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Cfarenfcon 


THOMSON'S    SEASONS 


AND 


CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE 


LOGIE  ROBERTSON 


ftonfcon 
HENRY    FROWDE 


OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS  WAREHOUS 
AMEN  CORNER,  E.G. 


Cfarenion  (J>reee 


THOMSON 


THE   SEASONS 


AND 


THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE 


EDITED 

WITH  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE,   INTRODUCTIONS, 
NOTES,   AND  A    GLOSSARY 


J.    LOGIE   ROBERTSON,   M.A. 

EDITOR  OF  'SELECTIONS  FROM  BURNS' 


AT  THE   CLARENDON    PRESS 
1891 

\_All  rights  reserved] 


PRINTED    AT    THE    CLARENDON     PRESS 

BY  HOKACI-1   HART.   PRINTER  TO  THK  UNIVERSITY 


PREFACE 


THOMSON  has  special  recommendations  as  a  British  classic 
for  the  use  of  youth.  Not  only  does  he  look  upon  Nature 
with  the  eye  of  a  poet — and  there  is  hardly  an  aspect  of 
Nature  that  he  has  failed  to  note — but  his  descriptions  possess 
such  a  power  of  freshness  and  fidelity,  conveyed  for  the 
most  part  in  language  of  astonishing  felicity,  that  the  heart 
must  be  dull  indeed  which  they  cannot  inspire  with  interest 
and  even  rouse  to  enthusiasm.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  a  love  for  Thomson's  poetry  in  early  life  implies  a 
permanent  delight  in  the  phenomena  of  rural  Nature  and  an 
unfailing  response  to  her  restorative  influences.  It  might  be 
added  that  Thomson  furnishes  in  The  Seasons  the  best 
introduction  to  the  study  of  Wordsworth's  poetry, — if  indeed 
the  heart  that  has  felt  the  charm  of  the  earlier  and  more 
ingenuous  poet  be  not  satisfied  to  rest  content  with  his 
teaching  and  to  seek  no  farther.  In  The  Castle  of  Indolence 
the  same  love  of  Nature  and  rural  life  which  animates  The 
Seasons  is  continually  revealed  in  passages  of  exquisite 
beauty,  and  in  the  second  Canto  there  is,  more  particularly, 
much  sympathetic  writing  on  the  advantages  of  an  open-air 
life  of  active  industry  which  is  surely  very  capable  of  in- 
spiring and  directing  the  energies  of  healthy  youth. 

The  text  of  The  Seasons  adopted  in  the  present  edition  is 
of  course  that  of  the  year  1746,  which  was  the  last  to  receive 
the  author's  personal  revision.  At  the  same  time  the  earlier 


VI  PREFACE. 

texts  have  been  examined,  and  it  is  believed  that  all  the 
alterations  of  real  interest,  made  in  the  first  and  subsequent 
texts  before  the  completed  poem  at  last  settled  into  the  shape 
in  which  we  now  have  it,  have  been  carefully  recorded  in  the 
Notes — certainly  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  will  be  found 
in  any  previous  edition.  For  The  Castle  of  Indolence  the 
text  of  the  second  edition,  published  in  octavo  in  1748,  the 
last  year  of  Thomson's  life,  has  been  faithfully  followed  in  the 
present  edition. 

Very  special  care  has  been  taken  in  the  preparation  of  the 
Notes.  They  have  been  written  independently  of,  and  are 
fuller  and — it  is  hoped — not  more  diffuse  than,  those  of  any 
previous  edition.  Amongst  other  purposes  they  aim  at 
making  the  author  illustrate  himself,  by  citing  from  his  other 
poems  passages  parallel  to  those  which  happen  to  be  under 
consideration.  They  are  further  intended  to  reveal  the 
nature  and  extent  of  his  indebtedness  to  his  predecessors  and 
contemporaries,  and  they  at  least  indicate  the  manner  in 
which  he  in  his  turn  has  influenced  or  suggested  the  poetical 
thought  and  work  of  others. 

In  regard  to  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  it  may  fairly  be 
claimed  that  it  is  here  for  the  first  time  fully  annotated. 

In  writing  the  Biographical  Notice  I  have  had  occasion  to 
correct  many  faults  which,  having  found  their  way  into  the 
early  Lives  of  Thomson,  have  continued  to  infest  his  biography 
ever  since.  In  this  part  of  my  task,  more  especially  in  dealing 
with  the  home  life  and  youthful  training  of  Thomson,  I  have 
received  valuable  aid — most  courteously  and  generously 
given,  and  here  gratefully  acknowledged — from  the  Rev. 
John  Mair,  D.D.,  minister  of  the  parish  of  Southdean,  Rox- 
burghshire. 

J.  LOGIE   ROBERTSON. 

LOCKHARTON    TERRACE, 

SLATEFORD,  N.B. 
1th  July,  1891. 


CONTENTS 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE 


CHRONOLOGY  TO  ELUCIDATE  THE  LIFE  OF  THOMSON 
GENERAL  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SEASONS 
TEXT  OF  THE  SEASONS  : — 

SPRING 

SUMMER        .        . 

AUTUMN 

WINTER       

A  HYMN 


TEXT  OF  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE: — 

CANTO  I 

CANTO  II 

NOTES  ON  THE  SEASONS  : — 

INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  TO  SPRING 
NOTES  ON  SPRING       .... 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  TO  SUMMER 
NOTES  ON  SUMMER      .... 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  TO  AUTUMN 
NOTES  ON  AUTUMN      .... 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE  TO  WINTER 
NOTES  ON  WINTER      .... 
NOTES  ON  A  HYMN    .... 

NOTES  ON  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE  : — 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 
NOTES  ON  CANTO  I.  ... 

NOTES  ON  CANTO  II.  ... 

GLOSSARY  TO  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE 


PAGE 
I-lS 

19-21 
23-30 

31-63 
65-114 

"5-152 
153-182 
183-186 

187-212 
213-240 


241-244 
244-268 
269-273 
273-309 
309-313 
313-346 
346-354 
354-393 
394-398 

398-401 
402-422 
423-432 

433-436 


CORRIGENDA 


15,  1.   17,  for  Sir  read  Mr. 

31,  1.   14,  for  ravished  read  ravaged 

61,  1.  i  no,  for  flames  read  aims 

98,  1.  1232,  for  and  nature  smiles  revived  read  yet  weeping 

from  distress 

101,  1.  1338,  for  fury  read  hurry 
119,  1.  164,  for  stated  read  sated 
124,  1.  338,  for  bank  read  banks 
129,  1.  525,  for  dull  prefer  grave 
141,  1.  949,  for  known  read  felt 
168,  1.   569,  for  virtue  mia?  virtues 
1 86,  1.  107,  for  breathes  read  spreads 
242,  1.  5  from  bottom,  for  Miller  read  Millar 
357>  !•  6,  for  up  read  from   1730 

357,  1.  7  from  bottom,  for  (till  1738)  /wrf  (1730-1738) 

358,  1.   20,  after  earlier  insert  (1738) 

359,  1.  9  from  bottom,  add  (1730-1738) 

361,  1.  5,  for  the  original  text  read  the  first  edition  of  The 

Seasons,  and  indeed  from  1724 

361,  1.   12,  for  till  after  that  of  read  from  1730  to  1738 
361,   1.    17,  for  the  early  text   read  the  first  edition  of  The 

Seasons 

361,  1.  19,  after  earlier  text  insert  (1730-1738) 
390,  1.  3  from  bottom,  for  1726  read  1730 


Thomson's  Season* 


ERRATUM. 


Page  353,  line  15,  delete  Addison, 


Thomson's  Seasons. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTICE. 

IN  July  of  the  year  1692,  'Mr.  Thomas  Thomson,  son  of 
a  gardener  in  the  employment  of  Mr.  Edmonston  of  Ednam, 
was  appointed  minister  of  the  parish  of  Ednam,  an  outlying 
district  occupying  the  north-eastern  corner  of  the  pastoral  county 
of  Roxburgh.  The  law  of  patronage  was  then  in  abeyance, 
but  the  appointment  was  probably  procured  through  the  influence 
of  Mr.  Edmonston.  The  minister-elect  was  somewhere  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age.  He  seems  to  have  entered  upon  the 
duties  of  the  ministry  with  a  mind  entirely  devoted  to  piety  and 
the  spiritual  welfare  of  his  people.  His  piety  was  not  untinged 
with  the  terror  of  superstition — a  dark  feature  of  the  religious 
feeling  of  his  time ;  but  in  the  execution  of  his  sacred  office  he 
Was  undaunted  by  the  powers  of  evil,  seen  or  unseen,  and  earned 
a  reputation  for  '  diligence  in  pastoral  duty.'  He  was  a  man  of 
quiet  life,  little,  if  at  all,  known  beyond  the  bounds  of  his  presby- 
tery, and  finding  sufficient  society  in  his  flock,  his  family,  and 
among  a  few  of  the  local  gentry.  Long  afterwards  his  illustrious 
son  wrote  of  him  as  *  a  good  and  tender-hearted  parent.'  Fifteen 
months  after  his  settlement  at  Ednam,  he  married  Beatrix,  one 
of  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Alexander  Trotter,  proprietor  of  the 
small  estate  of  Widehope,  or  Wideopen,  in  the  neighbouring 
parish  of  Morebattle.  From  her  the  poet  inherited  his  sociality, 

rmagination,  and  his  natural  piety.     To  him,  without  any 
cal  exaggeration,  she  was  '  the  kindest,  best  of  mothers.' 
• 


2  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

The  Thomson  household  was  a  large  one,  including  nine  children 
in  all,  of  whom  four  were  born  before  the  end  of  the  century, 
and  while  the  father  was  still  in  his  first  charge  as  minister  of 
Ednam.  Of  these  James  was  the  fourth.  Before  him  were 
born — Andrew,  in  1695;  Alexander,  in  1697;  and  Issobell,  in 
1699.  The  birth  of  the  poet,  which  almost  certainly  occurred  in 
the  manse  of  Ednam,  is  believed  to  have  taken  place  on  the  7th 
— his  baptism  was  on  the  I5th — of  September,  1700.  About  the 
time  of  his  birth,  his  father's  name  for  '  piety  and  diligence  in 
pastoral  duty'  was  so  well  established,  that  no  fewer  than  three 
parishes,  Southdean,  Castleton,  and  Morebattle,  were  coveting 
the  services  of  the  minister  of  Ednam.  Southdean,  as  repre- 
sented by  its  Kirk-session  and  heritors,  'called'  him— to  use 
the  Scots  phrase  of  invitation  to  an  ecclesiastical  charge — on  the 
7th  of  August ;  the  invitation  was  accepted,  and  on  the  6th  of 
November,  1700,  just  two  months  to  a  day  after  the  poet's  birth, 
the  Rev.  Thomas  Thomson  was  admitted  minister  of  Southdean, 
a  pastoral  parish  of  more  importance  than  Ednam,  situated  on 
the  lower  slopes  of  the  Cheviots,  among  the  southern  uplands  of 
Roxburgh.  Thither  the  Thomson  household  was  transferred  ; 
and  here,  from  the  time  of  his  tenderest  infancy  to  his  sixteenth 
year,  the  youth  of  the  future  poet  was  nursed,  and  educated,  and 
found  a  home.  The  interest  which  attaches  to  Ednam  as  the 
birthplace  of  a  great  British  poet,  is  thus  of  the  slightest— is,  in 
fact,  merely  nominal.  It  is  to  Southdean  the  admirer  of  Thom- 
son must  go  if  he  would  make  acquaintance  with  those  natural 
influences — commonly,  but  not  quite  correctly,  described  as  '  the 
scenery ' — which  were  the  first  to  salute  the  senses,  and  awaken 
the  interest  and  imagination  of  the  young  poet.  I  am  indebted 
to  the  present  incumbent  of  Southdean,  the  venerable  and 
learned  Dr.  John  Mair,  for  the  following  graphic  description  of 
the  old  manse,  and  the  view  from  the  manse  door  :  '  His  father's 
straw-thatched  manse,  in  rustic  simplicity,  and  clinging  with  a 
nestling  snugness  to  the  base  of  Southdean  Law,  is  placed  at  a 
point  in  the  vale  where  the  eye  can  drink  "  the  pure  pleasures  of 


THOMSON'S  SCHOOL  DAYS.  3 

the  rural  life."  Around  the  garden,  like  a  belt  of  quicksilver, 
sweeps  the  "  sylvan  Jed."  Looking  out  from  that  vale  is  seen  in 
the  distance,  but  not  so  distant  as  not  to  be  a  part  of  it,  the 
clear-cut  sky-line  of  Carter  Fell,  whose  huge  ridge  rose  as  a 
natural  bulwark  against  English  covetousness,  and  whose  high 
heathland  slopes  retain  the  eye  of  the  spectator  above  surround- 
ing objects,  as  the  storm-drift  careers  along  them,  or  as  the 
sunbeam  reddens  their  purple  beauty.'  Much  of  the  scenery 
and  poetical  spirit  of  The  Seasons  were  imported  from  Jed  vale  ; 
Winter  is  especially  rich  in  recollections  of  Thomson's  early 
home.  He  tells  us  himself  that  it  was  from  the  manse  doorway 
or  parlour-window  at  Southdean  that  he  heard  the  winds  roar 
and  the  big  torrent  burst,  and  saw  the  deep-fermenting  tempest 
brewed  in  the  grim  evening  sky.  The  shepherd  perishing  in 
the  snow-drift,  the  winter  spate,  the  visit  of  the  redbreast,  are 
evidently  all  transcripts  from  the  poet's  recollection  of  real 
life  at  Southdean.  Here  it  was  that  once  for  all,  in  the  words 
of  Burns, — 

'grim  Nature's  visage  hoar 
Struck  [his]  young  eye.' 

When  he  was  about  twelve  he  began  his  attendance  at  a 
Grammar  School  which  was  kept  in  St.  Mary's  Chapel  in  Jed- 
burgh  Abbey.  The  distance  from  his  home  was  some  eight  miles, 
down  the  Jed.  Here  he  read  Latin  and  Greek.  He  may  not 
have  been  what  is  known  as  a  clever  pupil,  but  there  is  clear 
proof  that  he  early  felt  the  soft  and  reposeful  charm  of  Virgil's 
verse,  and  sought  to  reproduce  it  in  metrical  essays  of  his  own 
composition.  There  was  residing  at  this  time,  as  farmer  at 
Earlshaugh,  about  four  miles  from  Southdean,  a  Mr.  Robert 
Riccaltoun,  who,  being  himself  college-bred,  and  fresh  from 
academical  studies,  volunteered  to  assist  and  direct  the  reading 
of  the  young  scholar.  Riccaltoun  was  a  man  of  considerable 
learning  and  originality  of  thought,  and  occasionally  tried  his 
hand  at  versification.  He  was  Thomson's  senior  by  nine  years. 
About  a  year  after  the  Thomsons  had  left  Southdean  he  became 

B  2 


4  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

a  clergyman ;  and  in  1725,  when  James  Thomson  had  already 
been  six  months  in  England,  and  was  now  at  work  upon  his 
poem  of  Winter,  Riccaltoun  entered  upon  the  duties  of  an 
ordained  minister  at  Hobkirk,  in  the  same  district  of  Roxburgh  in 
which  he  had  been  a  farmer.  Years  afterwards,  when  the  fame 
of  the  author  of  The  Seasons  was  fully  established,  he  modestly 
acknowledged  that  he  had  been  among  the  first  to  discover  the 
poetical  talent  of  Thomson,  and  that  his  influence  in  encouraging 
and  directing  it  had  been  considerable.  His  influence  did  not 
cease  with  the  exercises  of  the  schoolboy ;  it  accompanied 
Thomson  to  England,  and  inspired  the  idea  of  The  Seasons. 
Thomson's  own  testimony  is  express  on  this  point :  '  Nature 
delights  me  in  every  form ;  I  am  just  now  painting  her  in  her 
most  lugubrious  dress  for  my  own  amusement,  describing  Winter 
as  it  presents  itself.  .  .  .  Mr.  Riccaltoun's  poem  on  Winter, 
which  I  still  have,  first  put  the  design  into  my  head — in  it  are 
some  masterly  strokes  which  awakened  me.'  (Letter  to  Dr. 
Cranston,  written  at  Barnet,  near  London,  September  1725.) 
Among  others  who  looked  favourably  upon  young  Thomson's 
essays  in  verse  during  his  school  days  were  Sir  William  Bennet 
of  Chesters,  and  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  of  Minto.  It  was  probably 
through  his  uncle  and  cousin,  who  were  gardeners  at  Minto 
House,  about  four  miles  due  west  from  Jedburgh,  that  young 
Thomson  made  the  acquaintance  of  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot ;  but  he 
was  a  more  frequent  visitor  at  Chesters,  a  couple  of  miles  down 
the  Teviot  from  Minto,  where  indeed  he  used  to  spend  part  of 
his  summer  vacations,  and  write  a  good  deal  of  juvenile  poetiy. 
Bennet  was  of  a  liberal  disposition  and  frank  manners,  wrote 
verses  himself,  and  courted  the  society  of  the  wits  and  poets  of 
Edinburgh — Allan  Ramsay  among  the  rest.  Here  is  part  of  a 
juvenile  poem  descriptive  of  Sir  William  Bennet's  house  and 
grounds,  which  will  serve  to  show  Thomson's  poetical  attainment 
as  a  schoolboy : 

'What  is  the  task  that  to  the  muse  belongs? 
What— but  to  deck  in  her  harmonious  songs 


THOMSON  AT  THE   UNIVERSITY.  5 

The  beauteous  works  of  nature  and  of  art, 
Rural  retreats  that  cheer  the  heavy  heart. 
Then  Marlefield  begin,  my  muse,  and  sing; 
With  Marlefield  the  hills  and  vales  shall  ring. 
O  what  delight  and  pleasure  'tis  to  rove 
Through  all  the  walks  and  alleys  of  this  grove, 
Where  spreading  trees  a  checkered  scene  display, 
Partly  admitting  and  excluding  day,  .  .  . 
Where  little  birds  employ  their  narrow  throats 
To  sing  its  praises  in  unlaboured  notes. 
To  it  adjoined  a  rising  fabric  stands, 
Which  with  its  state  our  silent  awe  cbmmands; 
Its  endless  beauties  mock  the  poet's  pen, 
So  to  the  garden  I'll  return  again. 
Pomona  makes  the  trees  with  fruit  abound, 
And  blushing  Flora  paints  the  enamelled  ground. 
Here  lavish  nature  does  her  stores  disclose, 
Flowers  of  all  hue,  their  queen  the  bashful  rose.' 

In  these  lines  may  be  detected  traces  of  the  influence  of  Virgil 
and  Milton,  and  echoes  of  the  fine  old  Scots  ballad  of  Leader 
Haitghs  and  Yarrow.  Little  of  Thomson's  juvenile  poetry  is  in 
existence,  the  youthful  scribbler  having  included  as  part  of  the 
festivities  of  each  New  Year's  Day  of  his  boyhood,  regularly  as 
it  came  round,  a  holocaust  of  the  verses  he  had  produced  during 
the  preceding  twelve  months.  As  a  boy  young  Thomson  seems  to 
have  been  natural,  healthy,  and  happy  ;  well  and  sympathetically 
acquainted  with  the  rustic  life  and  rural  scenery  of  the  whole  of  his 
native  county ;  of  active  and  enterprising  habits  ;  and  animated 
by  a  quiet  love  of  fun  and  good-humoured  joking,  similar  to  that 
which  marked  the  youth-time  of  Walter  Scott. 

Towards  the  end  of  1715  he  was  despatched  to  Edinburgh 
University,  the  design  of  his  parents  being,  as  Johnson  expresses 
it,  to  breed  him  a  minister.  It  was  a  sore  trial  to  the  boy  to  sur- 
render the  freedom  of  country  Jife  for  the  strict  discipline  and 
confinement  of  college  and  town.  It  was  at  first,  indeed,  beyond 
his  endurance ;  and  he  returned  to  Southdean  not  many  hours 


6  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

after  the  servant  behind  whom  he  had  ridden  into  Edinburgh, 
declaring  that  '  he  could  study  as  well,  or  better,  on  the  haughs 
of  Sudan'  (Southdean).  His  father  did  not  see  it  in  that  light ; 
and  he  returned  to  college.  Here  he  had  not  been  many  months 
when  the  news  reached  him  that  his  father  was  dead.  This  event 
occurred  on  the  9th  of  February,  1716.  The  cause  of  death  seems 
to  have  been  an  apoplectic  fit,  which  seized  the  minister  of  South- 
dean  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  exorcising  what  was  believed  to  be  an 
evil  spirit,  known  in  the  parish  as  'the  Woolie  Ghost.'  The  tragic 
event  produced  a  great  sensation  in  the  neighbourhood,  having 
been,  as  was  then  common  in  such  cases,  attributed  to  super- 
natural agency.  It  threw  young  Thomson  into  such  a  state  of 
terror,  that  for  some  years  afterwards  he  had  more  than  a  child's 
dread  of  solitude  and  darkness.  He  lived  to  conquer  the  terror, 
but  the  feeling  of  the  supernatural  remained  in  his  mind  to  the 
last,  and  finds  expression  in  various  passages  of  his  poetry.  Thus 
in  Summer,  written  in  1726,  the  lines  occur — 

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

(11-  538-47.) 

