plain boils wide " '30, '38 ; 
" Wide shakes the billowy Plain " P ; " Wide floats 
the billowy Plain " T. 

1. 333. "The . . . gloom," T. ; "The glomerating 
tempest grows," '30, '38. 

1. 339. " rushing tide " P. ; " weighty rush " '30, 
'38. 

1. 361. "thick-thundering," '30, '38. 

1. 362. "the" '30, "a" '38; T. corrects, to "the." 

1. 368. " and, watchful " T. ; " watchful, and " 
'30, '38. 

1. 370. "they vainly" P. (T. restores). 

1. 371. After this : 

" Sad Captives, never more to taste the Joys 
Of Liberty without redemption lost 
Unhappy Captives whom from instant Death 
No Ransom can redeem, no Pity save " 

P. (the two last as alternative no doubt) ; T. deletes. 

1. 371. "idle" T. ; "useless" '30, '38. 

1. 380. "her spotless theme with such" '30, '38. 

1. 381. "social" T. (or P.) ; " smiling" '30, '38. 

1. 388. "rang'd" T. (or P.) ; "roam'd" '30, '38. 

1. 392. "wrath" T. ; "rage" '30, '38. 

1. 393. " roam'd " T. ; " howl'd " '30, '38 ; " trod " 
" roam'd " and a third word illegible, P. 

1. 394. " takes up the cruel tract" '30, '38; text, P. ; 
deleted, however, by T., who restores former text. 

1. 396. '30, '38. 

" Upbraid us not, ye wolves ! ye tygers fell 1" 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 237 

P. suggests "our wanton Kage" and "Upbraid 
Mankind." T. : 

"Ye ravening tribes, upbraid our wanton Rage." 

1. 429. '46. " Fear-arous'd " '30, '38, '44. 

1. 434. "keen-ear'd" '38; (T. corrects.) 

1. 440. '46. "Expels "'44. 

1. 444. " wont" T. ; " went" '30, '38. 

I. 448. T. (with " theirs " for " a "). 

" With quick consent avoid th' infectious maze. 

'30, '38. 

II. 450, 451. P. (with "active" for " buoyant" 
which T. restores). 

" So full of buoyant soul, inspire no more 
The fainting course ; but wrenching, breathless toil " 

'30, '38. 

1. 466. " and . . . die" "for murder is his trade:" 
'30, '38 ; " and let the Murderer die" P. ; "Ruffian" 
T. 

1. 467. " Or," P. (or T.) ; " And," '30, '38. 

I. 468. " fell " P. ; " near " '30, '38. 

II. 470-472. 

"pour ye Britons then 

Your sportive Fury on the wily Fox 

nightly robber the sleeping Fold 

The sly destroyer of your harmless Flock." 

P. (suggests). 
1. 472. 

" Loose on the sly destroyer of the Flock." 

'30, '38. 
1. 483. T. (or P.) 

" Then snatch the mountains by their woody tops." 

'30, '38. 
1. 492. 

" Torn unrelenting : happy, Glorious he ! " 

T. 



238 APPENDIX. 

"Relentless, torn at once." 



P. 



" At once tore, merciless. Thrice happy he ! " 

'30, '38. 

1. 493. 

" At hour of dusk, while the retreating horn " 

'30, '38. 

"when "for "while" T. 
1. 500. Not in '30, '38. 
1. 511. T. With first " wonders " then "glories'", 

i " Kelating how it ran, and how it fell." 

'30, '38. 

1. 515. "delicious" T. ; "reviving" '30, '38. 
1. 516. 

" Of Love inspiring May to the sick maid " 

T. 
1. 523. '44. 

" To vie it with the vineyard's best produce." 

'30, '38. 

(Note T.'s pronunciation). 

1. 524. "whisk "'44. 

1. 525. "his dull round" T. ; "gentle round "'30, 
'38. 

1. 539. " Vociferous . . . from " P. ; " vociferate 
... by " '30, '38. 

1. 545. " each congenial " " every kindred " '30, 
'38. 

1. 547. " Cry," printed large, '30 ; italicized, '38, '44, 
'46, with obvious innuendo. 

L 551. "falls murmuring towards Morn" '30, '38; 
' at Morn " T. 

1. 552. P. ; "So their mirth gradual sinks " : 30, '38. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 239 

1.557. "soft" T. ; "sweet " '30, '38; "confused" 
T. ; "o'erturn'd" '30, '38. 