The  home  of  the  Thomsons  was  now  transferred  to  Edinburgh, 
and  the  mother  made  shift  to  support  herself  and  her  children, 
and  keep  James  at  college,  by  mortgaging  her  interest  in  the  little 
property  of  Widehope,  of  which  she  was  co-heiress,  and  by  prac- 
tising a  strict  economy.  The  struggles  of  the  family  to  maintain 
the  gentility  of  their  station  are  implied  in  the  poem  On  the  Death 
of  his  Mother : 


THOMSON  AT  THE   UNIVERSITY.  7 

'  No  more  the  widow's  lonely  state  she  feels, 
The  shock  severe  that  modest  want  conceals, 
The  oppressor's  scourge,  the  scorn  of  wealthy  pride, 
And  poverty's  unnumbered  ills  beside.' 

Thomson  was  in  attendance  upon  classes  at  the  University 
for  eight  or  nine  years  in  all,  and  though  he  did  not  distinguish 
himself  as  a  student — not  being  of  a  nature  to  absorb  the 
spirit  of  competition — he  took  congenially  to  philosophical  specu- 
lations on  the  phenomena  of  external  nature  and  the  human 
mind.  Natural  philosophy  was  at  this  time  the  principal  study 
in  the  Faculty  of  Arts  at  Edinburgh,  constituting  along  with 
Ethics — with  which  it  was  taught  conjointly — the  subject  of  the 
fourth  or  final  year  of  the  curriculum.  Scottish  latinity  had 
declined,  and  the  study  of  English  literature  had  not  yet  received 
academical  recognition.  Edinburgh  had  caught  the  Baconian 
and  Newtonian  impulse  more  fully  than  the  English  Universities, 
and  the  study  of  mathematical  science  was  beginning  to  be 
actively  pursued.  There  are  numerous  proofs  in  Thomson's 
poetry  of  his  interest  in  the  general  subject.  See,  for  example, 
his  'inquiry  into  the  rise  of  fountains  and  rivers'  in  Autumn 
(11.  735-834),  and  his  proposed  scheme  of  future  poetical  study 
as  sketched  in  the  same  poem  (11.  1351-65).  There  is  also  a 
significant  reference  bearing  directly  on  the  point  in  the  first 
letter  of  his  published  correspondence,  of  the  nth  December, 
1 720  :  '  There  are  some  come  from  London  here  lately  that  teach 
natural  philosophy  by  way  of  shows,  by  the  beat  of  drum  ;  but 
more  of  this  afterwards.'  At  the  same  time  he  was  by  private 
study  extending  his  acquaintance  with  literature— reading 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Pope,  and  sharing  in  the  interest,  now 
beginning  to  be  felt  beyond  Edinburgh,  in  the  writings  of  Allan 
Ramsay.  He  still  kept  up  his  practice  of  versifying,  and  in 
conjunction  with  Malloch,  and  probably  Hamilton  of  Bangour, 
was  contributing  a  poem  now  and  again  to  the  collections  of 
verse  which  were  beginning  to  mark  the  rise  of  periodical  litera- 
ture in  Edinburgh.  These  verse  exercises  of  Thomson  while  he 


8  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

was  still  a  student  include  the  lines  On  a  Country  Life,  in  heroic 
couplets,  in  which  some  see  the  germ  of  The  Seasons ;  a  poem 
On  Happiness,  interesting  as  containing  several  ideas  and  images 
which  afterwards  reappeared  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence ;  and 
two  shorter  pieces,  also  in  the  heroic  couplet,  Morning  in  the 
Cottntry,  and  On  Beauty,  the  former  of  which  betrays  the 
influence,  while  the  latter  makes  special  mention,  of  Allan  Ram- 
say. From  the  Morning  in  the  Country  I  extract  the  following 
lines  : 

'  The  herd  his  plaid  around  his  shoulders  throws, 
Grasps  his  dear  crook,  calls  on  his  dog,  and  goes 
Around  the  fold:  he  walks  with  careful  pace, 
And  fallen  clods  sets  in  their  wonted  place  ; 
Then  opes  the  door,  unfolds  his  fleecy  care, 
And  gladly  sees  them  crop  their  morning  fare; 
Down  upon  easy  moss  his  limbs  he  lays, 
And  sings  some  charming  shepherdess's  praise/ 

Thomson  became  a  student  of  divinity  in  1719  or  1720,  having 
finished  his  Arts  course — as  was  then  the  general  custom — with- 
out proceeding  to  graduation.  He  figures,  it  is  true,  as  M.A. 
on  the  title-page  of  the  first  edition  of  Winter  ;  but  the  mistake 
was  probably  not  his,  and  was  cancelled  in  the  second  and 
subsequent  editions.  It  is  remarkable  that,  while  in  1705  as 
many  as  105  students  graduated  M.A.  at  Edinburgh,  the  number 
had  fallen  in  1749  to  3  !  Sir  Alexander  Grant,  in  his  history  of 
the  University,  explains  that  after  1708,  when  the  Arts  Faculty 
was  re-modelled  on  its  present  basis,  it  ceased  to  be  the  interest 
of  any  Professor  to  promote  graduation  (except  the  Professor  of 
Natural  Philosophy,  who  got  fees  for  laureating  his  class)  ;  that 
public  laureation  was  abandoned  ;  and  that,  in  consequence,  the 
degree  fell  into  disregard.  Thomson's  career  as  a  student  of 
theology  is  marked  in  his  continued  poetical  exercises  by  several 
pieces  of  little  merit,  mainly  a  few  hymns  and  paraphrases  of 
portions  of  Scripture,  the  most  ambitious  being  a  version  in 
heroic  couplets  of  Psalm  civ.  The  only  interest  of  this  version 


THOMSON  RESOLVES  TO  LEAVE  EDINBURGH.       9 

is  its  diction,  in  which  one  finds  such  tumid  phrases  (e.  g.  l  the 
bleating  kind,'  *  the  feathered  nation,'  '  genial  moisture,'  '  vital 
juice'  &c.)  as  were  afterwards  to  offend  the  ear  in  The  Seasons. 
In  1724  Thomson  arrived  at  the  turning-point  of  his  life.  He 
had  prepared,  as  an  exercise  in  connection  with  the  class  of 
divinity  of  which  he  was  a  member,  a  lecture  on  Psalm  cxix, 
which  was  severely  criticised,  if  not  condemned,  by  Professor 
Hamilton  for  its  floridity  of  style.  If  he  meant  to  be  of  any 
service  in  the  ministry,  he  was  told,  he  must  learn  to  use  a  plainer 
language.  The  censure  which  the  Professor's  criticism  implied 
determined  Thomson  to  a  step  which  he  had  probably  been  for 
some  time  already  meditating.  He  seems  to  have  been  feeling  a 
growing  dislike  to  what  he  called  '  the  thorny  paths  of  systems 
and  school  divinity ; '  and  he  was  undoubtedly  under  the  impulse 
of  poetical  ambition.  Suddenly  he  resolved  to  try  his  fortune  in 
London.  What  his  plans  were  is  not  definitely  known,  and  he 
communicated  them  to  few.  He  refers  to  them  vaguely  in  letters 
to  confidential  friends  as  'the  business  you  know  I  design.' 
Some  have  thought  that  he  went  up  to  London  merely  as  a 
literary  adventurer ;  others  that  his  intention  was  to  join,  and 
seek  preferment  in,  the  Church  of  England.  More  probably  his 
expectation  was  to  fill  some  minor  post  in  the  political  service  of 
the  Government,  which  would  secure  him  an  independency,  and 
afford  him  an  opportunity  of  cultivating  his  poetical  talents. 
His  resolution  was  at  least  a  noble  one  :  writing  to  one  of  his 
many  friends  in  Teviotdale — with  which  county  he  had  kept  up 
a  close  and  constant  connection  during  the  whole  period  of  his 
studentship— he  declares,  '  I  will  do  all  that  is  in  my  power,  act, 
hope,  and  so  either  make  something  out,  or  be  buried  in 
obscurity.'  He  set  about  preparations  for  his  departure, 
collected  recommendations  and  letters  of  introduction,  and  took 
farewell  of  his  friends.  It  is  noteworthy  that  the  indolence 
which  certainly  overtook  Thomson  before  he  was  middle-aged, 
was  no  characteristic  of  his  youth  and  early  manhood.  At  this 
time  he  was  of  active  habits ;  an  early  riser,  who  had  seen  the 


io  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

dawns  he  was  afterwards  to  describe  so  gloriously  ;  a  keen  and 
accurate  observer  of  the  whole  phenomena  of  nature  within  his 
range  ;  no  great  lover  of  the  town,  and  by  no  means  averse  to 
solitude,  yet  fond  of  society,  and  with  a  strong  relish  for  humour 
and  fun.  He  was  healthy  and  strong ;  of  a  fresh  complexion, 
and  frank  open  countenance  which  made  him  friends  wherever  he 
went ;  above  the  middle  height,  and  without  that  studious  stoop 
and  slovenliness  of  dress  which  struck  Shenstone  some  twenty 
years  later  as  indicative  of  vulgarity.  The  following  extract  from 
one  of  his  farewell  letters  will  show  better  than  description  the 
geniality  and  brave  hopefulness  of  his  nature  in  the  spring  of 
1725  :  '  My  spirits  have  gotten  such  a  serious  turn  by  these  re- 
flections, that,  although  I  be  thinking  on  Misjohn,  I  declare 
I  shall  hardly  force  a  laugh  before  we  part — for  this  I  think  will 
be  my  last  letter  from  Edinburgh  (I  expect  to  sail  every  day). 
Well !  since  I  am  speaking  of  that  merry  soul,  I  hope  he  is  as 
bright,  as  easy,  as  degagt,  as  susceptible  of  an  intense  laugh 
as  he  used  to  be.  Tell  him  when  you  see  him  that  I  laugh 
in  imagination  with  him— ha!  ha !  ha !  Mass  John,  how  in 
the  name  of  wonder  dragged  you  so  much  good  humour 
along  with  you  through  the  thorny  paths  of  systems  and  school 

divinity  ? May  wit,  humour,  and  everlasting  joy  surround 

you  both  !  ' 

He  embarked  at  Leith,  and  arrived  in  London  before  the  end 
of  March,  1725.  Here  his  first  experience  was  the  loss  of  his 
letters  of  introduction,  of  which  a  pickpocket — with  little  ad- 
vantage to  himself— relieved  him,  as  with  bewildered  looks  he 
journeyed  along  the  crowded  streets  of  the  great  capital.  The 
inconvenience  was  soon  got  over,  and  he  presented  himself  to 
the  influential  persons  from  whom  he  expected  some  aid  in  the 
furtherance  of  the  design  which  had  brought  him  to  England. 
Among  others  he  saw  Duncan  Forbes  of  Culloden,  afterward 
Lord  President  of  the  Court  of  Session  ;  Mr.  Elliot,  a  member 
of  the  Minto  family ;  and  relatives  of  Lady  Grizcl  Baillie,  a 
friend  of  his  mother,  and  not  unknown  to  himself.  The  inter- 


THOMSON  IN  LONDON.  1 1 

views  were  disappointing,  and  almost  made  him  confess  regret 
at  the  bold  step  he  had  taken  in  breaking  away  from  Scotland 
and  the  ministry  of  the  Scottish  Kirk.  Here  is  part  of  his  own 
report  of  one  of  those  interviews  :  *  I  went  and  delivered  it 
[letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Elliot] ;  he  received  me  affably 
enough,  and  promised  me  his  assistance,  though  at  the  same 
time  he  told  me — what  every  one  tells  me — that  it  will  be 
prodigiously  difficult  to  succeed  in  the  business  you  know  I 
design.  However,  come  what  will  come,  I  will  make  an  effort 
and  leave  the  rest  to  providence.  There  is,  I  am  persuaded,  a 
necessary  fixed  chain  of  things,  and  I  hope  my  fortune,  whatever 
it  be,  shall  be  linked  to  diligence  and  honesty.  If  I  should  not 
succeed,  in  your  next  advise  me  what  I  should  do.  Succeed  or 
not,  I  firmly  resolve  to  pursue  divinity  as  the  only  thing  now 
I  am  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  soon  to  return  to  Scotland  again,  I 
may  not  return  no  better  than  I  came  away.  And,  to  be  deeply 
serious  with  you,  the  more  I  see  of  the  vanity  and  wickedness 
of  the  world,  the  more  I  am  inclined  to  that  sacred  office.  I  was 
going  to  bid  you  suppress  that  rising  laugh,  but  I  check  myself 
severely  again  for  suffering  such  an  unbecoming  thought  of  you 
to  enter  into  my  mind.'  (Letter  to  Dr.  Cranston,  Ancrum,  in 
Roxburghshire,  of  date  yd  April,  1725.)  Thomson  waited  on 
in  London  for  the  promised  assistance,  which  did  not  come, 
and  meanwhile  fell  in  with  his  former  college  companion  David 
Malloch,  who  had  come  up  to  London  to  act  as  tutor  to  the  two 
sons  of  the  Duke  of  Montrose.  Malloch  proved  a  kind  friend, 
and  Thomson  was  grateful.  More  than  a  year  afterwards, 
taking  a  retrospect  of  his  experiences  since  his  arrival  in 
England,  Thomson  wrote  to  Malloch,  in  friendly  criticism  of 
some  MS.  verses  of  the  latter,  that  'the  comprehensive  com- 
pound-epithet All-shunned  was  a  beauty  he  had  had  too  good 
reason  to  relish.'  '  Thank  heaven,'  he  added,  '  there  was  one 
exception  '—meaning  that  Malloch  had  stood  by  him  when  all 


12  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

others  neglected  him.  He  had  been  only  six  weeks  in  London 
when  the  sad  news  reached  him  that  his  mother  was  dead.  It 
was  probably  on  receipt  of  the  news  that  he  penned  the 
affectionate  lines  On  the  Death  of  his  Mother.  They  have  the 
ring  of  genuine  sorrow.  They  suggest  so  irresistibly  another 
and  more  famous  poem  on  a  similar  subject,  that  one  is  tempted 
to  think  that  Thomson's  tribute  was  in  the  mind  of  Cowper 
when  he  wrote  those  ineffably  pathetic  lines  On  the  Receipt  of 
my  Mothers  Picture.  The  loss  of  a  home  seems  to  have 
determined  Thomson  to  pursue  his  fortune  in  London.  Partly 
through  the  influence  of  Lady  Grizel  Baillie,  and  partly  through 
the  services  of  Malloch,  he  received  a  tutorship  in  the  family  of 
Lord  Binning  some  time  in  July.  The  family  were  resident  at 
Barnet,  about  ten  miles  from  London,  and  here  Thomson 
utilised  his  leisure  by  composing  his  poem  of  Winter.  It  was 
here  he  first  felt,  as  a  personal  thing,  the  pressure  of  poverty. 
He  was  by  no  means,  at  any  time  of  his  life,  in  absolute  want, 
but  he  was  improvident  enough  on  several  occasions  to  incur 
debts  which  he  could  not  always  meet  just  when  payment  was 
demanded.  About  this  time  the  share  of  the  little  property  at 
Widehope  which  had  belonged  to  his  mother  was  realised,  and 
the  balance  that  remained,  after  the  claim  of  the  mortgagee  was 
satisfied,  was  divided  among  the  family.  Thomson  was  now 
dependent  upon  his  own  efforts  for  his  maintenance.  Winter 
was  published  in  March,  1726,  and  may  fairly  be  said  to  have 
been  successful  from  the  first.  Its  publication  brought  him 
many  friends  and  patrons — among  others  the  Countess  of 
Hertford,  Mr.  Bubb  Dodington,  Mrs.  Stanley,  and  Dr.  Thomas 
Rundle,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Derry ;  besides  the  approval 
and  active  services  of  such  influential  critics  of  the  time  as 
Aaron  Hill,  the  Rev.  Joseph  Spence,  and  the  Rev.  Robert 
Whatley.  A  second  edition  was  in  preparation  within  about  a 
year,  and  before  the  end  of  1728  the  fifth  edition  was  out. 
Thomson  took  full  advantage  of  the  tide  that  was  rising  in  his 
favour.  He  gave  up  his  tutorship  at  East  Barnet ;  and,  coming 


THOMSON'S  POEMS.  13 

into  London — where  he  was  still  obliged  to  devote  part  of  his 
time  to  teaching — he  set  about  the  composition  of  Summer  with 
the  utmost  enthusiasm.  By  this  time  he  had  planned  the  series 
of  The  Seasons,  a  work  which  he  had  not  thought  of  when 
writing  Winter,  and  was  in  haste  to  accomplish  his  task.  He 
was  cheered  with  the  friendship  and  encouragement  of  Malloch 
and  Hill.  Hill  was  fond  of  flattery,  and  Thomson — submitting 
his  better  judgment  probably  to  the  dictation  of  Malloch— did 
not  stint  or  spare.  In  any  case,  the  young  friendless  Scotsman, 
'  all-shunned '  where  he  had  looked  for  aid,  and  feeling  with  keen 
delight  the  first  sunshine  of  fame,  was,  as  Johnson  charitably 
allows,  naturally  glad  of  Hill's  kindness,  and  may  be  excused 
for  some  phrases  of  unusual  warmth,  the  blame  of  which, 
indeed,  rests  as  much  upon  Hill  as  upon  Thomson.  Thomson 
was  to  be  far  more  famous,  was  to  number  among  his  friends 
men  of  higher  standing  than  Hill,  and  was  to  approve  himself 
in  his  relation  to  them,  at  all  points  a  gentleman.  Summer, 
preceded  by  a  poem  To  the  Memory  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  was 
published  in  1727.  In  the  same  year  he  wrote  Britannia,  in  the 
interest  of  English  commerce  against  the  action  of  Spain,  but 
the  poem  was  not  published  till  early  in  1729.  Spring,  which 
fully  maintained  the  credit  of  the  new  poet,  followed  in  1728  ; 
and  in  1730  the  publication  of  the  collected  Seasons,  including 
Autumn  and  the  Hymn  for  the  first  time,  brought  the  task 
which  he  had  set  himself,  and  in  which  the  interest  of  so  many 
admirers  was  enlisted,  gloriously  to  a  close.  Meanwhile  his 
poetical  energy  was  finding  a  new  channel.  From  the  first 
week  of  his  arrival  in  London  he  had  been  attracted  to  the 
theatre,  and  his  interest  in  the  drama  at  last  took  the  form  of 
a  tragedy  of  his  own  composition,  Sophonisba,  which  was  pro- 
duced at  Drury  Lane  in  February,  1730.  This  was  a  department 
of  poetry  in  which  Thomson  was  to  work  for  some  time 
assiduously,  but  in  which  the  peculiar  nature  of  his  genius 
forbade  him  to  excel.  Voltaire's  temperate  opinion  of  Thomson's 
eloquent  but  frigid  tragedies  is  now — whatever  temporary  sue- 


14  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

cess  they  achieved — generally  endorsed,  even  by  his  most 
enthusiastic  admirers :  '  Mr.  Thomson's  tragedies  seem  to  me 
wisely  intricated,  and  elegantly  writ ;  they  want  perhaps  some 
fire,  and  it  may  be  that  his  heroes  are  neither  moving  nor  busy 
enough.' 

In  1730,  through  the  friendship  of  Dr.  Rundle,  Thomson  was 
appointed  tutor  to  Mr.  Charles  Richard  Talbot,  eldest  son  of  the 
Solicitor-General,  and  future  Lord  Chancellor,  and  travelled 
with  his  pupil  on  the  Continent  for  nearly  two  years.  They 
visited  France  and  Italy,  staying  at  Paris  and  at  Rome  for  con- 
siderable periods.  During  his  absence  Thomson  kept  up  a 
correspondence  with  Dodington,  which  shows  that  he  enjoyed 
a  complete  holiday  from  literary  work  of  every  kind,  but  that, 
while  apparently  idle,  he  was  receiving  many  new  and  important 
impressions.  He  writes  :  '  Travelling  has  long  been  my  fondest 
wish.  .  .  The  storing  one's  imagination  with  ideas  of  all-beautiful, 
all-great,  and  all-perfect  nature — these  are  the  true  materia 
poetica,  the  light  and  colours  with  which  fancy  kindles  up  her 
whole  creation,  paints  a  sentiment,  and  even  embodies  an  ab- 
stracted thought.  I  long  to  see  the  fields  where  Virgil  gathered 
his  immortal  honey,  and  tread  the  same  ground  where  men 
have  thought  and  acted  so  greatly.5  In  the  same  letter  occurs 
the  significant  remark :  '  I  resolve  not  to  neglect  the  more 
prosaic  advantages  [of  travel],  for  it  is  no  less  my  ambition  to  be 
capable  of  serving  my  country  in  an  active  than  in  a  contem- 
plative way.'  This  remark  should  be  read  along  with  the 
Dedication  of  Autumn  (11.  18-22).  It  seems  to  show  that  Thom- 
son had  still  in  his  mind  the  original  design  for  an  independent 
settlement  in  life  which  brought  him  up  to  London  in  1725. 
In  a  later  letter  to  his  big  patron  he  makes  a  charming  con- 
fession :  '  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.3 

In  the  end  of  1731  Thomson  was  back  again  in  England,  and 
immediately  set  about  the  composition  of  an  epic  poem,  in  five 


THOMSON  AT  RICHMOND.  15 

parts,  on  the  subject  of  Liberty.  The  first  part  was  published 
in  1734  ;  the  next  two  parts  in  1735  ;  and  in  1736  the  con- 
cluding parts  made  their  appearance.  It  is  usual  to  condemn 
this  poem  as  blighted,  and  many  critics  have  done  so  without 
having  read  it — and  without  having  confessed  the  neglect.  It 
is,  notwithstanding,  a  great  poem,  full  of  learning,  eloquence, 
imagination,  and  occasionally  rising  to  altitudes  of  rare  poetical 
vision  ;  but  the  subject,  and  more  especially  the  length  at  which 
it  is  treated,  was  a  mistake.  Liberty  is  a  lyrical  theme;  to 
treat  it  didactically  the  proper  form  to  use  is  prose.  This, 
however,  may  be  said,  that,  given  the  subject  and  the  method 
of  treatment,  no  poet  of  his  century  could  have  done  better  than 
Thomson. 

In  September,  1733,  while  Thomson  was  busy  with  the  first 
part  of  Liberty,  Charles  Talbot  the  younger  died,  and  a  grace- 
ful tribute  to  his  memory  was  paid  in  the  opening  lines  of 
the  poem.  Two  months  later  Sir  Charles  Talbot  became  Lord 
Chancellor,  and  appointed  Thomson  to  the  office  of  Secretary  of 
Briefs  in  the  Court  of  Chancery.  This  office  he  occupied  till 
the  death  of  the  Chancellor  in  the  spring  of  1737,  and  might 
still  have  held  it  but  for  his  own  neglect  in  making  application  : 
the  new  Chancellor  conferred  it  upon  another.  Meanwhile 
Thomson  had  settled  in  a  garden-house  in  Kew-foot  Lane  at 
Richmond,  where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  com- 
parative luxury,  and  a  retirement  that  was  far  from  unsocial. 
Here  he  entertained  Pope,  Hammond,  Collins,  and  Quin  ; 
Lyttelton  was  no  infrequent  visitor ;  and  he  made  many  friends 
in  the  neighbourhood.  In  the  first  flush  of  prosperity  he  did 
not  forget  his  Scottish  friends  and  relatives.  He  invited  one  of 
his  brothers  to  stay  with  him,  allowed  his  sisters  a  small  annuity, 
and  by  and  by  two  of  his  kinsmen,  gardeners  by  occupation, 
were  pensioners  upon  his  bounty  at  Richmond.  His  brother, 
after  acting  for  some  time  as  his  amanuensis,  fell  into  ill  health, 
and  returned  to  Scotland,  where  he  died.  The  news  of  his 
death  called  forth  the  following  reflections  from  Thomson,  in  a 


1 6  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

letter  to  his  old  Roxburgh  friend  Cranston  :  *  The  living  are  to 
be  lamented,  not  the  dead.  .  .  Death  is  a  limit  which  human 
passions  ought  not,  but  with  great  caution  and  reverence,  to 
pass.  .  .  This  I  think  we  may  be  sure  of,  that  a  future  state 
must  be  better  than  this  ;  and  so  on  through  the  never-ceasing 
succession  of  future  states — every  one  rising  upon  the  last,  an 
everlasting  new  display  of  infinite  goodness.  But  hereby  hangs 
a  system,  not  calculated  perhaps  for  the  meridian  in  which  you 
live.'  After  the  loss  of  the  Secretaryship,  Thomson  was  for  a 
little  in  somewhat  embarrassed  circumstances,  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  was  arrested  for  a  debt,  which  Quin  the  actor  most 
generously  insisted  on  paying  ;  his  fortunes,  however,  to  use  his 
own  phrase,  blossomed  again,  and  a  pension  of  ^100  a  year 
from  the  Prince  of  Wales,  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced  by 
Lyttelton,  secured  him  against  want.  He  again  turned  his 
attention  to  dramatic  writing,  and  in  April  1738,  Agamemnon 
was  brought  out  in  the  presence  of  a  large  and  distinguished 
house  at  Drury  Lane.  The  same  year  he  published  a  new 
edition  of  The  Seasons.  Next  year  he  was  ready  with  another 
play,  Edward  and  Eleanora,  but  the  Lord  Chamberlain  sup- 
pressed it  on  account  of  its  political  allusions.  In  1740  he  wrote 
a  Preface  for  Milton's  Areopagitica ;  and,  conjointly  with  Malloch, 
composed  The  Masque  of  Alfred — the  gem  of  the  produc- 
tion, the  welt-known  national  lyric  'Rule,  Britannia,'  being  his. 
In  1743  he  paid  his  first  visit  to  his  best  friends,  the  Lytteltons,  at 
Hagley  in  Worcestershire ;  and  in  the  following  year,  Lyttelton 
being  then  a  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  he  was  appointed  to  the 
sinecure  office  of  Surveyor-General  of  the  Leeward  Islands. 
After  paying  a  deputy  to  discharge  the  active  duties  of  the  post, 
he  found  himself  benefited  to  the  extent  of  about  ^300  a  year. 
This  year  a  new  edition  of  The  Seasons  was  published.  About 
this  time  Thomson,  who  all  his  life  was  very  susceptible  of  the 
charms  of  female  beauty,  had  serious  thoughts  of  marrying. 
The  object  of  his  affections  was  a  Miss  Young,  sister  of  the  first 
wife  of  his  friend  Robertson,  a  surgeon  at  Kew,  and  identified 


THOMSON'S  DEATH.  17 

with  the  Amanda  of  his  later  poetry.  '  It  was  Mrs.  Young,' 
wrote  John  Ramsay  of  Ochtertyre  (Scotland  and  Scotsmen  in  the 
Eighteenth  Century,  edited  by  Alex.  Allardyce), '  a  coarse,  vulgar 
woman,  who  constantly  opposed  the  poet's  pretensions  to  her 
daughter ;  saying  to  her  one  day,  "  What !  would  you  marry 
Thomson  ?  He  will  make  ballads,  and  you  will  sing  them  ! "  ' 
Thomson  seems  not  to  have  been  ignorant  of  the  maternal  dis- 
like to  his  suit  :  '  If  I  am  so  happy  as  to  have  your  heart,'  he 
writes  on  one  occasion  to  Miss  Young,  *  I  know  you  have  spirit 
to  maintain  your  choice.7  The  refusal  of  the  lady — she  after- 
wards became  the  wife  of  Admiral  Campbell— was  the  great 
disappointment  of  Thomson's  life.  His  humour  remained  with 
him  to  the  last,  but  all  his  gaiety  left  him  ;  he  sjipt  into  pro- 
foundly indolent  habits,  became  careless  of  his  appearance 
and  of  fortune,  and  seemed  utterly  indifferent  to  life. 

In  1745  his  best  drama,  Tancred  and  Sigismunda,  was 
enacted  at  Drury  Lane,  with  Garrick  as  Tancred.  Part  of  the 
summer  or  autumn  of  this  and  the  next  two  years  he  spent  at 
Hagley.  Lyttelton  was  affectionately  concerned  at  his  listless- 
ness,  and  strove  by  various  means  to  divert  his  attention  and 
rouse  his  energies.  In  1746  the  poet  made  way  for  his  old 
friend,  and  deputy,  Paterson,  in  the  office  of  Surveyor-General. 
The  same  year  was  published  the  last  edition  of  The  Seasons 
that  had  the  benefit  of  the  author's  revision.  1748  was  marked 
by  three  occurrences — the  discontinuance  of  his  pension,  owing 
to  a  quarrel  between  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  Lyttelton ;  the 
appearance  of  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  which  had  been  long 
on  the  way;  and  his  lamented  death  from  a  neglected  cold, 
on  the  27th  of  August.  About  four  months  before  his  death  we 
find  him  expressing  himself,  in  a  letter  to  Paterson,  in  the 
following  melancholy  strain  on  the  disappointments  and  vexa- 
tions of  life:  'Let  us  have  a  little  more  patience,  Paterson; 
nay,  let  us  be  cheerful.  At  last  all  will  be  well,  at  least  all  will 
be  over;  here,  I  mean — God  forbid  it  should  be  so  hereafter. 
But,  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God,  that  will  not  be  so.'  It  is  to  be 

c 


1 8  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 

regretted  that  he  did  not  carry  out  the  intention,  which  he  had 
half  formed  the  year  before  his  death,  of  visiting  Scotland, 
The  change  would  have  done  him  good,  and  the  visit  might 
have  originated  a  personal  regard  for  him  among  his  country- 
men, the  only  thing  wanting  to  make  his  poetical  reputation 
almost  as  dear  to  the  national  memory  as  that  of  Burns 
or  of  Scott. 


CHRONOLOGY   TO   ELUCIDATE   THE 
LIFE    OF   THOMSON. 

1692.  In  July,  Mr.  Thomas  Thomson,  son  of  a  gardener  in  the  employ- 

ment of  Mr.  Edmonston  of  Ednam,  is  appointed — being  then 
about  twenty-five  years  of  age — minister  of  the  parish  of  Ednam, 
in  the  north-east  of  Roxburghshire. 

1693.  In  October,  marries  Beatrix,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Alexander 

Trotter  of  Widehope,  in  the  parish  of  Morebattle,  Roxburgh- 
shire. 

1700.  Their  fourth  child,  who  was  also  their  third  son,  JAMES,  born 
(it  is  believed)  on  the  7th,  baptized  on  the  I5th  September. 
In  the  November  following,  the  Rev.  Thomas  Thomson 
inducted  into  the  parish  of  Southdean,  in  the  south  of 
Roxburghshire,  his  son  James  being  then  just  two  months  old. 
[This  year  Dry  den  died.] 

1712.  Young  Thomson  in  attendance  at  a  Grammar  School  kept  in  the 
aisle  of  Jedburgh  Abbey,  some  eight  miles  or  so  distant 
from  his  home  at  Southdean.  His  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Robert  Riccaltoun,  farmer  at  Earlshaugh,  begins  about  this 
time.  First  attempts  at  poetizing  a  year  or  two  later. 

1715.  Towards  the  end  of  the  year  Thomson  becomes  a  student  at 

Edinburgh  University.  Still  writing  verse — blank,  and  heroic 
couplets,  on  the  model  of  Dryden. 

1716.  Unexpected  death  of  his  father,  on  9th  February.  Home  transferred 

to  Edinburgh  some  time  after. 
1720.  Now  a  student  of  Divinity.     Continues  to  write  verse,  chiefly  on 

rural  subjects  contributed  to  The  Edinburgh  Miscellany. 
1724.  Still  at  college.     Adverse  criticism,  by  the  Professor  of  Divinity, 

of  one  of  his  college  exercises.     The  turning-point  and  middle 

of  his  life.   [This  year  Allan  Ramsay  published  his  Evergreen, 

and  his  Tea-  Table  Miscellany^} 
C  2 


20  CHRONOLOGY  TO  ILLUSTRATE   THE 

1725.  In  March  Thomson  embarks  at  Leith  for  London,  not  again  to 

see  Scotland.  In  May,  death  of  his  mother.  In  July,  tutor 
to  Lord  Binning's  son,  at  Barnet,  near  London.  Composition 
of  Winter.  [The  Gentle  Shepherd  in  complete  form  was 
published  this  year.] 

1 726.  In  March,  publication  of  Winter.     Thomson  acting  as  tutor  in  an 

academy  in  London.     Acquaintance  with  Aaron  Hill. 

1727.  Poem  To  the  Memory  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.     Summer  published. 

Wrote  Britannia,  A  Poem.  Relying  on  literature  for  his 
support. 

1728.  Publication  of  Spring.     [Goldsmith  born.] 

1729.  In  Jamiary,  Britannia  published.     A  poem  To  the  Memory  of 

Congreve    also    published,    anonymously,    but    undoubtedly 

Thomson's, 
i  730.  In  February,  Sophonisba  produced  at  Drury  Lane.      Publication 

of  The  Seasons  (including  Autumn  and  The  Hymn  for  the  first 

time).     Appointed  travelling  tutor  to  Charles  Richard  Talbot, 

eldest  son  of  the  Solicitor-General,  with  whom  he  visits  France 

and  Italy. 
1731.  Correspondence  with   Dodington.     Collecting   material   for  his 

projected  poem  on  Liberty.      Returns  from  the  Continent  at 

the  close  of  the  year.     [Birth  of  Cowper.] 
1 7  33-  In  September,  death  of  Mr.  C.  R.  Talbot.     In  November,  Thomson 

appointed  Secretary  of  Briefs  in  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

1734.  In  December,  publication  of  Liberty,  Part  First. 

1735.  Liberty,   Parts   Second   and   Third.      Death   of    a    brother    in 

September. 

1736.  Liberty,  Parts  Fourth  and  Fifth.     In  May,  Thomson  settles  in  a 

garden-house  in  Kew-foot  Lane,  Richmond.  Sends  assistance 
to  his  sisters  in  Edinburgh. 

1737.  In  June, -poem  to  The  Memory  of  Lord  Chancellor  Talbot.     Loss 

of  Secretaryship.  Acquaintance  with  George  (afterwards  Lord) 
Lyttelton.  Pension  of  £i  oo  a  year  from  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
about  this  time.  [Shenstone's  The  Schoolmistress  appeared 
this  year;  in  its  complete  form  in  1742.] 

1738.  Agamemnon  at  Drury  Lane,  in  April.     A  new  edition  of  77ie 

Seasons  published. 


LIFE   OF  THOMSON. 

1739.  Tragedy  of  Edward  and  Eleanora  suppressed  on  account  of  its 

political  allusions. 

1740.  Preface  to  Milton's  Areopagitica.     Conjointly  with  Malloch,  The 

Masque  of  Alfred—  performed  ist  August,  in  Clifden  gardens, 
before  the  Prince  of  Wales— containing  the  lyric,  '  Rule, 
Britannia,'  by  Thomson. 

1743.  In  August,  visits  the  Lytteltons  at  Hagley,  in  Worcestershire. 

1744.  Appointed   to   the   sinecure   office   of  Surveyor-General   of  the 

Leeward  Islands,  through  Lyttelton's  influence.  A  new  edition 
of  The  Seasons.  [Armstrong's  Art  of  Preserving  Health 
published  in  this  year.  Death  of  Pope.] 

1745.  Tancred  and  Sigismunda  at  Drury  Lane,  with  Garrick  as  Tancred. 

Spends  part  of  the  summer  at  Hagley. 

1 746.  Thomson  makes  way  for  his  friend  and  deputy,  Paterson,  in  the 

office  of  Surveyor- General.  Part  of  the  autumn  at  Hagley. 
Publication  of  the  last  of  the  author's  editions  of  The 
Seasons. 

1747.  Thomson  at  Hagley  in  the  autumn.      Visits  Shenstone  at  the 

Leasowes,  probably  not  for  the  first  time. 

1748.  Pension  of  £100  discontinued,  early  in  this  year.      The  Castle  of 

Indolence,  in  May.  Death,  in  his  house  at  Richmond,  on  the 
27th  of  August.  Buried  at  Richmond.  [Collins's  Ode  on 
Thomson's  Death, .] 

1749.  Coriolanus  produced — the  prologue  by  Lyttelton. 

1762.  Monument  in  Westminster  Abbey,  between  those  of  Shakespeare 

and  Rowe. 
1791.  In  the  autumn  of  this  year  Burns  wrote  his  Address  to  the  Shade 

of  Thomson. 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION  TO 
'THE  SEASONS; 


WHEN  Thomson  came  up  to  London  from  Scotland  in  March 
1725,  he  brought  with  him  no  MS.  poetry  of  his  own  composi- 
tion— at  least  none  that  was  of  sufficient  value  for  publication. 
All  his  published  poems  of  any  merit,  including  of  course  The 
Seasons,  from  beginning  to  end,  were  planned  and  produced  in 
England.  What  he  did  bring  with  him  was  a  consciousness  of 
poetical  power,  a  strong  ambition  to  manifest  it,  and  a  predilec- 
tion for  some  great  and  serious  subject  which  should  involve 
a  description  of  the  works  of  nature.  He  had  not  been  many 
months  in  England  when  he  found  such  a  subject  in  Winter. 
His  management  of  this  stormy  theme  was  his  warrant  for  the 
opinion  he  had  formed  of  his  poetical  genius,  and  justified  the 
ambition  which  had  brought  him  to  London.  He  encountered 
Winter  in  the  course  of  an  exercise  in  blank  verse,  and — in  the 
words  of  Cowden  Clarke — '  rose  instantly  as  if  on  the  wings  of 
the  blast '  to  his  full  altitude.  It  looked  at  first,  indeed,  as  if  the 
subject  was  to  have  no  better  fate  at  his  hands  than  its  prede- 
cessors1, which  had  only  served  him  for  the  exercise  of  rhyming. 
In  September,  when  he  had  already  made  some  progress  in  the 
work,  he  could  still  only  speak  of  it  as  a  study  in  blank  verse, 
which  was  amusing  him,  but  which  he  might  drop  at  any  moment. 
Erelong,  as  he  was  drawn  into  living  touch  with  his  subject,  he 
perceived  its  magnitude  and  capabilities;  the  memories  of 
Scottish  winters  rose  up  in  dread  magnificence  before  him ;  he 

1  Such  as  the  verses  On  a  Country  Life,  written  before  he  was  twenty, 
and  of  no  great  interest  in  respect  of  matter  or  style.  The  subject,  how- 
ever, was  significant. 


24  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

applied  himself  enthusiastically  to  his  task,  and,  before  his  first 
winter  in  England  was  well  over,  he  had  dashed  off  a  succession 
of  descriptions  and  reflections  which,  when  pieced  together,  made 
up  the  poem  of  Winter.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  subject  was 
defined  and  clearly  before  him  so  early  as  September,  1725,  and 
that  the  title  was  no  afterthought,  and  no  suggestion  of  his  friend 
Malloch's.  The  very  first  draught  of  the  poem  opened  with  the 
explicit  boldness  of  the  old  epic  style  : 

'  I  sing  of  Winter  and  his  gelid  reign  ; 
Nor  let  a  rhyming  insect  of  the  Spring 
Deem  it  a  barren  theme  :   to  me  'tis  full 
Of  manly  charms, — to  me  who  court  the  shade, 
Whom  the  gay  Season  suits  not,  and  who  shun 
The  glare  of  Summer.     Welcome,  kindred  glooms ! 
Drear,  awful  Wintry  horrors,  welcome  all ! ' 

Winter  was  published  in  March,  1726.  It  was  so  far  imme- 
diately successful,  that  a  second  edition  was  printed  off  by  the  end 
of  June.  The  Seasons,  which  had  not  been  contemplated  in  the 
production  of  Winter,  grew  out  of  its  success.  In  a  significant 
preface  which  was  prefixed  to  the  second  edition  of  Winter,  and 
which  may  be  regarded  as  Thomson's  Defence  of  Poesy,  he  first 
unfolded  his  scheme  by  announcing  to  the  public  his  purpose  of 
describing  the  various  appearances  of  nature  in  the  other  seasons 
as  well.  When  he  made  this  announcement  he  had  already 
begun  Summer,  which  he  had  selected  as  being  the  antithesis  of 
Winter,  and  by  the  month  of  August  he  was  so  far  advanced  as 
to  have  three-fourths  of  it  written.  It  was  published  in  1727. 
Spring  followed  in  1728  ;  and  in  1730  Autumn  appeared  in  its 
regular  place  in  the  first  edition  of  The  Seasons,  where  it  formed, 
with  the  final  Hymn,  the  new  feature  of  the  completed  and 
collected  work. 