11. 558, 559. Not in '30, '38, which from 557 con- 
tinue : 

"Lies the wet, broken scene ; and stretch'd below 
Each way, the drunken slaughter " 

I. 564. " drenched in potent,"" silent all in " '30, 
'38. 

II. 565-569. Not in '30, '38. 

1. 578. Here followed ('30, '38) : 

" Made up of blushes, tenderness and fears " 

" Fear " T. 

1. 593. "love-breathing" T. ; "the radiant" '30, '38. 

1. 598. "guide "P.; "play" '30, '38 " tuneful," 
T. ; "th' instructive" '30, '38. 

1. 599. "lend" T. ; "give" '30, '38 [making 
jam !]. 

1. 605. "tender, Care-elusive" '30, '38; "kinder 
Love -securing " T. 

1. 606. "glory . . . joys," 5 30(?), '38; text, T. 

1. 607. Not in '30, '38. 

" Even charm the Cares to something more than Joy " 

T. 

1. 609. " praise " " fame " T. 

I. 628. " fruit" with full stop, rightly, '30, '38. 

II. 637-639. 

"So fares it with those wide-projected heaps 
Of apples " 

'30, '38. 

"Such nightly shook, the wide-projected" etc. 

T. 

1. 645." Plain Phillips, careless Bard" T. (P. ?). 



240 APPENDIX. 

1. 652. "sweetest" T. ; "last, best" '30, '38. 
1. 654. "once delightful " T. (or P.); "green, 
majestic " '30, '38. 

I. 655. " plain"" fair " T.(?). 

II. 667, 668. 

" They twine the bay for thee. Here oft alone 
Fir'd by the thirst of thy applause, I court " 

'30, '38. 

1. 675. 

"My theme still urges in my vagrant Thought " 

'30, '38. 

" My urgent theme recalls " etc. 

T. 

1. 680. "weighty" T. ; "gravid" '30, '38. 

1. 681. "glowing" P. ; "swelling" '30, '38. 

1. 686. " swells " P. ; " heaves " '30, 38. 

1. 704. " red " T. ; " deep " '30, '38. 

1.707. After "Champaign" in '38, P. writes 
" Here bring in the verses on Stowe." 

1. 713. "And deep betwixt .... lays " '30, '38. 

1. 714. "fills the view" "while aloft" '30, '38; 
"views the Realms" T. (but deletes); "views 
beneath " P. (but deletes). 

1.714. P. after "views beneath" suggests but 
deletes 

"Their ample circuit from his piny Top 
Or stands the awfull Object of their Gaze." 

1. 714. 

" while aloft, 

His piny top is, lessening, lost in air : 
No more his thousand prospects fill the view 
With great variety " 

'30, '38. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 241 

P. (?) deletes from " while " to "prospects " ; suggests 
"fills the View " or "Eye"; and "grand" for "great". 

1. 717. " Sink dark and total " '30, '38 ; for " total " 
" dreary " P. 

1. 729. " closing "" gathering " T. ; "floating" 
'30, '38. 

1. 735. "His . . . out" "His endless train forth 
from " '30, '38. 

1. 738. "mighty "'30, '38. 

1. 738. " and melted Alpine snows " T. ; " the 
skilled in nature say " '30, '38. 

1. 739. "ample stores" T. ; "grand reserves" '30, 
'38. 

1, 742. "wealth" "stores" '30, '38, and T. 

1. 743 sq. 



"But is this equal to the vast effect 

Is thus the Volga filled ? the rapid Rhine? 

The broad Euphrates ? all th' unnumber'd floods, 

That large refresh the fair-divided earth ; 

And in the rage of summer never cease 

To send a thundering torrent l to the main ? 

What though the sun draws from the steaming deep 

More than the rivers pour ? How much again 

O'er the vext surge, in bitter-driving showers 

Frequent return let the wet sailor say : 

And on the thirsty down, far from the burst 

Of springs, how much, to their reviving fields 

And feeding flocks, let lonely shepherds sing. 

But sure 'tis no weak, variable cause 

That keeps at once ten thousand thousand floods, 

Wide- wandering o'er the world, so fresh, and clear 

For ever flowing and for ever full. 

And thus some sages, deep-exploring, teach : 

That when the hoarse innumerable wave " etc. 

'30, '38. 



"their chrystal Tribute" P. (but deletes); "their ample 
Tribute " P. 



242 APPENDIX. 

1. 743 sq. 

" Some sages doubt : they scarcely this can deem 
A cause sufficient for the vast Effect 
And thus amusive search another source 
Ainid the secret chambers of the Globe. 
They teach that when th' innumerable wave 
Eternal lashes " etc. 