The  Seasons,  singly  and  collectively,  passed  through  many 
editions  in  their  author's  lifetime ;  and  the  changes  he  made  in 
the  text,  especially  in  the  later  editions,  were  very  numerous. 
Here  he  introduced,  there  he  struck  out ;  this  he  condensed, 
that  he  expanded  ;  he  was  never  done  substituting  a  new  word  or 
phrase  for  an  old  one,  and  he  carried  his  passion  for  correcting, 


TO  '  THE  SEASONS:  25 

or  rather  for  altering,  so  far  as  to  shift  whole  passages  from  one 
Season  to  another.  In  short,  he  practised  upon  the  original  text 
all  the  methods  of  arithmetic— adding,  subtracting,  multiplying, 
and  distributing  to  an  extent  unknown  in  the  practice  of  any 
other  author.  Shortly  before  his  death,  he  even  delegated  a 
continuance  of  this  kind  of  work  to  his  literary  executor,  Lord 
Lyttelton.  These  textual  changes  in  The  Seasons  are  compar- 
atively few  and  slight  down  to  the  edition  of  1738.  Some  idea 
of  the  changes  afterwards  made  in  the  text  may  be  gathered 
from  an  arithmetical  comparison  of  the  impression  of  that  year 
with  the  edition  of  1746,  the  last  to  be  issued  in  the  author's 
lifetime.  In  the  earlier  of  these  editions  Spring  consisted  of 
1089  numbered  lines;  Summer,  of  1205;  Autumn,  of  1274; 
Winter,  of  787  ;  and  The  Hymn,  of  121—4476  verses  in  all.  If 
now  we  turn  to  the  edition  of  1746,  we  find  the  numbers  to  be 
— for  Spring,  1176;  for  Summer,  1805;  for  Autumn,  1372; 
for  Winter,  1069;  and  for  The  Hymn,  118—5540  in  all.  The 
numerical  increase  in  the  later  edition  is  thus  shown  to  be  con- 
siderably over  a  thousand  lines.  These  thousand  and  odd  lines 
do  not,  of  course,  represent  the  total  amount  of  new  matter 
incorporated  with  the  earlier  text,  but  the  surplus  of  the  new 
matter  over  and  above  what  was  required  to  balance  the  matter 
withdrawn.  The  withdrawn  matter  was  not  only  of  very  con- 
siderable amount,  but  was  largely  made  up  of  innumerable 
isolated  words  and  phrases  abstracted  from  every  quarter  of  the 
text.  A  variorum  edition  of  The  Seasons  would  doubtless  be 
a  boon  to  students  of  the  art  of  Thomson,  but  it  would  demand 
a  Hercules  to  accomplish  it.  It  would  probably  reveal  that  kind 
of  development  of  the  poetic  art  in  which  refinement  and  repose 
are  gained,  not  without  some  expense  of  vigour  and  vitality. 
There  is  sound  criticism  in  the  judgment  of  Johnson,  who 
thought  that  The  Seasons  were  improved  in  general  by  the  poet's 
alterations,  but  suspected  that  in  the  process  they  had  lost  part 
of  their  original  race  or  flavour.  The  suspicion  was  a  shrewd 
one.  The  keenness,  for  example,  of  Thomson's  colour-sense, 
was  a  more  pronounced  feature  of  the  original  Seasons  than  of 
the  later  editions.  It  was  in  deference  to  English  taste  that  he 


26  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

economized  his  reds  and  yellows,  and  toned  down  those  glowing 
tints,  a  love  for  which  he  had  inherited  from  the  Scottish  school 
of  poetry.  His  Scotticisms  too  were  expressive.  But  the  loss 
of  raciness  is  chiefly  seen  in  the  substitution,  for  example,  of  so 
comparatively  tame  a  line  as — 

'  Then  scale  the  mountains  to  their  woody  tops, ' 
for 

'  Then  snatch  the  mountains  by  their  woody  tops,' 

in  the  description  of  the  fox-hunt  in  the  third  Season  ;  or  in  the 
exchange  of '  shook  from  the  corn '  for  '  scared  from  the  corn  '  in 
the  hare-hunt ;  or  by  the  clean  withdrawal  from  Winter  of 
so  characteristic  a  passage  as  the  following  : — 

'  Tempted,  vigorous,  o'er  the  marble  waste, 
On  sleds  reclined,  the  furry  Russian  sits  ; 
And,  by  his  reindeer  drawn,  behind  him  throws 
A  shining  kingdom  in  a  winter's  day.' 

(  In  his  choice  of  subject  Thomson  made  a  new  departure  in 
/English  poetry  of  great  historical  importance.  He  introduced, 
or  more  properly  re-introduced  into  literature,  from  which  they 
had  been  banished  for  at  least  two  generations,  the  wild  pagan 
graces  and  savage  grandeur  of  external  nature.  And  this  he  did 
with  such  imaginative  pomp,  such  romantic  charm,  as  to  secure 
the  permanence  of  a  sympathetic  study  of  nature,  and  the 
vitality  of  naturalism  in  our  literature  to  the  present  day.  He 
had  even  the  honour  of  being  followed  by  a  school  of  French 
writers :  '  Ce  poeme  [Des  Saisons]  a  e"te  imite  chez  nous  par 
Saint  Lambert,  et  ne  fut  pas  sans  influence  sur  1'ecole  descriptive 
de  Delille.' — Nouv.  Biog.  Gen.  (1877).  His  choice  of  subject 
was  deliberate,  and  made  with  full  consciousness  of  the  prevailing 
taste,  so  successfully  developed  by  Dryden  and  Pope,  for  artificial 
poetry.  \^itiijhaijta^tehjym^  In  his  preface 

to  the  second  edition  of  Winter^  cries  out  for  the  restoration  of 
poetry  to  her  ancient  purity  and  truth  :  *  Let  her  be  inspired 
from  heaven,'  he  exclaims  ;  '  let  her  exchange  her  low,  venal, 
1  trifling  subjects  for  such  as  are  fair,  useful,  and  magnificent.' 
'He  further  characterizes  the  popular  subjects  as  'the  reigning 


TO  '  THE  SEASONS:  27 

fopperies  of  a  tasteless  age ' ;  and  he  goes  on  to  declare  that 
'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.'  *  What,'  he  asks,  *  are  we  commonly  entertained  with, 
save  forced  unaffecting  fancies,  little  glittering  prettinesses, 
mixed  terms  of  wit  and  expression,  which  are  as  widely  different 
from  native  poetry  as  buffoonery  is  from  the  perfection  of  human 
thinking  ? '  His  practical  suggestions  for  the  much  desiderated 
restoration  and  revival  of  poetry  are  valuable  for  their  signifi- 
cance :  '  I  know  no  subject  more  elevating,  more  amusing,  more  \\J 
ready  to  awake  the  poetical  enthusiasm,  the  philosophical  ~/r* 
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  j 
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.'  Thomson's  mind  was  directed  to  the  study  of  nature 
from  the  very  first.  Rural  life  and  the  varied  scenery  of  the 
open  country  as  affected  by  the  changing  seasons,  were  the 
themes  even  of  his  boyish  verse.  Nature  was  his  first  love,  and  | 
remained  a  passion  with  him  to  the  end.  It  was  a  passion  I 
entirely  Scottish  in  its  origin,  born  of  the  scenery  of  his  native 
Teviotdale,  and  fostered  by  the  ballad  poetry  of  the  Border. 
But  the  influence  of  Virgil's  Georgics  helped  to  confirm  it ;  and 
it  found  encouragement  in  the  poetry  of  Milton  and  the  later 
Elizabethans,  and  even  drew  some  sustenance  from  the  arid 
pastorals  of  Pope.  If  he  did  not  invent,  Thomson  was  the  first 
in  England  to  invest  with  national  interest  that  class  of  poetry 
which  Dryden,  referring  to  Denham's  Cooper's  Hill^  regarded 
as  a  variety  of  the  epic,  and  for  which  Johnson  proposed  the 
name  of  local  poetry.  Local  poems,  that  is,  poems  directly 


28  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 

devoted  to  the  description  of  some  particular  region  of  country, 
and  better  defined  as  topographical  poems,  had  already,  before 
the  publication  of  the  first  section  of  the  Seasons,  been  written 
and  received  with  more  or  less  favour  in  England.  They  were, 
however,  both  few  and  comparatively  short,  and  none  of  them 
— not  even  the  best  known — can  be  said  to  have  been  really 
popular.  Of  these,  beginning  with  Cooper's  Hill,  published  in 
1642 — 'the  first  of  the  new  species  of  composition,'  according  to 
Johnson — we  have  next,  in  1645,  following  the  order  of  publica- 
tion, L? Allegro  and  //  Penseroso,  which  may  be  regarded  as  an 
idealized  description,  with  sunlight  and  moonlight  effects,  of  the 
landscape  around  Horton  ;  then  Windsor  Forest ',  published 
in  1713;  and  then  Garth's  Claremont,  published  in  1715,  said 
to  have  been  directly  suggested  by  Denham's  poem.  Dyer's 
Grongar  Hill  appeared  in  1726,  the  year  of  Thomson's  Winter. 
But  Winter  and  the  other  Seasons  are  something  more  than 
a  series  of  topographical  poems.  They  include  an  imaginative 
survey  of  almost  every  variety  of  landscape,  under  almost  every 
conceivable  variety  of  weather,  ranging  all  round  the  globe  in 
circles  that  widen  gradually  and  grandly  to  the  horizon  of  a 
hemisphere,  and  again  contract  and  close  to  the  narrow  dimen- 
sions of  a  Scottish  dale.  They  are  geographical  rather  than 
topographical.  Their  range  and  scope  are  wide  enough  to 
warrant  the  larger  connotative  term. 

The  blank  verse  -o£—TJu  Seasons  is  Thomson's  own.  It  is 
distinct  from  Milton's,  with  which  it  is  most  likely  to  be  com- 
pared, yet  there  is  now  and  again  in  its  flowing  and  sonorous 
lines  a  suggestion  of  the  statelier  and  more  sustained  music 
of  the  great  master.  The  highest  praise  of  Thomson's  style  is 
that  it  suits  the  general  subject.  He  moves  through  a  vast 
variety  of  scenes  with  a  lofty  sedateness,  a  serene  moral  dignity, 
which  sometimes,  but  rarely,  verges  on  pomposity.  With  such 
a  style  it  is  really  remarkable  how  varied  his  verse  can  be,  and 
with  what  sedate  ease  he  can  make  his  transitions  from  homeli- 
ness to  sublimity,  from  humour  to  tenderness.  He  is  never 
at  a  loss  for  suggestive  words,  and  is  often  indeed  copious  to 
redundancy.  This  copiousness  of  language  is  the  result  of  an 


TO  '  THE  SEASONS!  29 

enthusiastic  love  for  his  subject,  and  will  be  pardoned  by  those  who 
have  caught  from  it  the  enthusiasm  it  conveys.  Campbell  finely 
compares  it  to  '  the  flowing  vesture  of  the  Druid.'  His  diction 
is  not  free  from  the  cmiy^nj:ipjial_rjhrases  which  were  the 
common  stock-in-trade  of  the  Augustan  poets  :  upon  these  he  is 
constantly  falling  back  when  he  is  in  a  reflective,  or  speculative, 
or  preaching  mood  ;  but  in  his  descriptions,  especially  when  the 
theme  is  more  than  usually  familiar  and  congenial  to  him,  he 
readily  finds  a  language  which  is  at  once  natural  and  original, 
and  either  picturesque  or  melodious,  often  both.  Before  the 
publication  of  Winter  the  heroic  couplet  had  for  over  half  a 
century  been  the  fashionable  verse,  and  had  come  to  be  regarded 
as  the  indispensable  vehicle  of  all  serious  poetry.  It  had  been 
brought  to  such  a  pitch  of  perfection  by  Pope,  that  at  last  the 
younger  poets,  in  despair  at  his  excellence,  ceased  to  practise  it. 
Of  these  Thomson  was  one,  and  indeed  the  chief.  In  his  youth 
he  had  exercised  himself  in  the  composition  of  the  heroic 
measure,  but  with  extremely  indifferent  success.  He  had  also 
made  a  few  trivial  efforts  in  blank  verse,  with  no  better  result. 
He  adopted  blank  verse  in  the  composition  of  Winter  as  the 
measure  which  best  suited  the  nature  of  his  subject,  and  which, 
besides  leaving  his  natural  genius  free  from  the  restraints  of 
rhyme,  protected  him  from  comparison  with  Pope.  It  was  with 
just  a  touch  of  contempt  in  his  tone  that  he  took  almost 
complete  farewell  of  the  heroic  couplet  in  1725,  and  ventured 
daringly  upon  a  form  of  verse  which  had  only  once  before  been 
used  in  a  great  way  for  other  than  dramatic  purposes,  and  which 
was  probably  beginning  to  be  considered  as  sacred  to  the 
epical  genius  of  Milton  : 

'  I  sing  of  Winter  and  his  gelid  reign ; 
Nor  let  a  rhyming  insect  of  the  Spring 
Deem  it  a  barren  theme  ! ' 

Thomson_was  a  great,  innovator  :  his  introduction  of  blank 
verse  as  a  form  of  popular  poetry  in  the  year  1726  was  no 
inconsiderable  part  of  his  innovations.  Almost  equally  with  his 
choice  of  subject,  his  blank  verse  was  a  blow  to  the  artificial 


30     GENERAL  INTRODUCTION  TO  '  THE  SEASONS'. 

school.  He  was  speedily  followed  in  his  use  of  it  by  many 
imitators,  some  of  whom — notably  Savage1,  Somerville,  and 
Dyer,  and  such  minor  poets  among  his  own  countrymen  as 
Malloch,  Armstrong,  and  Michael  Bruce — copied  his  style  with 
remarkable  but  mostly  unmeritorious  fidelity.  His  use  of  blank 
verse  for  non-heroic  natural  subjects  was  approved  not  only  by 
the  popular  voice,  but  by  the  influential  practice  of  Cowper  and 
Wordsworth.  One  feature  of  the  blank  verse  of  The  Seasons 
remains  to  be  noted,  its  wonderful  homogeneity.  Thomson 
seems  to  have  attained  his  peculiar  mastery  of  the  measure  at 
a  bound. 

1  In  The  Wanderer  (1729),  an  anticipation  of  Goldsmith's  Traveller. 


THE  SEASONS. 


SPRING. 

COME,  gentle  Spring,  ethereal  mildness,  come ; 
And  from  the  bosom  of  yon  dropping  cloud, 
While  music  wakes  around,  veiled  in  a  sjiower 
Of  shadowing  roses,  on  our  plains  descend. 

O  Hertford,  fitted  or  to  shine  in  courts  5 

With  unaffected  grace,  or  walk  the  plain 
With  innocence  and  meditation  joined 
I n_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: 
His  blasts  obey,  and  quit  the  howling  hill, 
The  shattered  forest,  and  the  ravished  vale; 
While  softer  gales  succeed,  at  whose  kind  touch,  15 

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  20 

Deform  the  day  delightless, — so  that  scarce 
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.  25 


32  THE  SEASONS. 

(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"~th'e  light  clouds  ^sublime,  and  spreads  them  thin,      30 
Fleecy,  and  white  o'er  all  surrounding  heaven. 

Forth  fly  the  tepid  airs  ;  and  unconfmed, 
Unbinding  earth,  the^moying.  softness  strays. 
Joyous  the  impatient  husbandman  perceives 
Relenting  nature,  and  his  lusty  steers  35 

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. 

White  through  the  neighbouring  fields  the  sower  stalks, 
With  measured  step,  and  liberal  throws  the  grain  45 

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  ;  50 

And  temper  all,  thou  world-reviving  sun, 
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  55 

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          60 
Are  but  the  beings  of  a  summer's  day, 
Have  held  the  scale  of  empire,  ruled  the  storm 


SPRING.  33 

Of  mighty  war,  then  with  victorious  hand, 

Disdaining  little  delicacies,  seized 

The  plough,  and  greatly  independent  lived.  65 

Ye  generous  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, 
Far  through  his  azure  turbulent  domain,  70 

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 
O'er  every  land,  the  naked  nations  clothe,  75 

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 
Of  vegetation,  sets  the  steaming  power  80 

At  large,  to  wander  o'er  the  vernant  earth, 
In  various  hues,— but  chiefly  thee,  gay  green, 
Thou  smiling  Nature's  universal  rob"e, 
United  light  and  shade,  where  the  sight  dwells 
With  growing  strength  and  ever-new  delight.  85 

From  the  moist  meadow  ta  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 
Put  forth  their  buds,  unfolding  by  degrees,  9° 

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 
In  all  the  colours  of  the  flushing  year  95 

By  Nature's  swift  and  secret-working  hand, 
The  garden  glows,  and  fills  the  liberal  air 
With  lavishlragrance ;  while  the  promised  fruit 
Lies  yet  a  little  embryo,  unperceived, 

D 


34  THE  SEASONS. 

Within  its  crimson  folds.     Now  from  the  town  100 

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  verdant  maze 
Of  sweet-briar  hedges  I  pursue  my  .walk ;  105 

Or  taste  the  smell  of  dairy;   or  ascend 
Some  eminence,  Augusta,  in  thy  plains, 
And  see  the  country  far  diffused  around 
One  boundless  blusfr,  one  white-empurpled  shower 
Of  mingled  blossoms,  where  the  raptured  eye  1 1  o 

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  1 1 5 

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, 
Myriads  on  myriads,  insect  armies  warp  120 

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.  125 

To  check  this  plague,  the  skilful  farmer  chaff 
And  blazing  straw  before  his  orchard  burns, 
Till,  all  involved  in  smoke,  the  latent  foe 
From  every  cranny  suffocated  falls; 

Or  scatters  o'er  the  blooms  the  pungent  dust  130 

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.  135 

Be  patient,  swains  ;  these  cruel-seeming  winds 


SPRING.  35 

Blow  not  in  vain.     Far  hence  they  keep  repressed 
Those  deepening  clouds  on  clouds,  surcharged  with  rain, 
That,  o'er  the  vast  Atlantic  hither  borne 
In  endless  train,  would  quench  the  summer  blaze,  140 

And  cheerless  drown  the  crude  unripened  year. 

The  north-east  spends  his  rage,  and  now  shut  up 
Within  his  iron  cave,  the  effusive  south 
Warms  the  wide  air,  and  o'er  the  void  of  heaven 
Breathes  the  big  clouds  with  vernal  showers  distent.       145 
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 
Sits  on  the  horizon  round,  a  settled  gloom, —  150 

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  155 

Is  heard  to  quiver  through  the  closing  woods, 
Or  rustling  turn  the  many-twinkling  leaves 
Of  aspen  tall.     The  uncurling  floods,  diffused 
In  glassy  breadth,  seem  through  delusive  lapse 
Forgetful  of  their  course.     'Tis  silence  all,  160 

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,  165 

And  wait  the  approaching  sign  to  strike  at  once 
Into  the  general  choir.     Even  mountains,  vales, 
And  forests  seem  impatient  to  demand 
The  promised  sweetness.     Man  superior  walks 
Amid  the  glad  creation,  musing  praise,  170 

And  looking  lively  gratitude.    At  last 
The  clouds  consign  their  treasures  to  the  fields, 
And,  softly  shaking  on  the  dimpled  pool 

D2 


36  THE  SEASONS. 

Prelusive  drops,  let  all  their  moisture  flow 
In  large  effusion  o'er  the  freshened  world.  175 

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  .        1 80 

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  185 

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 
Of  broken  clouds  gay-shifting  to  his  beam.  190 

The  rapid  radiance  instantaneous  strikes 
The  illumined  mountain  ;   through  the  forest  streams ; 
Shakes  on  the  floods  ;  and  in  a  yellow  mist, 
Far  smoking  o'er  the  interminable  plain, 
In  twinkling ^yriads  lights  the  dewy  gems.  195 

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, 
And  hollow  lows  responsive  from  the  vales,  200 

Whence  blending  all  the  sweetened  zephyr  springs. 
Meantime,  refracted  from  yon  eastern  cloud, 
Bestriding  earth,  the  grand  ethereal  bow 
Shoots  tip  immense,  and  every  hue  unfolds, 
In  fair  proportion  running  from  the  red  205 

To  where  the  violet  fades  into  the  sky. 
Here,  awful  Newton,  the  dissolving  clouds 
Form,  fronting  on  the  sun,  thy  showery  prism ; 
And  to  the  sage-instructed  eye  unfold 
The  various  twine  of  light,  by  thee  disclosed  210 


SPRING.  37 

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,  215 

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  plastic  tubes, 

The  balmy  treasures  of  the  former  day.        .  220 

Then  spring  the  living  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  225 

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 
Their  seeds  abroad,  blown  them  about  in  winds,  230 

Innumerous  mixed  them  with  the  nursing  mould, 
The  moistening  current,  and  prolific  rain. 

But  who  their  virtues  can  declare?  who  pierce    />  *  A 
With_yision  pure  into  these  secret  stores  ^ 

OTTife,  and  health,  and  joy?   the  food  of  man  235 

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.  240 

The  first  fresh  dawn  then  waked  the  gladdened  race 
Of  uncorrupted  man,  nor  blushed  to  see 
The  sluggard  sleep  beneath  its  sacred  beam  ; 
For  their  light  slumbers  gently  fumed  away, 
And  up  they  rose  as  vigorous  as  the  sun,  245 

Or  to  the  culture  of  the  willing  glebe, 
Or  to  the  cheerful  tendance  of  the  flock. 


38  THE  SEASONS. 

Meantime  the  song  went  round;   and  dance  and  sport, 

Wisdom  and  friendly  talk,  successive  stole 

Their  hours  away  ;   while  in  the  rosy  vale  250 

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  those  happy  sons  of  heaven;  255 

For  reason  and  benevolence  were  law. 

Harmonious  Nature  too  looked  smiling  on. 

Clear  shone  the  skies,  cooled  with  eternal  gales, 

And  balmy  spirit  all.     The  youthful  sun 

Shot  his  best  rays,  and  still  the  gracious  clouds  t   260 

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,  265 

For  music  held  the  whole  in  perfect  peace  : 

Soft  sighed  the  flute  ;   the  tender  voice  was  heard, 

Warbling  the  varied  heart ;   the  woodlands  round 

Applied  their  quire  ;   and  winds  and  waters  flowed 

In  consonance.     Such  were  those  prime  of  days.  270 

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,  275 

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  t 

The  foul  disorder.     Senseless  and  deformed,      ^J  280 

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. 


SPRING. 


39 


Desponding  fear,  of  feeble  fancies  full,  285 

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 

That  noble  wish,  that  never-cloyed  desire,  290 

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.  295 

These,  and  a  thousand  mixed  emotions  more, 

From  ever-changing  views  of  good  and  ill 

Formed  infinitely  various,  vex  the  mind 

With  endless  storm  ;   whence,  deeply  rankling,  grows 

The  partial  thought,  a  listless  unconcern  300 

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  3°5 

And  petrifies  the  heart.     Nature  disturbed 

Is  deemed  vindictive  to  have  changed  her  course. 

Hence,  in  old  dusky  time,  a  deluge  came  ; 
When  the  deep-cleft  disparting  orb,  that  arched 
The  central  waters  round,  impetuous  rushed  310 

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.  315 

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 
Greened  all  the  year;  and  fruits  and  blossoms  blushed    320 
In  social  sweetness  on  the  self-same  bough. 


40  THE  SEASONS. 

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  ;  325 

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,  330 

From  clear  to  cloudy  tossed,  from  hot  to  cold, 
And  dry  to  moist,  with  inward-eating  change, 
Our  drooping  days  are  dwindled  down  to  nought, 
Their  period  finished  ere  'tis  well  begun. 

And  yet  the  wholesome  herb  neglected  dies  ;  335 

Though  with  the  pure  exhilarating  soul 
Of  nutriment,  and  health,  and  vital  powers, 
Beyond  the  search  of  art,  'tis  copious  blest. 
For,  with  hot  ravin  fired,  ensanguined  man 
Is  now  become  the  lion  of  the  plain,  340 

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,    345 
W7ith  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, 
And  taught  alone  to  weep — while  from  her  lap  350 

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,  355 

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, 


SPRING.  41 

To  merit  death?  you,  who  have  given  us  milk 

In  luscious  streams,  and  lent  us  your  own  coat  360 

Against  the  Winter's  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,  365 

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.     Thus  the  feeling  heart 

Would  tenderly  suggesffBut  'tis  enough  370 

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  us  in  a  state 

That  must  not  yet  to  pure  perfection  rise  :  375 

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, 
And  whitening  down  their  mossy-tinctured  stream  380 

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,  385 

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, 
Gives,  as  you  tear  it  from  the  bleeding  breast  390 

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, 


42  THE  SEASONS. 

Then,  issuing  cheerful,  to  thy  sport  repair;  395 

Chief  should  the  western  breezes  curling  play, 

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  400 

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  405 

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. 

Straight  as  above  the  surface  of  the  flood  410 

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.  415 

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, 

Soft  disengage,  and  back  into  the  stream  420 

The  speckled  infant  throw.     But  should  you  lure 

From  his  dark  haunt  beneath  the  tangled  roots 

Of  pendent  trees  the  monarch  of  the  brook, 

Behoves  you  then  to  ply  your  finest  'art. 

Long  time  he,  following  cautious,  scans  the  fly;  425 

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 

With  sullen  plunge.    At  once  he  darts  along,  430 

Deep-struck,  and  runs  out  all  the  lengthened  line ; 


SPRING.  43 

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,  435 

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, 

And  to  his  fate  abandoned,  to  the  shore  440 

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,          445 
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 ; 
Or  lie  reclined  beneath  yon  spreading  ash  450 

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          455 
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, 
And  lost  in  lonely  musing,  in  a  dream  46° 

Confused  of  careless  solitude,  where  mix 
Ten  thousand  wandering  images  of  things, 
Soothe  every  gust  of  passion  into  peace- 
All  but  the  swellings  of  the  softened  heart, 
That  waken,  not  disturb,  the  tranquil  mind.  465 


Behold,  yon  breathing  prospect  bids  the  muse 


44  THE  SEASONS. 

Throw  .all  her  beauty  forth.     But  who  can  paint 

Like  Nature  ?     Can  imagination  boast, 

Amid  its  gay  creation,  hues  like  hers  ? 

Or  can  it  mix  them  with  that  matchless  skill,  470 

And  lose  them  in  each  other,  as  appears 

In  every  bud  that  blows?     If  fancy  then, 

Unequal,  fails  beneath  the  pleasing  task, 

Ah  what  shall  language  do  ?    ah,  where  find  words 

Tinged  with  so  many  colours,  and  whose  power,  475 

To  life  approaching,  may  perfume  my  lays 

With  that  fine  oil,  those  aromatic  gales, 

'iat  ineshaustive  flow  continual  round? 


Yet,  thougsncc'essleiJsr^wili  the  toil  delight. 
Come  then,  ye  virgins  and  ye  youths  whose  hearts         480 
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,  485 

Where,  with  the  light  of  thoughtful  reason  mixed, 
Shines  lively  fancy,  and  the  feeling  heart  — 
O  come!    and  while  the  rosy-footed  May 
Steals  blushing  on,  together  let  us  tread 
The  morning  dews,  and  gather  in  their  prime  490 

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

See  where  the  winding  vale  its  lavish  stores, 
Irriguous,  spreads.     See  how  the  lily  drinks 
The  latent  rill,  scarce  oozing  through  the  grass  495 

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 
A  fuller  gale  of  joy  than  liberal  thence  500 

Breathes  through  the  sense,  and  takes  the  ravished  soul. 
Nor  is  the  mead  unworthy  of  thy  foot, 
Full  of  fresh  verdure,  and  unnumbered  flowers, 


SPRING.  45 

The  negligence  of  Nature,  wide  and  wild ; 

Where,  undisguised  by  mimic  Art,  she  spreads  'Jm       505 

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, 

Cling  to  the  bud,  and  with  inserted  tube  510 

Suck  its  pure  essence,  its  ethereal  soul ; 

And  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  515 

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 
Falls  on  the  lengthened  gloom,  protracted  sweeps;          520 
Now  meets  the  bending  sky ;   the  river  now, 
Dimpling  along,  the  breezy-ruffled  lake, 
The  forest  darkening  round,  the  glittering  spire, 
The  ethereal  mountain,  and  the  distant  main. 
But  why  so  far  excursive  ?   when  at  hand,  525 

Along  these  blushing  borders  bright  with  dew, 
And  in  yon  mingled  wilderness  of  flowers, 
Fair-handed  Spring  unbosoms  every  grace ; 
Throws  out  the  snowdrop  and  the  crocus  first, 
The  daisy,  primrose,  violet  darkly  blue,  53° 

And  polyanthus  of  unnumbered  dyes, 
The  yellow  wallflower,  stained  with  iron  brown, 
And  lavish  stock  that  scents  the  garden  round; 
From  the  soft  wing  of  vernal  breezes  shed, 
Anemones ;    auriculas,  enriched  535 

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 
To  family,  as  flies  the  father-dust,  54° 


46     f\S  THE  SEASONS. 

The  varied  colours  run  ;    and,  while  they  break 
1  On  the  charmed  eye,  the  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 ;  545 

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 ; 
Nor  broad  carnations  ;    nor  gay-spotted  pinks  ;  550 

Nor,  showered  from  every  bush,  the  damask-rose  : 
Infinite  numbers,  delicacies,  smells, 
With  hues  on  hues  expression  cannot  paint, 
The  breath  of  Nature,  and  her  endless  bloom ! 

Hail,  Source  of  Being!    Universal  Soul  555 

Of  heaven  and  earth,  Essential  Presence,  hail ! 
To  Thee  I  bend  the  knee  ;    to  Thee  my  thoughts 
Continual  climb;    who,  with  a  master-hand, 
Hast  the  great  whole  into  perfection  touched. 
By  Thee  the  various  vegetative  tribes,  560 

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.  565 

At  Thy  command  the  vernal  sun  awakes 
The  torpid  sap,  detruded  to  the  root 
v    By  wintry  winds,  that  now  in  fluent  dance 
And  lively  fermentation,  mounting,  spreads 
All  this  innumerous-coloured  scene  of  things.  570 


i       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  575 


SPRING. 

The  mazy-running  soul  of  melody 

Into  my  varied  verse;    while  I  deduce, 

From  the  first  note  the  hollow  cuckoo  sings, 

The  symphony  of  Spring,  and  touch  a  theme 

Unknown  to  fame — the  passion  of  the  groves.  580 

When  first  the  soul  of  love  is  sent  abroad 
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,  585 

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  unconfmed.     Up  springs  the  lark, 
Shrill-voiced  and  loud,  the  messenger  of  morn  :  590 

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  595 

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  600 

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  605 

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. 
And  each  harsh  pipe,  discordant  heard  alone,  610 

Aid  the  full  concert;    while  the  stockdove  breathes 
A  melancholy  murmur  through  the  whole. 


48  THE  SEASONS. 

'Tis  love  creates  their  melody,  and  all 
This  waste  of  music  is  the  voice  of  love  ; 
That  even  to  birds  and  beasts  the  tender  arts  615 

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,  620 

Endeavouring  by  a  thousand  tricks  to  catch 
The  cunning,  conscious,  half-averted  glance 
Of  their  regardless  charmer.     Should  she  seem, 
Softening,  the  least  approvance  to  bestow, 
Their  colours  burnish,  and,  by  hope  inspired,  625 

They  brisk  advance ;    then,  on  a  sudden  struck, 
Retire  disordered  ;    then  again  approach ; 
In  fond  rotation  spread  the  spotted  wing, 
And  shiver  every  feather  with  desire. 

Connubial  leagues  agreed,  to  the  deep  woods  630 

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  635 

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, 

Their  food  its  insects,  and  its  moss  their  nests.  640 

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,  645 

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,— 


SPRING. 


49 


Dry  sprigs  of  trees,  in  artful  fabric  laid,  650 

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  655 

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. 

As  thus  the  patient  dam  assiduous  sits,  660 

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  665 

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, 
Warmed  and  expanded  into  perfect  life,  670 

Their  brittle  bondage  break,  and  come  to  light, — 

A  helpless  family,  demanding  food 

With  constant  clamour.     O  what  passions  then, 

What  melting  sentiments  of  kindly  care, 

On  the  new  parents  seize!     Away  they  fly,  675 

Affectionate,  and  undesiring  bear 

The  most  delicious  morsel  to  their  young; 

Which  equally  distributed,  again 

The  search  begins.     Even  so  a  gentle  pair, 

By  fortune  sunk,  but  formed  of  generous  mould,  680 

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, 
E 


50  THE  SEASONS. 

By  the  great  Father  of  the  Spring  inspired, 

Gives  instant  courage  to  the  fearful  race, 

And  to  the  simple  art.     With  stealthy  wing, 

Should  some  rude  foot  their  woody  haunts  molest,  690 

Amid  a  neighbouring  bush  they  silent  drop, 

And  whirring  thence,  as  if  alarmed,  deceive 

The  unfeeling  school-boy.     Hence,  around  the  head 

Of  wandering  swain,  the  white-winged  plover  wheels 

Her  sounding  flight,  and  then  directly  on  695 

In  long  excursion  skims  the  level  lawn 

To  tempt  him  from  her  nest.     The  wild-duck,  hence, 

O'er  Ihe  rough  moss,  and  o'er  the  trackless  waste 

The  heath-hen  flutters,  pious  fraud  !  to  lead 

The  hot  pursuing  spaniel  far  astray.  700 

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,  705 

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  act  forbear!  710 

If  on  your  bosom  innocence  can  win, 
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.  715 

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; 
Her  pinions  ruffle,  and,  low-drooping,  scarce  720 

Can  bear  the  mourner  to  the  poplar  shade, — 
Where,  all  abandoned  to  despair,  she  sings 
Her  sorrows  through  the  night,  and,  on  the  bough 


SPRING.  51 

Sole-sitting,  still  at  every  dying  fall 

Takes  up  again  her  lamentable  strain  725 

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, 
Demand  the  free  possession  of  the  sky.  730 

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,  735 
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° 

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  745 

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 ; 
Till,  vanished  every  fear,  and  every  power  75<> 

Roused  into  life  and  action,  light  in  air 
The  acquitted  parents  see  their  soaring  race, 
And,  once  rejoicing,  never  know  them  more. 

High  from  the  summit  of  a  craggy  cliff 
Hung  o'er  the  deep,  such  as  amazing  frowns  755 

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. 
Now  fit  to  raise  a  kingdom  of  their  own, 
E  2 


52  THE  SEASONS. 

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  JLjny  steps  turn  to  the  rural  seat  765 

Whose  lofty  elms  and  venerable  oaks 
Invite  the  rook,  who  high  amid  the  boughs, 
In  early  Spring,  his  airy  city  builds, 
And  ceaseless  caws  amusive  ;  there,  well-pleased, 
I  might  the  various  polity  survey  770 

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  775 

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 
Bears  forward  fierce,  and  guards  his  osier-isle,  780 

Protective  of  his  young.     The  turkey  nigh, 
Loud-threatening,  reddens  ;  while  the  peacock  spreads 
His  every-coloured  glory  to  the  sun, 
Arid  swims  in  radiant  majesty  along. 

O'er  the  whole  homely  scene,  the  cooing  dove  785 

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 
Of  brutes,  below,  rush  furious  into  flame'  790 

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  795 

Luxuriant  shoot ;  or  through  the  mazy  wood 
Dejected  wanders,  nor  the  enticing  bud 


SPUING.  •  53 

Crops,  though  it  presses  on  his  careless  sense. 

And  oft,  with  jealous  maddening  fancy  rapt, 

He  seeks  the  fight  ;  and,  idly-butting,  feigns  Soo 

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;  805 

While  the  fair  heifer,  balmy-breathing  near, 

Stands  kindling  up  their  rage.     The  trembling  steed. 

With  this  hot  impulse  seized  in  every  nerve, 

Nor  heeds  the  rein,  nor  hears  the  sounding  thong ; 

Blows  are  not  felt;  but,  tossing  high  his  head,  810 

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,  deep-descending,  cleaves        .    815 

The  headlong  torrents  foaming  down  the  hills, 

Even  where  the  madness  of  the  straitened  stream 

Turns  in  black  eddies  round  :  such  is  the  force 

With  which  his  frantic  heart  and  sinews  swell. 

Nor  undelighted  by  the  boundless  Spring  820 

Are  the  broad  monsters  of  the  foaming  deep  : 
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;  825 

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 
1   sing,  enraptured,  to  the  British  fair  830 

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, 


54  THE  SEASONS. 

Of  various  cadence;  and  his  sportive  lambs,  835 

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 

That 'runs  around  the  hill— the  rampart  once  840 

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  their  golden  heads,      845 

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, 
,     Instructs  the  fowls  of  heaven,  and  through  their  breast 
These  arts  of  love  diffuses  ?     What  but  God?  851 

Inspiring  God  !  who,  boundless  spirit  all, 
And  unremitting  energy,  pervades, 
Adjusts,  sustains,  and  agitates  the  whole. 
He  ceaseless  works  alone,  and  yet  alone  855 

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  : 
Chief,  lovely  Spring,  in  thee  and  thy  soft  scenes  860 

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  lindesigning  hearts 
Profusely  thus  in  tenderness  and  joy.  865 

Still  let  my  song  .a  nobler  note  assume, 
And  sing  tin-  infusive  force  of  Spring  on  man  ; 
When  heaven  and  earth,  as  if  contending,  vie 
To  raise  his  being,  and  serene  his  soul. 
Can  he  forbear  to  join  the  general  smile  870 


SPRING.  55 

Of  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,  875 

Or  only  lavish  to  yourselves  ;  away ! 
But  come,  ye  generous  minds,  in  whose  wide  thought, 
Of  all  his  works,  creative  Bounty  burns 
With  warmest  beam,  and,  on  your  open  front 
And  liberal  eye,  sits,  from  his  dark  retreat  880 

Inviting  modest  want.     Nor  till  invoked 
Can  restless  goodness  wait  :  your  active  search 
Leaves  no  cold  wintry  corner  unexplored ; 
Like  silent-working  heaven,  surprising  oft 
The  lonely  heart  with  unexpected  good.  885 

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, 
Ye  flower  of  human  race  !     In  these  green  days  890 

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  895 

To  purchase.     Pure  serenity  apace 
Induces  thought  and  contemplation  still. 
By_. swift  degrees  the  love  of  nature  works, 
And  warms  the  bosom  ;    till  at  last,  sublimed 
To  rapture  and  enthusiastic  heat,  900 

We  feel  the  present  Deity,  and  taste 
\__JThe  joy  of  God  to  see  a  happy  world. 

These  are  the  sacred  feelings  of  thy  heaftj          \ 
Thy  heart  informed  by  reason's  purer  ray, 
O  Lytteiton,  the  friend!  thy  passions  thus  905 

And  meditations  vary,  as  at  large, 
Courting  the  muse,  through  Hagley-park  you  stray — 


56  THE  SEASONS. 

Thy  British  Tempe  !     There  along  the  dale 

With  woods  o'er-hung,  and  shagged  with  mossy  rocks, 

Whence  on  each  hand  the  gushing  waters  play,  910 

And  down  the  rough  cascade  white-dashing  fall, 

Or  gleam  in  lengthened  vista  through  the  trees, 

You  silent  steal ;  or  sit  beneath  the  shade 

Of  solemn  oaks,  that  tuft  the  swelling  mounts 

Thrown  graceful  round  by  Nature's  careless  hand,  915 

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 

Which  creep  around,  their  dewy  murmurs  shake  920 

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,  "925 

You  tread,  the  long  extent  of  backward  time, 

•Planning  with  warm  benevolence  of  mind 

And  honest  zeal,  unwarped  by  party-rage, 

Britannia's  weal, — how  from  the  venal  gulf 

To  'raise  her  virtue,  and  her  arts  revive.  930 

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,  935 

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. 

The  tender  heart  is  animated  peace,  940 

And,  as  it  pours  its  copious  treasures  forth 

In  varied  converse,  softening  every  theme, 

You  frequent-pausing  turn,  and  from  her  eyes, 

Where  meekened  sense  and  amiable  grace 


SPRING.  57 

And  lively  sweetness  dwell,  enraptured  drink  945 

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  ;  950 

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, —  955 

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 

O'er  which  the  Cambrian  mountains,  like  far  clouds       960 

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;    965 
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. 
From  the  keen  gaze  her  lover  turns  away,  970 

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  and  low,  in  meek  submission  dressed,  975 

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,  980 

Trust  your  soft  minutes  with  betraying  man. 


58  THE  SEASONS. 

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  985 

Dissolves  in  air  away ;  while  the  fond  soul, 
Wrapt  in  gay  visions  of  unreal  bliss, 
Still  paints  the  illusive  form,  the  kindling  grace, 
The  enticing  smile,  the  modest-seeming  eye. 
Beneath  whose  beauteous  beams,  belying  heaven,  990 

Lurk  searchless  cunning,  cruelty,  and  death  : 
And  still,  false-warbling  in  his  cheated  ear, 
Her  syren  voice,  enchanting,  draws  him  on 
To  guileful  shores,  and  meads  of  fatal  joy. 

Even  present,  in  the  very  lap  of  love  995 

Inglorious  laid,  while  music  flows  around, 
Perfumes,  and  oils,  and  wines,  and  wanton  hours, 
^Amid  the  roses  fierce  repentance  rears 
Her  snaky  crest ;  a  quick-returning  pang 
Shoots  through  the  conscious  heart,  where  honour  stilt    1000 
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  !       1005 
Neglected  fortune  flies  ;   and,  sliding  swift, 
Prone  into  ruin  fall  his  scorned  affairs. 
'Tis  nought  but  gloom  around.     The  darkened  sun 
Loses  his  light.     The  rosy-bosomed  Spring 
To  weeping  fancy  pines;    and  yon  bright  arch  roio 

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;  1015 

And  sad  amid  the  social  band  he  sits 
Lonely  and  inattentive.     From  the  tongue 
The  unfinished  period  falls  ;    while,  borne  away 


SPRING. 


59 


On  swelling  thought,  his  wafted  spirit  flies 

To  the  vain  bosom  of  his  distant  fair,  1020 

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,  1025 

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 

Thrown,  amid  drooping  lilies,  swells  the  breeze  1030 

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  fleecy  east, 

Enlightened  by  degrees,  and  in  her  train  1035 

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 

And  all  the  sons  of  care  lie  hushed  in  sleep,  1040 

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  1045 

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 

Lifts  her  pale  lustre  on  the  paler  wretch,  1050 

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.  1055 


60  THE  SEASONS. 

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, 

Just  as  he,  credulous,  his  endless  cares  1060 

Begins  to  lose  in  blind  oblivious  love, 

Snatched  from  her  yielded  hand,  he  knows  not  how, 

Through  forest  huge,  and  long  untravelled  heaths 

With  desolation  brown,  he  wanders  waste, 

In  night  and  tempest  wrapt ;   or  shrinks  aghast  1065 

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, 

But  strives  in  vain  :   borne  by  the  outrageous  flood      1070 

To  distance  down,  he  rides  the  ridgy  wave, 

Or  whelmed  beneath  the  boiling  eddy  sinks. 

TJiese  are  the  charming  agonies  of  Jove, 
Whose  misery  delights.     But  through  the  heart 
Should  jealousy  its  venom  once  diffuse,  1075 

3Tis  then  delightful  misery  no  more, 
But  agony  unmixed,  incessant  gall, 
Corroding  every  thought,  and  blasting  all 
Love's  paradise.     Ye  fairy  prospects,  then, 
Ye  beds  of  roses,  and  ye  bowers  of  joy,  1080 

Farewell  !     Ye  gleamings  of  departed  peace, 
Shine  out  your  last !     The  yellow-tingeing  plague 
Internal  vision  taints,  and  in  a  night 
Of  livid  gloom  imagination  wraps. 

Ah  !    then,  instead  of  love-enlivened  cheeks,  1085 

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, 
Where  the  whole  poisoned  soul  malignant  sits  ioyo 

And  frightens  love  away.     Ten  thousand  fears 
Invented  wild,  ten  thousand  frantic  views 


SPRING^  6 1 

Of  horrid  rivals,  hanging  on  the  charms 

For  which  he  melts  in  fondness,  eat  him  up 

With  fervent  anguish,  and  consuming  rage.  1095 

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, — 

Her  first  endearments  twining  round  the  soul  noo 

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  1105 

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

Whom  love  deludes  into  his  thorny  wilds 

Through  flowery-tempting  paths,  or  leads  a, life 

Of  fevered  rapture  or  of  cruel  care, 

His  brightest  flames  extinguished  all,  and  all  mo 

His  lively  moments  running  down  to  waste. 