T. 

1. 745. " Drilled " '44 ; " Suck'd " '30, '38. 

1. 748. " jaggy " '44 ; " They leave each saline 
particle behind "'30, '38 (corrected by T. with "dropsy" 
for "jaggy"). 

1. 750. " mounting " T. ; " rising " '30, 38. 

1. 751. 

" Tho" here and there in lowly Plains " etc. 

'30, '38 (deleted by. T.). 

1. 756. "But hence " sq. 

"The vital stream 

Hence, in its subterranean passage, gains 
From the wash'd mineral, that restoring power, 
And salutary virtue, which anew 
Strings every Nerve ; calls up 1 the kindling soul 
Into the healthful cheek, and joyous Eye : 
And whence the royal maid, Amelia, blooms 
With new-flush'd graces, yet reserv'd to bless, 
Beyond a crown, some happy prince ; and shine 
In all her mother's matchless virtue drest 
The Carolina of another land." 

From " And whence " all deleted by T. 
1. 756. "But hence" to 1. 835 inclusive not in '30, 
'38. 
1. 843. '44. 

" And where the cavern sweats, as sages dream " 

'30, '38. 
i " and calls " T. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 243 

1. 855. "arduous" P. ; " plumy" '30, '38. 

I. 881. " waving " '44 ; " gelid " '30, '38. 

II. 890, 891. First in '44 with " wak'd" for " heard". 

I. 892. " Orca's" T. ; " Orca" '30, '38. 
1.897. "manly "'44; " generous " '30, '38. 

II. 900, 901. First in '44. 

1. 902. " generous " '44 ; " hapless " '30, '38 ; " free 
and " T. 

1. 903. " unequal " '44 ; " ignoble" '30, '38. 

I. 921. "passive"; P. suggests "careless". 

* 1. 926. " uninjured " P., '44 ; " unchalleng'd " 
'30, '38. 

II. 927, 928. '38 and '44. 

" And thus united Britain, Britain made 
Intire, th' Imperial Mistress of the deep." 

'30. 

I. 929. T. (deleted in note). " John Duke of Argyle 
and Greenwich who died " [and then] " the late Duke 
of Argyle " T. and '44. 

II. 939-943. 



" While thick around the deadly tempest flew. 
And when the trumpet, kindling war no more, 
Pours not the flaming squadrons o'er the field ; 
But fruitful of fair deeds, and mutual faith, 
Kind peace unites the jarring world again, 
Let the deep olive thro" thy laurels twine." 

'30, '38. 



1. 962. T. 

" Their uvid pores his tempered force " 



'30, '38. 



1. 991. "startling" T. ; "starting" '30, '38. 

1. 1009. " virtuous" T. and '44 ; " secret " '30, '38. 



244 APPENDIX. 

1. 101. Here followed in '30, '38 (T. deletes). 
" In all the bosom triumphs, all the nerves " 

1. 1011. " breast " T. ; " sense " '30, '38. 

I. 1021. "large" T. ; "kind" '30, '38. 

II. 1023, 1024. "the noble"; " th' indignant " '30, 

'38. 

" the poignant Scorn, 

The sweet disdain, mix'd with sublime Humility 
Of tyrant" etc. 

T. 

I. 1028. T. ; " th' arousing pant" '30, '38. 

II. 1037-1081. Indicated by T. to be inserted after 
1. 1036. Cf. 1. 707. 

1. 1082. T. 

"And now the western sun withdraws the day " 

'30, 38. 
1. 1085. T. 

" Th' ascending vapour throws. Where waters ooze," 

'30, '38. 

1. 1094. " smaller " '44 ; " lesser " '30, '38. 
1. 1127. 

" Or painted hideous with ascending flame" 

'30, '38. 

" Or blazing dreadfull with consuming Flame" 

P. 

" Or hideous wrapt in all consuming Flame" 

(P. deleted). 

1. 1139. T. (with first " sunk", then "wrapt".) 

" A solemn shade immense. Sunk in the gloom " 

'30, '38. 
1. 1155. T. 

"Now sunk and now renew'd he's quite absorpt." 

'30, '38. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "AUTUMN." 245 

1. 1175. "not dreaming" T. (or P.); "undreaming" 
'30, '38. 

1. 1187. "waste" T. suggests "heath". 
1. 1190. " when " " still " P. suggests. 
1. 1198. "See where" P. ; "Hard by" '30, '38. 
1. 1206. " sheer "" even " P. suggests. 
1. 1220. P. 