But  happy  they,  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,  1115 

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, 
Perfect  esteem  enlivened  by  desire  1120 

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  1125 

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 


62  THE  SEASONS. 

Is  wild  desire,  fierce  as  the  suns  they  feel;  1130 

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,  1135 

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 ; . 
Something  than  beauty  dearer,  should  they  look  1140 

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  1145 

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 
For  the  kind  hand  of  an  assiduous  care.  1 1 50 

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.  Ir55 

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 ; 
An  elegant  sufficiency,  content,  1160 

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,  1165 

As  ceaseless  round  a  jarring  world  they  roll, 


SPRING.  63 

Still  find  them  happy  ;   and  consenting  Spring 

Sheds, her  own  rosy  garland  on  their  heads  : 

Till  evening  comes  at  last,  serene  and  mild  ; 

When  after  the  long  vernal  day  of  life,  1170 

Enamoured  more,  as  more  remembrance  swells 

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.  1175 


END   OF   SPRING. 


SUMMER. 

FROM  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  ;  5 

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,      10 
And  on  the  dark  green  grass,  beside  the  brink 
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,  15 

By  mortal  seldom  found  :   may  Fancy  dare, 
From  thy  fixed  serious  eye,  and  raptured  glance 
Shot  on  surrounding  Heaven,  to  steal  one  look 
Creative  of  the  poet,  every  power 
Exalting  to  an  ecstasy  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  25 

In  seldom-meeting  harmony  combined, 


66  THE  SEASONS. 

Unblemished  honour,  and  an  active  zeal 
For  Britain's  glory,  liberty,  and  man— 
O  Dodington  !   attend  my  rural  song, 
Stoop  to  my  theme,  inspirit  every  line, 
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,  35 

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  4° 

Minutely  faithful :   such  the  all-perfect  Hand 
That  poised,  impels,  and  rules  the  steady  whole. 

I    When  now  no  more  the  alternate  Twins  are  fired, 
/And  Cancer  reddens  with  the  solar  blaze, 
(Short  is  the  doubtful  empire  of  the  night;  45 

And  soon,  observant  of  approaching  day, 
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  prospect  wide. 
The  dripping  rock,  the  mountain's  misty  top 
Swell  on  the  sight,  and  brighten  with  the  dawn.  55 

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,  60 


SUMMER.  67 

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  65 

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,  75 

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 
To  bless  the  wildly-devious  morning-walk  ?  80 

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,  85 

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!  90 

Of  all  material  beings  first  and  best ; 
Efflux  divine ;   nature's  resplendent  robe, 
Without  whose  vesting  beauty  all  were  wrapt 
In  unessential  gloom  !  and  thou,  O  Sun ! 
Soul  of  surrounding  worlds,  in  whom  best  seen  95 

Shines  out  thy  Maker,  may  I  sing  of  thee ! 

'Tis  by  thy  secret  strong  attractive  force, 
F  2 


68  THE  SEASONS. 

As  with  a  chain  indissoluble  bound, 

Thy  system  rolls  entire, — from  the  far  bourn 

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  orbs     105 
Were  brute  unlovely  mass,  inert  and  dead, 
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. 

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,  115 

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 
A  common  hymn;   while  round  thy  beaming  car  120 

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.  125 

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  dee'p, 
The  mineral  kinds  confess  thy  mighty  power. 


SUMMER.  6.9 

Effulgent  hence  the  veiny  marble  shines  ;  135 

Hence  labour  draws  his  tools ;   hence  burnished  war 
Gleams  on  the  day ;  the  nobler  works  of  peace 
Hence  bless  mankind ;   and  generous  commerce  binds 
The  round  of  nations  in  a  golden  chain. 

The  unfruitful  rock  itself,  impregned  by  thee,  140 

In  dark  retirement  forms  the  lucid  stone. 
The  lively  diamond  drinks  thy'  purest  rays, 
Collected  light  compact!   that,  polished  bright, 
And  all  its  native  lustre  let  abroad, 

Dares,  as  it  sparkles  on  the  fair  one's  breast,  145 

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,        155 
Thick  through  the  whitening  opal  play  thy  beams ; 
Or,  flying  several  from  its  surface,  form 
A  trembling  variance  of  revolving  hues 
As  the  site  varies  in  the  gazer's  hand. 

The  very  dead  creation  from  thy  touch  160 

Assumes  a  mimic  life.     By  thee  refined, 
In  brighter  mazes  the  relucent  stream 
Plays  o'er  the  mead.     The  precipice  abrupt, 
Projecting  horror  on  the  blackened  flood, 
Softens  at  thy  return.     The  desert  joys  165 

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, 


70,    .  THE  SEASONS. 

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,  175 

Who,  Light  Himself,  in  uncreated  light 
Invested  deep,  dwells  awfully  retired 
From  mortal  eye  or  angels'  purer  ken  ? 
Whose  single  smile  has,  from  the  first  of  time, 
Filled  overflowing  all  those  lamps  of  heaven,  180 

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,  185 

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,  190 

The  eternal  cause,  support,  and  end  of  all ! 

To  me  be  Nature's  volume  broad-displayed  ; 
And  to  perase  its  all-instructing  page, 
Or,  haply  catching  inspiration  thence, 

Some  easy  passage  raptured  to  translate,  195 

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,  205 

Dew-dropping  Coolness  to  the  shade  retires, 
There,  on  the  verdant  turf  or  flowery  bed, 


SUMMER.  -     71 

By  gelid  founts  and  careless  rills  to  muse  ; 

While  tyrant  Heat,  dispreading  through  the  sky 

With  rapid  sway,  his  burning  influence  darts  210 

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.  215 

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. 

Home  from  his  morning  task  the  swain  retreats,          220- 
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  225 

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  housedog,  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,  235 

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.  240 

Waked  by  his  warmer  ray,  the  reptile  young 
Come  winged  abroad;    by  the  light  air  upborne, 
Lighter,  and  full  of  soul.     From  every  chink 
And  secret  corner,  where  they  slept  away 


72  THE  SEASONS. 

The  wintry  storms,  or  rising  from  their  tombs  245 

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  greenwood  glade 
Some  love  to  stray, — there  lodged,  amused,  and  fed       255 
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,  260 

Employs  their  tender  care.     Some  to  the  house, 
The  fold,  the  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,  265 

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  270 

Of  carcases  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  275 

With  rapid  glide  along  the  leaning  line, 
And,  fixing  in  the  wretch  his  cruel  fangs, 
Strikes  backward,  grimly  pleased :   the  fluttering  wing 
And  shriller  sound  declare  extreme  distress, 
And  ask  the  helping  hospitable  hand.  280 

Resounds  the  living  surface  of  the  ground. 


SUMMER.  73 

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  285 

Of  willows  grey,  close- crowding  o'er  the  brook. 

Gradual  from  these  what  numerous  kinds  descend, 
Evading  even  the  microscopic  eye! 
Full  nature  swarms  with  life ;   one  wondrous  mass 
Of  animals,  or  atoms  organised,  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,          295 
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.  305 

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, 

Though  one  transparent  vacancy  it  seems,  310 

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  enclosed  should  on  his  senses  burst, 
From  cates  ambrosial  and  the  nectared  bowl  —     315 

He  would  abhorrent  turn,  and  in  dead  night, 
When  silence  sleeps  o'er  all,  be  stunned  with  noise. 

Let  no  presuming  impious  railer  tax 


74  THE  SEASONS. 

Creative  Wisdom,  as  if  aught  was  formed 

In  vain,  or  not  for  admirable  ends.  320 

Shall  little  haughty  Ignorance  pronounce 

His  works  unwise,  of  which  the  smallest  part 

Exceeds  the  narrow  vision  of  her  mind  ? 

As  if,  upon  a  full  proportioned  dome 

On  swelling  columns  heaved — the  pride  of  art,  325 

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 

Has  swept  at  once  the  unbounded  scheme  of  things,      330 

Marked  their  dependence  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  335 

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 
Upward  and  downward  thwarting  and  convolved, 
The  quivering  nations  sport ;    till,  tempest-winged, 
Fierce  Winter  sweeps  them  from  the  face  of  day.  345 

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  life. 

Now  swarms  the  village  o'er  the  jovial  mead,— 
The  rustic  youth,  brown  with  meridian  toil, 
Healthful  and  strong  ;  full  as  the  summer  rose 


SUMMER.  75 

Blown  by  prevailing  suns,  the  ruddy  maid,  355 

Half  naked,  swelling  on  the  sight,  and  all 

Her  kindling  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.  36° 

Wide  flies  the  tedded  grain ;   all  in  a  row 

Advancing  broad,  or  wheeling  round  the  field, 

They  spread  their  breathing  harvest  to  the  sun, 

That  throws  refreshful  round  a  rural  smell  ; 

Or,  as  they  rake  the  green-appearing  ground,  365 

And  drive  the  dusky  wave  along  the  mead, 

The  russet  haycock  rises  thick  behind, 

In  order  gay  ;   while,  heard  from  dale  to  dale, 

Waking  the  breeze,  resounds  the  blended  voice 

Of  happy  Jabour,  love,  and  social  glee.  370 

Or,  rushing  thence  in  one  diffusive  band, 
They  drive  the  troubled  flocks,  by  many  a  dog 
Compelled,  to  where  the  mazy-running  brook 
Forms  a  deep  pool,  this  bank  abrupt  and  high, 
And  that  fair-spreading  in  a  pebbled  shore.  375 

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 
Commit  their  woolly  sides  ;    and  oft  the  swain, 
On  some  impatient  seizing,  hurls  them  in.  380 

Emboldened  then,  nor  hesitating  more, 
Fast,  fast  they  plunge  amid  the  flashing  wave, 
And  panting  labour  to  the  farthest  shore. 
Repeated  this,  till  deep  the  well-washed  fleece 
Has  drunk  the  flood,  and  from  his  lively  haunt  385 

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 


76  THE  SEASONS. 

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,  395 

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,  400 

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.  405 

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 ; 

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,  4 1 5 

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,  425 

The  treasures  of  the  sun  without  his  rage  ; 
Hence,  fervent  all  with  culture,  toil,  and  arts, 
Wide  glows  her  land ;   her  dreadful  thunder  hence 


SUMMER.  77 

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. 

'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  435 

From  pole  to  pole  is  undistinguished  blaze. 
In  vain  the  sight,  dejected  to  the  ground, 
Stoops  for  relief;   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, 
Blast  fancy's  bloom,  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;  445 

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.  450 

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,  455 

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, — 


78  THE  SEASONS. 

Emblem  instructive  of  the  virtuous  man,  465 

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 

Ye  ashes  wild,  resounding  o'er  the  steep  ! 
Delicious  is  your  shelter  to  the  soul, 
As  to  the  hunted  hart  the  sallying  spring 
Or  stream  full-flowing,  that  his  swelling  sides 
Laves  as  he  floats  along  the  herbaged  brink.  475 

Cool  through  the  nerves  your  pleasing  comfort  glides; 
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  purls  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.  485 

Rural  confusion  !     On  the  grassy  bank 
Some  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  incomposed  he  shakes  ;   and  from  his  sides 
The  troublous  insects  lashes  with  his  tail, 
Returning  still.     Amid  his  subjects  safe 
Slumbers  the  monarch-swain,  his  careless  arm 
Thrown  round  his  head  on  downy  moss  sustained,         495 
Here  laid  his  scrip  with  wholesome  viands  filled, 
And  there  his  sceptre-crook  and  watchful  dog. 

Light  fly  his  slumbers,  if  perchance  a  flight 
Of  angry  gadflies  fasten  on  the  herd, 

That  startling  scatters  from  the  shallow  brook  500 

In  search  of  lavish  stream.     Tossing  the  foam, 


SUMMER.  79 

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.  505 

Oft  in  this  season  too  the  horse  provoked, 
While  his  big  sinews  full  of  spirits  swell, 
Trembling  with  vigour,  in  the  heat  of  blood 
Springs  the  high  fence  ;   and,  o'er  the  field  effused, 
Darts  on  the  gloomy  flood  with  stedfast  eye  510 

And  heart  estranged  to  fear:  his  nervous  chest, 
Luxuriant  and  erect,  the  seat  of  strength, 
Bears  down  the  opposing  stream ;   quenchless  his  thirst, 
He  takes  the  river  at  redoubled  draughts  ; 
And  with  wide  nostrils  snorting  skims  the  wave.  515 

Still  let  me  pierce  into  the  midnight  depth 
Of  yonder  grove  of  wildest  largest  growth, 
That,  forming  high  in  air  a  woodland  quire, 
Nods  o'er  the  mount  beneath.     At  every  step 
Solemn  and  slow  the  shadows  blacker  fall,  520 

And  all  is  awful  listening  gloom  around. 

These  are  the  haunts  of  meditation,  these 
The  scenes  where  ancient  bards  the  inspiring  breath 
Ecstatic  felt,  and,  from  this  world  retired, 
Conversed  with  angels  and  immortal  forms  525 

On  gracious  errands  bent, — to  save  the  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, 

But  foremost  when  engaged)  to  turn  the  death;  535 

And  numberless  such  offices  of  love, 
Daily  and  nightly,  zealous  to  perform. 
Shook  sudden  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky 


8o  THE  SEASONS. 

A  thousand  shapes  or  glide  athwart  the  dusk 

Or  stalk  majestic  on.     Deep-roused  I  feel  540 

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  545 

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. 

Then  fear  not  us ;   but  with  responsive  song, 

Amid  these  dim  recesses,  undisturbed 

By  noisy  folly  and  discordant  vice, 

Of  Nature  sing  with  us,  and  Nature's  God.  555 

Here  frequent,  at  the  visionary  hour 

When  musing  midnight  reigns  or  silent  noon, 

Angelic  harps  are  in  full  concert  heard, 

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  565 

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, 
Thy  pleasing  converse,  by  gay  lively  sense 
Inspired,  where  moral  wisdom  mildly  shone 
Without  the  toil  of  art,  and  virtue  glowed 
In  all  her  smiles  without  forbidding  pride.  575 


SUMMER.  8 1 

But,  O  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 

Through  endless  ages  into  higher  powers. 

Thus  up  the  mount,  in  airy  vision  rapt,  585 

I  stray,  regardless  whither,  till  the  sound 
Of  a  near  fall  of  water  every  sense 

Wakes  from  the  charm  of  thought  :   swift-shrinking  back, 
I  check  my  steps,  and  view  the  broken  scene. 

Smooth  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,  595 

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,  600 

Now  flashes  o'er  the  scattered  fragments,  now 
Aslant  the  hollowed  channel  rapid  darts, 
And,  falling  fast  from  gradual  slope  to  slope 
With  wild  infracted  course  and  lessened  roar, 
It  gains  a  safer  bed,  and  steals  at  last  605 

Along  the  mazes  of  the  quiet  vale. 

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,  610 

Gains  on  the  sun;   while  all  the  tuneful  race, 
Smote  with  afflictive  noon,  disordered  droop 

G 


82  THE  SEASONS. 

Deep  in  the  thicket,  or,  from  bower  to  bower 

Responsive,  force  an  interrupted  strain. 

The  stockdove  only  through  the  forest  coos,  615 

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,  in  that  hollowed  rock  grotesque  and  wild, — 
An  ample  chair,  moss-lined  and  overhead,  625 

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,  635 

Rising  direct,  swift  chases  from  the  sky 
The  short-lived  twilight;   and  with  ardent  blaze 
Looks  gaily  fierce  through  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  pass, —  645 

Rocks  rich  in  gems ;   and  mountains  big  with  mines, 
That  on  the  high  equator  ridgy  rise, 
Whence  many  a  bursting  stream  auriferous  plays ; 


SUMMER.  83 

Majestic  woods  of  every  vigorous  green, 

Stage  above  stage  high  waving  o'er  the  hills,  650 

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        655 

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 

And  burning  sands  that  bank  the  shrubby  vales  660 

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 
With  the  deep  orange  glowing  through  the  green  665 

Their  lighter  glories  blend.     Lay  me  reclined 
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,    670 
Embowering  endless,  of  the  Indian  fig; 
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  palmettos  lift  their  graceful  shade.  675 

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  680 

Low-bending,  be  the  full  pomegranate  scorned  ; 
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  685 

G  2 


84  THE  SEASONS. 

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        690 
Lie  stretched  below,  interminable  meads 
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,  695 

Plays  o'er  the  fields,  and  showers  with  sudden  hand 
Exuberant  Spring ;   for  oft  these  valleys  shift 
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  nought  is  seen 
But  the  wild  herds  that  own  no  master's  stall, 
Prodigious  rivers  roll  their  fattening  seas  ;  705 

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,          710 
The  darted  steel  in  idle  shivers  flies. 
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.  715 

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 ! 
O  truly  wise!    with  gentle  might  endowed, 


SUMMER.  85 

Though  powerful  not  destructive.     Here  he  sees 

Revolving  ages  sweep  the  changeful  earth, 

And  empires  rise  and  fall, — regardless  he  725 

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  pride  of  kings;   or  else  his  strength  pervert,  730 

And  bid  him  rage  amid  the  mortal  fray, 

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,        735 
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  dayr 
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  745 

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,  and  the  secret  bounds 
Of  jealous  Abyssinia  boldly  pierce. 
Thou  art  no  ruffian  who  beneath  the  mask 
Of  social  commerce  com'st  to  rob  their  wealth ; 
No  holy  fury  thou,  blaspheming  heaven,  755 

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 


86  THE  SEASONS. 

From  mead  to  mead  bright  with  exalted  flowers,  760 

From  jasmine  grove  to  grove  ;  mayst  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  765 

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  775 

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.  785 

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, 
Or  silent  borne  along,  heavy  and  slow, 
With  the  b:g  stores  of  steaming  oceans  charged. 
Meantime,  amid  these  upper  seas,  condensed  795 

Around  the  cold  aerial  mountain's  brow, 


SUMMER.  87 

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  800 

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.  805 

From  his  two  springs,  in  Gojam's  sunny  realm, 
Pure- welling  out,  he  through  the  lucid  lake 
Of  fair  Dambea  rolls  his  infant  stream. 
There,  by  the  Naiads  nursed,  he  sports  away 
His  playful  youth  amid  the  fragrant  isles  8 TO 

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.  815 

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,  820 

And  Egypt  joys,  beneath  the  spreading  wave. 

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  through  gorgeous  Ind      825 
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,  850 

And  pour  untoiling  harvest  o'er  the  land. 

Nor  less  thy  world,  Columbus,  drinks  refreshed 
The  lavish  moisture  of  the  melting  year. 


88  THE  SEASONS. 

Wide  o'er  his  isles  the  branching  Oronoque ' 

Rolls  a  brown  deluge,  and  the  native  drives  835 

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.     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  845 

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 

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  crimes  and  Europe's  cruel  sons.  855 

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. 

But  what  avails  this  wondrous  waste  of  wealth,  860 

This  gay  profusion  of  luxurious  bliss, 
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,     865 
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 


SUMMER. 


89 


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,  875 

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  ;    880 
Kind  equal  rule,  the  government  of  laws, 
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;  885 

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  ;  890 

The  soft  regards,  the  tenderness  of  life, 
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  895 

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  tongue 
And  deathful  jaws  erect,  the  monster  curls 
His  flaming  crest,  all  other  thirst  appalled  905 

Or  shivering  flies,  or  checked  at  distance  stands, 
Nor  dares  approach.     But  still  more  direful  he, 


90  THE  SEASONS. 

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  humble  man, 
This  child  of  vengeful  Nature !     There,  sublimed 
To  fearless  lust  of  blood,  the  savage  race 
Roam,  licensed  by  the  shading  hour  of  guilt 
And  foul  misdeed,  when  the  pure  day  has  shut  9*5 

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  hyasna,  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,  925 

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,  935 

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, 
Society,  cut  off,  is  left  alone  940 

Amid  this  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, 


SUMMER.  91 

Where  the  round  ether  mixes  with  the  wave,  945 

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,  even  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  955 

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,  965 

Son  of  the  desert,  even  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  noonday  fount  dejected  thrown, 
Or  sunk  at  night  in  sad  disastrous  sleep,  975 

Beneath  descending  hills  the  caravan 
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. 


92  THE  SEASONS. 

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,  985 

And  dire  Ecnephia  reign.     Amid  the  heavens, 

Falsely  serene,  deep  in  a  cloudy  speck 

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  995 

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  Gama  fought 

For  many  a  day  and  many  a  dreadful  night 

Incessant,  labouring  round  the  stormy  Cape, 

By  bold  ambition  led  and  bolder  thirst 

Of  gold.     For  then  from  ancient  gloom  emerged  1005 

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  Lusitanian  Prince, — who,  heaven-inspired,  1010 

To  love  of  useful  glory  roused  mankind, 

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       1015 
Of  steaming  crowds,  of  rank  disease,  and  death, 
Behold  he  rushing  cuts  the  briny  flood 
Swift  as  the  gale  can  bear  the  ship  along, 


SUMMER.  93 

And  from  the  partners  of  that  cruel  trade 

Which  spoils  unhappy  Guinea  of  her  sons  1020 

Demands  his  share  of  prey,  demands  themselves. 