" And instant Winter bid to do his worst " 

'30, '38. 
1. 1223. 

"Care shook away. The toil-invigorate youth 
Not heeding the melodious impulse much" 
'30, '38 (second line deleted by T. or P.). 

1. 1230. "wrestler twines" P. ; " struggle twists " 
'30, '38. 
1. 1252. 

" Or, thoughtless, sleeps at best in idle state" 

'30, '38. 

1. 1253. " he knows not " '44 ; " deprived of " '30, 
'38. 

1. 1287. " eager" T. ; " ardent" '30, '38. 

I. 1296. '44. 

" And slippery pomp delight ; in dark cabals ;' 

'30, '38. 

II. 1306, 1307. 

"... From Day to Day, 
And Month to Month " 

'30,38. 

1. 1309. "sweet" "fine," '30, '38; "kind"T. 
(deleted). 



246 APPENDIX. 

1. 1314. "full" T. ; "quite " '30, '38. 
1. 1317. T. 

" Such as from frigid Tempe wont to fall " 

'30, '38. 

1. 1325. " throws " '30, '38. 

1. 1326. "the best "'30, '38; " he best " T. (italiciz- 
ing "best"). 
1. 1339. T. 

" of love and kindred too he feels " 

'30, 38. 

1. 1347. T. 

"Still are, and have been, of the smiling kind" 

'30, '38. 

1. 1351. T. (but "men" for "man"). 

" When God himself, and Angels dwelt with Men." 

'30, '38. 

1. 1356. " void immense " '30, '38, '44. 
1. 1361. "O'er . . . system" '30, '44; "Over that I 
rising system " '38. (T. corrects). I 



WINTER. 

The Argument to "Winter" in '30, '38, contains 
variations from the text, according with the text as it 
then stood. It seems unnecessary to note these. 

1. 14. " grim " " red " '30, '38 ; "pale"T. 



CRITICAL NOTES ON "WINTER." 247 
1. 29. After " manly thought" : 

" For thee the Graces smooth ; thy softer thoughts 
The Muses tune ; nor art thou skill'd alone 
In awful schemes, the management of states 
And how to make " etc. 

'30, '38. 

I. 40. " And" '30, '38 ; " These," P. 

II. 41, 42, 43. 

" When Scorpio gives to Capricorn the sway 
And fierce Aquarius fouls l th' inverted Year ; " 

'30, '38. 

I. 48. "clothed .... storm" "at dull distance 
seen " '30, '38. 

II. 62,63. "And . . . droop "T. 

" And black with horrid views. The cattle droop 
The conscious head " 

'30, '38. 

1. 65. " Fresh " " Red " '30, '38 ; " Brown " T. 
1. 73. 

" Striding the gloomy blast. First rains obscure " 

'30, '38. 

" Striding the Blast. First j oyless " etc. 

T. (suggests but deletes). 

1. 74. "foul " T. ; " vile" '30, '38. 

1. 89. "dripping; while" P.; "wet; mean- 
while " '30, '38. 

1. 89. "hind" (pencil correction); "swain" '30, 
'38. 

1. 98. " rude " " chapt " '30, '38; " cleft " (pencil 
correction). 

1 " stains "T 



248 APPENDIX. 

1. 102. "away" '38; "a way" (recte) T. ; so '30, 
'44, '46. 

1. 106. "unceasing" T. (pencil); "continual" '30, 
'38. 

1. 113. "powerful" T. ; "subtle" '30, '38. 

1. 115. " Against the day of tempest perilous " '30, 
'38. 

I. 117. [See n. Birkbeck Hill's "Boswell's Life of 
Johnson," v. i., p. 435.] 

II. 118-121. 

" Late in the lowring sky red fiery streaks 
Begin to flush about." l 

'30, '38. 
11. 125-127. 

" Wears a wan circle round her sully'd Orb. 

The stars obtuse 2 emit a shivering Ray " 

'30, '38. 

11. 128, 129. Not in '30, '38. 
1. 130. " the fluttering straw" '30, '38. 

I. 131. Not in '30, '38. 

II. 132-145. Not in '30, '38. 

I. 150. "Ate" T. (recte but deletes) ; "Eat" '30, 
'38, '44, '46. 

II. 154, 155. T. 

" And the thin fabric of the pillar'd air 
O'erturns at once." 

'30, '38. 
1. 158. P. 

"Thro 1 the lone night, that bids the waves arise " 

'30, '38. 
1. 160. T