The  stormy  fates  descend  :  one  death  involves 

Tyrants  and  slaves  ;  when  straight,  their  mangled  limbs 

Crashing  at  once,  he  dyes  the  purple  seas 

With  gore,  and  riots  in  the  vengeful  meal.  1025 

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,         1030 
Impenetrable  shades,  recesses  foul, 
In  vapours  rank  and  blue  corruption  wrapt, 
Whose  gloomy  horrors  yet  no  desperate  foot 
Has  ever  dared  to  pierce — then  wasteful  forth 
Walks  the  dire  power  of  pestilent  disease.  1035 

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  1045 

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, 
The  fiercest  child  of  Nemesis  divine, 
Descends?     From  Ethiopia's  poisoned  woods,  1055 


94  THE  SEASONS. 

From  stifled  Cairo's  filth,  and  fetid  fields 
With  locust-armies  putrefying  heaped, 
This  great  destroyer  sprung.     Her  awful  rage 
The  brutes  escape :  man  is  her  destined  prey, 
Intemperate  man,  and  o'er  his  guilty  domes  1060 

She  draws  a  close  incumbent  cloud  of  death, 
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  1065 

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      1075 
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,  1080 

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  1085 

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 


SUMMER.  95 

Of  brazen-vaulted  skies,  of  iron  fields 

Where  drought  and  famine  starve  the  blasted  year  ; 

Fired  by  the  torch  of  noon  to  tenfold  rage,  1095 

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.  noo 

But  'tis  enough ;  return,  my  vagrant  muse, — 

A  nearer  scene  of  horror  calls  thee  home. 

Behold,  slow-settling  o'er  the  lurid  grove, 
Unusual  darkness  broods,  and  growing  gains 
The  full  possession  of  the  sky,  surcharged  1105 

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  ethereal  roused, 
The  dash  of  clouds,  or  irritating  war 

Of  fighting  winds,  while  all  is  calm  below,  1115 

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  stirs  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 —  1125 

Who  to  the  crowded  cottage  hies  him  fast, 
Or  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  downward  cave. 

'Tis  listening  fear  and  dumb  amazement  all, 


g6  THE  SEASONS. 

When  to  the  startled  eye  the  sudden  glance 

Appears  far  south  eruptive  through  the  cloud,  1130 

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,  JI35 

The  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  1145 

Pour  a  whole  flood  ;  and  yet,  its  flame  unquenched, 
The  inconquerable  lightning  struggles  through, 
Ragged  and  fierce  or  in  red  whirling  balls, 
And  fires  the  mountains  with  redoubled  rage. 
Black  from  the  stroke,  above,  the  smouldering  pine       1150 
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,  1155 

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, 
Wide-flaming  out,  their  trembling  inmates  shake.  1160 

Amid  Carnarvon's  mountains  rages  loud 
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  Snowdon's  peak,  1165 


SUMMER.  97 

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  1170 

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,  1175 

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,  1180 

The  enchanting  hope,  and  sympathetic  glow 
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  1185 

Still  in  harmonious  intercourse  they  lived 
The  rural  day,  and  talked  the  flowing  heart, 
Or  sighed  and  looked  unutterable  things. 

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. 

Presaging  instant  fate,  her  bosom  heaved  1195 

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 

In  Heaven  repressed  her  fear;   it  grew,  and  shook        1203 
Her  frame  near  dissolution.     He  perceived 
The  unequal  conflict,  and,  as  angels  look 


98  THE  SEASONS. 

On  dying  saints,  his  eyes  compassion  shed, 
With  love  illumined  high.     '  Fear  not,'  he  said, 
'Sweet  innocence!    thou  stranger  to  offence,  1205 

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,        1215 
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 

The  well-dissembled  mourner  stooping  stands, 
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  1225 

A  purer  azure.     Nature  from  the  storm 
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,  1230 

Set  off  abundant  by  the  yellow  ray, 
Invests  the  fields,  and  nature  smiles  revived. 

'Tis  beauty  all,  and  grateful  song  around, 
Joined  to  the  low  of  kine  and  numerous  bleat 
Of  flocks  thick-nibbling  through  the  clovered  vale.         1235 
And  shall  the  hymn  be  marred  by  thankless  man, 
Most-favoured,  who  with  voice  articulate 
Should  lead  the  chorus  of  this  lower  world  ? 


SUMMER.  99 

Shall  he,  so  soon  forgetful  of  the  hand 

That  hushed  the  thunder,  and  serenes  the  sky,  1240 

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      1245 
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.       V 
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 ; 
While  from  his  polished  sides  a  dewy  light  1255 

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  1265 

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  a  hazel  copse, 

Where  winded  into  pleasing  solitudes  1270 

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  played 
H  2 


too  THE  SEASONS. 

Among  the  bending  willows,  falsely  he  1275 

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  swain!  1285 

A  lucky  chance,  that  oft  decides  the  fate 

Of  mighty  monarchs,  then  decided  thine. 

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  awhile  remained. 

A  pure  ingenuous  elegance  of  soul,  1295 

A  delicate  refinement,  known  to  few, 

Perplexed  his  breast  and  urged  him  to  retire  : 

But  love  forbade.     Ye  prudes  in  virtue,  say, 

Say,  ye  severest,  what  would  you  have  done  ? 

Meantime,  this  fairer  nymph  than  ever  blest  1300 

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  1305 

The  rival  goddesses  the  veil  divine 

Cast  unconfined,  and  gave  him  all  their  charms, 

Than,  Damon,  thou,  as  from  the  snowy  leg 

And  slender  foot  the  inverted  silk  she  drew  ; 

As  the  soft  touch  dissolved  the  virgin  zone,  1310 

And  through  the  parting  robe  the  alternate  breast. 


SUMMER.  i  c  i 

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,  1 3 1 5 

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 

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, 

As  shines  the  lily  through  the  crystal  mild,  1325 

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,  13  3° 

Rising  again,  the  latent  Damon  drew 

Such  maddening  draughts  of  beauty  to  the  soul, 

As  for  awhile  o'erwhelmed  his  raptured  thought 

With  luxury  too  daring.     Checked  at  last 

By  love's  respectful  modesty,  he  deemed  13 35 

The  theft  profane,  if  aught  profane  to  love 

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

With  headlong  fury  fled;   but  first  these  lines, 

Traced  by  his  ready  pencil,  on  the  bank 

With  trembling  hand  he  threw  :  'Bathe  on,  my  fair,    134° 

Yet  unbeheld— save  by  the  sacred  eye 

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,  13 45 

A  stupid  moment  motionless  she  stood: 

So  stands  the  statue  that  enchants  the  world, 

So  bending  tries  to  veil  the  matchless  boast, 


102  THE  SEASONS. 

• 

The  mingled  beauties  of  exulting  Greece. 

Recovering,  swift  she  flew  to  find  those  robes  1350 

Which  blissful  Eden  knew  not ;  and,  arrayed 

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,  13  55 

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  1360 

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,  1365 

Which  soon  her  Damon  kissed  with  weeping  joy  : 

'  Dear  youth !  sole  judge  of  what  these  verses  mean, 

By  fortune  too  much  favoured,  but  by  love 

Alas!  not  favoured  less,  be  still  as  now, 

Discreet  ;  the  time  may  come  you  need  not  fly.'  137° 

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  heaven, 
Incessant  rolled  into  romantic  shapes,  1375 

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  1380 

To  seek  the  distant  hills,  and  there  converse 
With  Nature— there  to  harmonize  his  heart, 
And  in  pathetic  song  to  breathe  around 
The  harmony  to  others.     Social  friends, 


SUMMER.  103 


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  139° 

Virtue  the  sons  of  interest  deem  romance, 

Now  called  abroad  enjoy  the  falling  day  ; 

Now  to  the  verdant  portico  of  woods, 

To  Nature's  vast  Lyceum,  forth  they  walk,  — 

By  that  kind  School  where  no  proud  master  reigns,      1395 

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  1405 

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  send,  i410 

Now  to  the  sister-hills  that  skirt  her  plain, 

To  lofty  Harrow  now,  and  now  to  where 

Majestic  Windsor  lifts  his  princely  brow. 

In  lovely  contrast  to  this  glorious  view 

Calmly  magnificent,  then  will  we  turn  1415 

To  where  the  silver  Thames  first  rural  grows. 

There  let  the  feasted  eye  unwearied  stray  ; 

Luxurious  there  rove  through  the  pendent  woods 

That  nodding  hang  o'er  Harrington's  retreat; 

And,  stooping  thence  to  Ham's  embowering  walks,        1420 

Beneath  whose  shades,  in  spotless  peace  retired, 


J04  THE  SEASONS. 

With  her,  the  pleasing  partner  of  his  heart, 

The  worthy  Queensberry  yet  laments  his  Gay, 

And  polished  Cornbury  woos  the  willing  muse, 

Slow  let  us  trace  the  matchless  vale  of  Thames  1425 

Fair-winding  up  to  where  the  muses  haunt 

In  Twickenham's  bowers,  and  for  their  Pope  implore 

The  healing  god,  to  royal  Hampton's  pile, 

To  Clermont's  terraced  height,  and  Esher's  groves, 

Where  in  the  sweetest  solitude,  embraced  1430 

By  the  soft  windings  of  the  silent  Mole, 

From  courts  and  senates  Pelham  finds  repose. 

Enchanting  vale  !   beyond  whate'er  the  muse 

Has  of  Achaia  or  Hesperia  sung. 

O  vale  of  bliss!    O  softly  swelling  hills!  J435 

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 
And  glittering  towns  and  gilded  streams,  till  all  1440 

The  stretching  landscape  into  smoke  decays  ! 
Happy  Britannia  !   where  the  Queen  of  Arts, 
Inspiring  vigour,  LIBERTY,  abroad 
Walks  unconfined  even  to  thy  farthest  cots, 
And  scatters  plenty  with  unsparing  hand.  1445 

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,          1450 
Bellow  the  blackening  herds  in  lusty  droves. 
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,  1455 

Pleased,  and  unwearied  in  his  guarded  toil. 

Full  are  thy  cities  with  the  sons  of  art, 
And  trade  and  joy  in  every  busy  street 


SUMMER.  1 05 

Mingling  are  heard  ;   even  Drudgery  himself, 

As  at  the  car  he  sweats,  or  dusty  hews  1460 

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,  1465 

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  on  the  listed  plain  or  stormy  seas.  1470 

Mild  are  thy  glories  too,  as  o'er  the  plans 
Of  thriving  peace  thy  thoughtful  sires  preside  ; 
In  genius  and  substantial  learning  high ; 
For  every  virtue,  every  worth,  renowned ; 
Sincere,  plain- hearted,  hospitable,  kind  ;  1475 

Yet  like  the  mustering  thunder  when  provoked, 
The  dread  of  tyrants,  and  the  sole  resource 
Of  those  that  under  grim  impression  groan. 

Thy  sons  of  glory  many  !    Alfred  thine, 
In  whom  the  splendour  of  heroic  war  1480 

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      1485 
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;  1490 

Like  Cato  firm,  like  Aristides  just, 
Like  rigid  Cincinnatus  nobly  poor  ; 
A  dauntless  soul  erect,  who  smiled  on  death. 
Frugal  and  wise,  a  Walsingham  is  thine  ; 
A  Drake,  who  made  thee  mistress  of  the  deep  1495 


106  THE  SEASONS. 

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, 

Raleigh,  the  scourge  of  Spain  !    whose  breast  with  all     1500 

The  sage,  the  patriot,  and  the  hero  burned. 

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  1505 

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.  1510 

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,  I5I5 

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  152° 

Shall  turn,  and  tyrants  tremble  while  they  read. 

Bring  every  sweetest  flower,  and  let  me  strew 

The  grave  where  Russell  lies  ;   whose  tempered  blood, 

With  calmest  cheerfulness  for  thee  resigned, 

Stained  the  sad  annals  of  a  giddy  reign  1525 

Aiming  at  lawless  power,  though  meanly  sunk 

In  loose  inglorious  luxury.     With  him 

His  friend,  the  British  Cassius,  fearless  bled; 

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, 


SUMMER.  107 

Soon  as  the  light  of  dawning  science  spread 

Her  orient  ray,  and  waked  the  muses'  song. 

Thine  is  a  Bacon,  hapless  in  his  choice,  15 35 

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,  1540 

Exact,  and  elegant ;    in  one  rich  soul 

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  1545 

Held  in  the  magic  chain  of  words  and  forms 

And  definitions  void  :   he  led  her  forth, 

Daughter  of  heaven,  who  slow-ascending  still, 

Investigating  sure  the  chain  of  things, 

With  radiant  finger  points  to  heaven  again.  T55° 

The  generous  Ashley  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.  1555 

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  intelligence,  whom  God  1560 

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,  1565 

Is  not  wild  Shakespeare  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, 


io8  THE  SEASONS. 

Astonishing  as  chaos,  as  the  bloom  157° 

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;  15? 5 

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,  158° 

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          1585 
Soft-shooting,  o'er  the  face  diffuses  bloom 
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,  !59° 

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,  1595 

That  thunder  round  thy  rocky  coast,  set  up 
At  once  the  wonder,  terror,  and  delight 
Of  distant  nations,  whose  remotest  shore 
Can  soon  be  shaken  by  thy  naval  arm — 
Not  to  be  shook  thyself,  but  all  assaults  1600 

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

O  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  ;  1605 

The  tender-looking  charity,  intent 


SUMMER.  109 

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  ; 

WThile  in  the  radiant  front  superior  shines  1615 

That  first  paternal  virtue,  public  zeal, 

That  throws  o'er  all  an  equal  wide  survey, 

And,  ever  musing  on  the  common  weal, 

Still  labours  glorious  with  some  great  design. 

Low  walks  the  sun,  and  broadens  by  degrees  1620 

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  1625 

Of  Amphitrite  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.  1635 

A  sight  of  horror  to  the  cruel  wretch 
Who,  all  day  long  in  sordid  pleasure  rolled, 
Himself  a  useless  load,  has  squandered  vile 
Upon  his  scoundrel  train  what  might  have  cheered 
A  drooping  family  of  modest  worth.  1640 

But  to  the  generous  still-improving  mind, 
That  gives  the  hopeless  heart  to  sing  for  joy, 


no  THE  SEASONS. 

Diffusing  kind  beneficence  around 

Boastless,  as  now  descends  the  silent  dew, 

To  him  the  long  review  of  ordered  life  1645 

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  1650 

She  sends  on  earth ;  then  that  of  deeper  dye 
Steals  soft  behind  ;   and  then  a  deeper  still, 
In  circle  following  circle,  gathers  round 
To  close  the  face  of  things.     A  fresher  gale 
Begins  to  wave  the  wood  and  stir  the  stream,  1655 

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  1660 

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  1665 

The  ruddy  milkmaid  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.  1675 

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 


SUMMER. 


Ill 


Is  also  shunned,  whose  mournful  chambers  hold  1680 

(So  night-struck  fancy  dreams)  the  yelling  ghost. 

Among  the  crooked  lanes,  on  every  hedge, 
The  glow-worm  lights  his  lamp,  and  through  the  dark 
Twinkles  a  moving  gem.     On  Evening's  heel 
Night  follows  fast;    not  in  her  winter  robe  1685 

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, 
While  wavering  woods  and  villages  and  streams  1690 

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  1695 

Sweet  Venus  shines,  and  from  her  genial  rise, 
When  daylight  sickens,  till  it  springs  afresh, 
Unrivalled  reigns  the  fairest  lamp  of  night. 
As  thus  the  effulgence  tremulous  I  drink 
With  cherished  gaze,  the  lambent  lightnings  shoot         1700 
Across  the  sky,  or  horizontal  dart 
In  wondrous  shapes,  by  fearful  murmuring  crowds 
Portentous  deemed.     Amid  the  radiant  orbs 
That  more  than  deck,  that  animate  the  sky, 
The  life-infusing  suns  of  other  worlds,  i7°5 

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,  1710 

The  guilty  nations  tremble.     But,  above 
Those  superstitious  horrors  that  enslave 
The  fond  sequacious  herd,  to  mystic  faith 
And  blind  amazement  prone,  the  enlightened  few, 
Whose  godlike  minds  philosophy  exalts,  1715 

The  glorious  stranger  hail.     They  feel  a  joy 


112  THE  SEASONS. 

Divinely  great ;  they  in  their  power  exult, — 

That  wondrous  force  of  thought  which  mounting  spurns 

This  dusky  spot  and  measures  all  the  sky, 

While  from  his  far  excursion  through  the  wilds  1720 

Of  barren  ether,  faithful  to  his  time, 

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  1725 

Reviving  moisture  on  the  numerous  orbs 

Through  which  his  long  ellipsis  winds,  perhaps 

To  lend  new  fuel  to  declining  suns, 

To  light  up  worlds,  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  1735 

New  to  the  dawning  of  celestial  day. 
Hence  through  her  nourished  powers,  enlarged  by  thee, 
She  springs  aloft  with  elevated  pride 
Above  the  tangling  mass  of  low  desires 
That  bind  the  fluttering  crowd,  and,  angel- winged,        1740 
The  heights  of  science  and  of  virtue  gains 
Where  all  is  calm  and  clear,  with  nature  round, 
Or  in  the  starry  regions  or  the  abyss, 
To  reason's  and  to  fancy's  eye  displayed, — 
The  first  up-tracing  from  the  dreary  void  1745 

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,  17  5° 

Obvious  or  more  remote,  with  livelier  sense, 
Diffusive  painted  on  the  rapid  mind. 

Tutored  by  thee,  hence  poetry  exalts 


SUMMER.  113 

Her  voice  to  ages,  and  informs  the  page 

With  music,  image,  sentiment,  and  thought,  !755 

Never  to  die, — the  treasure  of  mankind, 

Their  highest  honour,  and  their  truest  joyj | 

Without  thee  what  were  unenlightened  man  ? 
A  savage  roaming  through  the  woods  and  wilds 
In  quest  of  prey ;    and  with  the  unfashioned  fur  1760 

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  guafdian  law  were  his  ;    nor  various  skill  1765 

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  !  1770 

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  *775 

To  live  like  brothers,  and  conjunctive  all 
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  1780 

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 
Creation  through,  and,  from  that  full  complex  1785 

Of  never-ending  wonders,  to  conceive 
Of  the  Sole  Being  right,  who  spoke  the  word, 
And  Nature  moved  complete.     With  inward  view, 
Thence  on  the  ideal  kingdom  swift  she  turns 
Her  eye,  and  instant  at  her  powerful  glance  1790 


114  THE  SEASONS.  —  SUMMER. 

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,  1795 

And  notion  quite  abstract;   where  first  begins 

The  world  of  spirits,  action  all,  and  life 

Unfettered  and  unmixed.     But  here  the  cloud 

(So  wills  Eternal  Providence)  sits  deep. 

Enough  for  us  to  know  that  this  dark  state,  1800 

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  the  rising  mind.  1805 


END  OF   SUMMER. 


AUTUMN. 

CROWNED  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  5 

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 
Awhile  engage.     Thy  noble  cares  she  knows, 
The  patriot  virtues  that  distend  thy  thought, 
Spread  on  thy  front,  and  in  thy  bosom  glow, 
While  listening  senates  hang  upon  thy  tongue  15 

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         25 
Of  parting  Summer,  a  serener  blue, 
With  golden  light  enlivened,  wide  invests 
I  2 


n6  THE  SEASONS. 

The  happy  world.     Attempered  suns  arise, 

Sweet-beamed,  and  shedding  oft  through  lucid  clouds 

A  pleasing  calm ;   while  broad  and  brown  below  30 

Extensive  harvests  hang  the  heavy  head. 

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.  35 

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, 
i        These  are  thy  blessings,  Industry !   rough  power 
\  Whom  labour  still  attends  and  sweat  and  pain, 

Yet  the  kind  source  of  every  gentle  art  45 

And  all  the  soft  civility  of  life, 

Raiser  of  human  kind,  by  Nature  cast 

Naked  and  helpless  out  amid  the  woods 

And  wilds  to  rude  inclement  elements, 

With  various  seeds  of  art  deep  in  the  mind  50 

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  55 

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,  60 

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 ; 


AUTUMN.  117 

For  home  he  had  not  :   home  is  the  resort  65 

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  unenjoyed  along, 

A  waste  of  time  !    till  Industry  approached 

And  roused  him  from  his  miserable  sloth, 

His  faculties  unfolded,  pointed  out 

Where  lavish  Nature  the  directing  hand  75 

Of  art  demanded,  showed  him  how  to  raise 

His  feeble  force  by  the  mechanic  powers, 

To  dig  the  mineral  from  the  vaulted  earth, 

On  what  to  turn  the  piercing  rage  of  fire, 

On  what  the  torrent  and  the  gathered  blast ;  80 

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,  85 

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,  9° 

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.  95 

Then  gathering  men  their  natural  powers  combined 
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, 


Ii8  THE  SEASONS. 

Distinguished  orders,  animated  arts, 

And,  with  joint  force  oppression  chaining,  set 

Imperial  justice  at  the  helm,  yet  still 

To  them  accountable  ;  nor  slavish  dreamed  105 

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,  no 

Into  perfection  wrought.     Uniting  all, 
Society  grew  numerous,  high,  polite, 
And  happy.     Nurse  of  art,  the  city  reared 
In  beauteous  pride  her  tower-encircled  head  ; 
And,  stretching  street  on  street,  by  thousands  drew,        115 
From  twining  woody  haunts,  or  the  tough  yew 
To  bows  strong-straining,  her  aspiring  sons. 

Then  commerce  brought  into  the  public  walk 
The  busy  merchant ;   the  big  warehouse  built ; 
Raised  the  strong  crane;   choked  up  the  loaded  street    120 
With  foreign  plenty;   and  thy  stream,  O  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  125 

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  oak 
To  bear  the  British  thunder,  black  and  bold 
The  roaring  vessel  rushed  into  the  main. 

Then  too  the  pillared  dome  magnific  heaved 
Its  ample  roof,  and  luxury  within  135 

Poured  out .  her  glittering  stores  :   the  canvas  smooth, 
With  glowing  life  protuberant,  to  the  view 
Embodied  rose  ;   the  statue  seemed  to  breathe 


AUTUMN.  119 

And  soften  into  flesh  beneath  the  touch 

Of  forming  art,  imagination-flushed.  14° 

\       All  is  the  gift  of  Industry,— whate'er 
\  Exalts,  embellishes,  and  renders  life 

Delightful.     Pensive  Winter,  cheered  by  him, 
J  Sits  at  the  social  fire,  and  happy  hears 

The  excluded  tempest  idly  rave  along;  145 

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,  recal  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  155 

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  160 

And  steal  unfelt  the  sultry  hours  away. 
Behind  the  master  walks,  builds  up  the  shocks, 
And  conscious,  glancing  oft  on  every  side 
His  stated  eye,  feels  his  heart  heave  with  joy. 
The  gleaners  spread  around,  and  here  and  there,  165 

Spike  after  spike,  their  scanty  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 


120  THE  SEASONS. 

Of  fortune  ponder, — how  your  sons  may  want  175 

What  now  with  hard  reluctance  faint  ye  give. 

The  lovely  young  Lavinia  once  had  friends  : 
And  fortune  smiled  deceitful  on  her  birth ; 
For,  in  her  helpless  years  deprived  of  all, 
Of  every  stay  save  innocence  and  heaven,  180 

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.  185 

Together  thus  they  shunned  the  cruel  scorn 
Which  virtue,  sunk  to  poverty,  would  meet 
From  giddy  fashion  and  low-minded  pride ; 
Almost  on  nature's  common  bounty  fed  ; 
Like  the  gay  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,  195 

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  200 

Of  evening,  shone  in  tears.     A  native  grace 
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,  205 

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 


AUTUMN.  121 

A  myrtle  rises  far  from  human  eye 

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,  215 

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  free  to  follow  nature  was  the  mode. 

He  then,  his  fancy  with  autumnal  scenes 

Amusing,  chanced  beside  his  reaper- train  225 

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;  235 

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 
Recals  that  patron  of  my  happy  life 
From  whom  my  liberal  fortune  took  its  rise, 
Now  to  the  dust  gone  down, — his  houses,  lands,  245 

And  once  fair-spreading  family  dissolved. 
'Tis  said  that  in  some  lone  obscure  retreat, 


122  THE  SEASONS. 

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  inquiring,  from  herself  he  found 
She  was  the  same,  the  daughter  of  his  friend, 
Of  bountiful  Acasto,  who  can  speak  255 

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.  260 

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?  265 

She  whom  my  restless  gratitude  has  sought 
So  long  in  vain  ?     O  heavens !    the  very  same, 
The  softened  image  of  my  noble  friend, 
Alive  his  every  look,  his  every  feature 
More  elegantly  touched.     Sweeter  than  Spring  !  270 

Thou  sole-surviving  blossom  from  the  root 
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,  275 

Though  poverty's  cold  wind  and  crushing  rain 
Beat  keen  and  heavy  on  thy  tender  years? 
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  ill  befits 
Acasto's  daughter,  his  whose  open  stores, 
Though  vast,  were  little  to  his  ample  heart, 


AUTUMN.  123 

The  father  of  a  country,  thus  to  pick  285 

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,  295 

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      305 
Of  setting  life  shone  on  her  evening-hours, 
Not  less  enraptured  than  the  happy  pair; 
Who  flourished  long  in  tender  bliss,  and  reared 
A  numerous  offspring,  lovely  like  themselves, 
And  good,  the  grace  of  all  the  country  round.  3 1  o 

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;  315 

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  320 


124  THE  SEASONS. 

A  rustling  shower  of  yet  untimely  leaves. 

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,  325 

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 

Shook  waste.     And  sometimes  too  a  burst  of  rain,          330 

Swept  from  the  black  horizon,  broad  descends 

In  one  continuous  flood.     Still  overhead 

The  mingling  tempest  weaves  its  gloom,  and  still 

The  deluge  deepens,  till  the  fields  around 

Lie  sunk  and  flatted  in  the  sordid  wave.  335 

Sudden  the  ditches  swell ;  the  meadows  swim. 

Red  from  the  hills  innumerable  streams 

Tumultuous  roar,  and  high  above  its  bank 

The  river  lift, — before  whose  rushing  tide, 

Herds,  flocks,  and  harvests,  cottages,  and  swains,  34° 

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  '    345 

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 

Of  clamant  children  dear.     Ye  masters,  then,  35° 

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  355 

Which  covers  yours  with  luxury  profuse, 

Makes  your  glass  sparkle,  and  your  sense  rejoice  ; 


AUTUMN.  125 

Nor  cruelly  demand  what  the  deep  rains 
And  all-involving  winds  have  swept  away. 

Here  the  rude  clamour  of  the  sportsman's  joy,  360 

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,  365 

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  and  more  : 
Nor  on  the  surges  of  the  boundless  air, 
Though  borne  triumphant,  are  they  safe  ;  the  gun, 
Glanced  just  and  sudden  from  the  fowler's  eye, 
O'ertakes  their  sounding  pinions,  and  again  375 

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  385 

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, 


126  THE  SEASONS. 

For  sport  alone  pursues  the  cruel  chase, 

Amid  the  beamings  of  the  gentle  days.  395 

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.  400 

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  chapt, 
The  thistly  lawn,  the  thick  entangled  broom,  405 

Of  the  same  friendly  hue  the  withered  fern, 
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,  4 1 5 

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.  425 

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.  43° 


AUTUMN.  127 

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,         435 

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 

Expel  him,  circling  through  his  every  shift.  440 

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  445 

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,  455 

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,  460 

The  roused-up  lion,  resolute  and  slow, 
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  465 

Vindictive  fix,  and  let  the  ruffian  die ; 
Or,  growling  horrid,  as  the  brindled  boar 


128  THE  SEASONS. 

Grins  fell  destruction,  to  the  monster's  heart 
Let  the  dart  lighten  from  the  nervous  arm. 

These  Britain  knows  not.     Give,  ye  Britons,  then        470 
Your  sportive  fury,  pitiless,  to  pour 
Loose  on  the  nightly  robber  of  the  fold. 
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         475 
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  echoes  tossed  ; 
Then  snatch  the  mountains  by  their  woody  tops  ; 
Rush  down  the  dangerous  steep  ;    and  o'er  the  lawn, 
In  fancy  swallowing  up  the  space  between,  485 

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  grey  renown 
With  woodland  honours  graced, — the  fox's  fur,  495 

Depending  decent  from  the  roof,  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 
Beneath  the  smoking  sirloin  stretched  immense 


AUTUMN.  129 

From  side  to  side,  in  which  with  desperate  knife  505 

They  deep  incision  make,  talking  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  515 

Of  Maia  to  the  love-sick  shepherdess, 

On  violets  diffused,  while  soft  she  hears 

Her  panting  shepherd  stealing  to  her  arms. 

Nor  wanting  is  the  brown  October,  drawn 

Mature  and  perfect  from  his  dark  retreat  520 

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  dull  round,  beneath  a  cloud  of  smoke  525 

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  idlenesses  laid  530 

Aside,  frequent  and  full  the  dry  divan 
Close  in  firm  circle,  and  set  ardent  in 
For  serious  drinking.     Nor  evasion  sly 
Nor  sober  shift  is  to  the  puking  wretch 
Indulged  apart  ;  but  earnest  brimming  bowls  535 

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, 
Reels  fast  from  theme  to  theme— from  horses,  hounds, 
To  church  or  mistress,  politics  or  ghost —  541 

K 


130  THE  SEASONS. 

In  endless  mazes  intricate,  perplexed. 

Meantime,  with  sudden  interruption  loud, 

The  impatient  catch  bursts  from  the  joyous  heart. 

That  moment  touched  is  every  kindred  soul ;  545 

And,  opening  in  a  full-mouthed  cry  of  joy, 

The  laugh,  the  slap,  the  jocund  curse  go  round, — 

While,  from  their  slumbers  shook,  the  kennelled  hounds 

Mix  in  the  music  of  the  day  again. 

As  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  tapers  dance,  555 

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  560 

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  565 

Awful  and  deep,  a  black  abyss  of  drink, 

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  rein  the  prancing  steed —  575 

The  cap,  the  whip,  the  masculine  attire, 
In  which  they  roughen  to  the  sense,  and  all 
The  winning  softness  of  their  sex  is  lost ! 


AUTUMN.  131 

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.  585 

Oh  !  may  their  eyes  no  miserable  sight, 

Save  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 

And,  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,  595 

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 

And  heighten  Nature's  dainties ;  in  their  race  600 

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,  605 

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,  610 

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 

K  2 


132  THE  SEASONS. 

The  woodlands  raise;   the  clustering  nuts  for  you  615 

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  an  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,  625 

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  630 

Incessant  melts  away.     The  juicy  pear 

Lies  in  a  soft  profusion  scattered  round. 

A  various  sweetness  swells  the  gentle  race, 

By  Nature's  all-refining  hand  prepared, 

Of  tempered  sun,  and  water,  earth,  and  air,  635 

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 

The  piercing  cider  for  the  thirsty  tongue — 

Thy  native  theme,  and  boon  inspirer  too, 

Phillips,  Pomona's  bard  !     The  second  thou  645 

Who  nobly  durst,  in  rhyme-unfettered  verse, 

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. 


,      AUTUMN.  133 

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,  655 

Where  simple  Nature  reigns,  and  every  view 
Diffusive  spreads  the  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  660 

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,  665 

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  meditate  the  book  670 

Of  Nature  ever  open,  aiming  thence 
Warm  from  the  heart  to  learn  the  moral  song. 
Here,  as  I  steal  along  the  sunny  wall, 
Where  Autumn  basks,  with  fruit  empurpled  deep, 
My  pleasing  theme  continual  prompts  my  thought —       675 
Presents  the  downy  peach,  the  shining  plum 
With  a  fine  bluish  mist  of  animals 
Clouded,  the  ruddy  nectarine,  and  dark 
Beneath  his  ample  leaf  the  luscious  fig. 
The  vine  too  here  her  curling  tendrils  shoots,  680 

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,  685 

The  vineyard  swells  refulgent  on  the  day, 
Spreads  o'er  the  vale,  or  up  the  mountain  climbs 


134  THE  SEASONS. 

Profuse,  and  drinks  amid  the  sunny  rocks, 

From  cliff  to  cliff  increased,  the  heightened  blaze. 

Low  bend  the  gravid  boughs.     The  clusters  clear,  690 

Half  through  the  foliage  seen,  or  ardent  flame 

Or  shine  transparent  ;   while  perfection  breathes 

White  o'er  the  turgent  film  the  living  dew. 

As  thus  they  brighten  with  exalted  juice, 

Touched  into  flavour  by  the  mingling  ray,  695 

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,  700 

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  705 

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  715 

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 ; 


AUTUMN.  135 

Whence  glaring  oft,  with  many  a  broadened  orb, 

He  frights  the  nations.     Indistinct  on  earth, 

Seen  through  the  turbid  air,  beyond  the  life  725 

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,  730 

A  formless  grey  confusion  covers  all : 

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.  735 

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 
Of  water,  scooped  among  the  hollow  rocks,  74° 

Whence  gush  the  streams,  the  ceaseless  fountains  play, 
And  their  unfailing  wealth  the  rivers  draw. 
Some  sages  say  that,  where  the  numerous  wave 
For  ever  lashes  the  resounding  shore, 

Sucked  through  the  sandy  stratum  every  way,  745 

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,  75° 

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  755 

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, 
When  the  sweet  valleys  offer  to  their  toil 


136  THE  SEASONS. 

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  long  ? 

Besides,  the  hard  agglomerating  salts,  .  766 

The  spoil  of  ages,  would  impervious  choke 

Their  secret  channels,  or  by  slow  degrees 

High  as  the  hills  protrude  the  swelling  yales. 

Old  ocean  too,  sucked  through  the  porous  globe,  770 

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  775 

Refresh  the  globe  and  all  its  joyous  tribes? 
O  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, — from  Imaiis  stretched 
Athwart  the  roving   Tartar's  sullen  bounds; 
Give  opening  Hemus  to  my  searching  eye,  785 

And  high  Olympus  pouring  many  a  stream. 
Oh !   from  the  sounding  summits  of  the  north, 
The  Dofrine  'Hills,  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  of  the  world ; 
And  all  the  dreadful  mountains,  wrapt  in  storm, 
Whence  wide  Siberia  draws  her  lonely  floods —  795 

Oh  !    sweep  the  eternal  snows.     Hung  o'er  the  deep, 


AUTUMN.  137 

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,  800 

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  805 

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,  810 

The  gaping  fissures  to  receive  the  rains, 

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,  815 

The  guttered  rocks  and  mazy- running  clefts, 

That,  while  the  stealing  moisture  they  transmit, 

Retard  its  motion,  and  forbid  its  waste. 

Beneath  the  incessant  weeping  of  these  drains, 

I  see  the  rocky  siphons  stretched  immense,  820 

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,      825 

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,  830 

These  vapours  in  continual  current  draw, 

And  send  them  o'er  the  fair-divided  earth 

In  bounteous  rivers  to  the  deep  again, 


138  THE  SEASONS. 

A  social  commerce  hold,  and  firm  support 

The  full-adjusted  harmony  of  things.  835 

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,  840 

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, 
With  other  kindred  birds  of  season  :   there  845 

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  850 

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.  855 

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  860 

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—  865 

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 


AUTUMN.  139 

And  rude  resounding  shore  are  one  wild  cry.  870 

Here  the  plain  harmless  native  his  small  flock 

And  herd  diminutive  of  many  hues 

Tends  on  the  little  island's  verdant  swell, 

The  shepherd's  seagirt  reign ;    or,  to  the  rocks 

Dire-clinging,  gathers  his  ovarious  food  ;  873 

Or  sweeps  the  fishy  shore;    or  treasures  up 

The  plumage,  rising  full,  to  form  the  bed 

Of  luxury.     And  here  awhile  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,  885 

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,  890 

With,  sylvan  Jed,  thy  tributary  brook) 

To  where  the  north- inflated  tempest  foams 

O'er  Orca's  or  Berubium's  highest  peak — 

Nurse  of  a  people,  in  misfortune's  school 

Trained  up  to  hardy  deeds,  soon  visited  895 

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  geiierous  undiminished  state, 

Too  much  in  vain  !    Hence,  of  unequal  bounds 

Impatient,  and  by  tempting  glory  borne 

O'er  every  land,  for  evenp'  land  their  life  905 

Has  flowed  profuse,  their  piercing  genius  planned, 


140  THE  SEASONS. 

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  910 

That  best,  that  godlike  luxury  is  placed, 
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,  915 

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; 
How  all-enlivening  trade  to  rouse,  and  wing 
The  prosperous  sail  from  every  growing  port  925 

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, 
Her  hope,  her  stay,  her  darling,  and  her  boast,  930 

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,  935 

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  940 

Persuasion  flows,  and  wins  the  high  debate  ; 
While,  mixed  in  thee,  combine  the  charm  of  youth, 
The  force  of  manhood,  and  the  depth  of  age. 


AUTUMN.  141 

Thee,  Forbes,  too,  whom  every  worth  attends, 

As  truth  sincere,  as  weeping  friendship  kind,  945 

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  known  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  ;  955 

And  give  the  season  in  its  latest  view. 

Meantime,  light-shadowing  all,  a  sober  calm 
Fleeces  unbounded  ether,  whose  least  wave 
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,  965 

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 
And  through  the  saddened  grove,  where  scarce  is  heard 
One  dying  strain  to  cheer  the  woodman's  toil. 
Haply  some  widowed  songster  pours  his  plaint 
Far  in  faint  warblings  through  the  tawny  copse  ;  975 

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 


142  THE  SEASONS. 

On  the  dead  tree,  a  dull  despondent  flock,  980 

With  not  a  brightness  waving  o'er  their  plumes, 

And  nought  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,  985 

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 
Incessant  rustles  from  the  mournful  grove,  990 

Oft  startling  such  as  studious  walk  below, 
And  slowly  circles  through  the  waving  air. 
But,  should  a  quicker  breeze  amid  the  boughs 
Sob,  o'er  the  sky  the  leafy  ruin  streams, 
Till,  choked  and  matted  with  the  dreary  shower,  995 

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  1000 

Of  stronger  fruits  falls  from  the  naked  tree ; 
And  woods,  fields,  gardens,  orchards,  all  around 
A  desolated  prospect  thrills  the  soul. 

He  comes  !  he  comes  !  in  every  breeze  the  power 
Of  philosophic  Melancholy  comes  !  1005 

His  near  approach  the  sudden-starting  tear, 
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,  1015 

Crowd  fast  into  the  mind's  creative  eye. 


AUTUMN.  143 

As  fast  the  correspondent  passions  rise, 

As  varied,  and  as  high, — devotion  raised 

To  rapture  and  divine  astonishment  ; 

The  love  of  Nature  unconfined,  and  chief  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  ; 

The  wonder  which  the  dying  patriot  draws,  1025 

Inspiring  glory  through  remotest  time  ; 

The  awakened  throb  for  virtue  and  for  fame  ; 

The  sympathies  of  love  and  friendship  dear, 

With  all  the  social  offspring  of  the  heart. 

Oh !  bear  me  then  to  vast  embowering  shades,  1030 

To  twilight  groves  and  visionary  vales, 
To  weeping  grottos  and  prophetic  glooms, 
Where  angel-forms  athwart  the  solemn  dtisk 
Tremendous  sweep,  or  seem  to  sweep,  along, 
And  voices  more  than  human,  through  the  void  1035 

Deep-sounding,  seize  the  enthusiastic  ear. 

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  land 
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 
By  genius  fired,  such  ardent  genius  tamed  1045 

By  cool  judicious  art,  that  in  the  strife 
All-beauteous  Nature  fears  to  be  outdone. 
And  there,  O  Pitt,  thy  country's  early  boast, 
There  let  me  sit  beneath  the  sheltered  slopes, 
Or  in  that  temple  where  in  future  times  1050 

Thou  well  shalt  merit  a  distinguished  name, 
And,  with  thy  converse  blest,  catch  the  last  smiles 
Of  Autumn  beaming  o'er  the  yellow  woods. 


144  THE  SEASONS. 

While  there  with  thee  the  enchanted  round  I  walk, 

The  regelated  wild,  gay  fancy  then  1055 

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.  1060 

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      1065 

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  should st  here  inglorious  range, 

Instead  of  squadrons  flaming  o'er  the  field, 

And  long  embattled  hosts!  when  the  proud  foe,  1075 

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,          1080 

Thy  tempered  ardour,  and  thy  veteran  skill. 

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,       1085 
Where  marshes  stagnate,  and  where  rivers  wind, 
Cluster  the  rolling  fogs,  and  swim  along 
The  dusky-mantled  lawn.     Meanwhile  the  moon, 
Full-orbed,  and  breaking  through  the  scattered  clouds, 


AUTUMN.  145 

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  us  his  blaze  again 

Void  of  its  flame,  and  sheds  a  softer  day.  1095 

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, 

While  rocks  and  floods  reflect  the  quivering  gleam,      noo 

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,  1105 

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  mo 

High  to  the  crown  of  heaven,  and,  all  at  once 
Relapsing  quick,  as  quickly  reascend, 
And  mix,  and  thwart,  extinguish,  and  renew, 
All  ether  coursing  in  a  maze  of  light. 

From  look  to  look,  contagious  through  the  crowd,        1 1 1  5 
The  panic  runs,  and  into  wondrous  shapes 
The  appearance  throws — armies  in  meet  array, 
Thronged  with  aerial  spears,  and  steeds  of  fire, 
Till,  the  long  lines  of  full-extended  war 
In  bleeding  fight  commixed,  the  sanguine  flood  1120 

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,  1125 

And  late  at  night  in  swallowing  earthquake  sunk, 
L 


146  THE  SEASONS. 

Or  hideous  wrapt  in  fierce  ascending  flame ; 

Of  sallow  famine,  inundation,  storm  ; 

Of  pestilence,  and  every  great  distress; 

Empires  sub  versed,  when  ruling  fate  has  struck  1130 

The  unalterable  hour  :   even  Nature's  self 

Is  deemed  to  totter  on  the  brink  of  time. 

Not  so  the  man  of  philosophic  eye 

And  inspect  sage ;   the  waving  brightness  he 

Curious  surveys,  inquisitive  to  know  1135 

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.  1140 

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  1145 

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,  1150 

Struck  from  the  root  of  slimy  rushes,  blue 
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  absorpt,  1155 

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,  1160 

Innoxious  gleaming  on  the  horse's  mane 
The  meteor  sits,  and  shows  the  narrow  path 


AUTUMN.  147 

That  winding  leads  through  pits  of  death,  or  else 
Instructs  him  how  to  take  the  dangerous  ford. 

The  lengthened  night  elapsed,  the  morning  shines     1165 
Serene,  in  all  her  dewy  beauty  bright, 
Unfolding  fair  the  last  autumnal  day. 
And  now  the  mountain  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  dewdrops  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,  not  dreaming  ill,  H75 

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;  1180 

And,  used  to  milder  scents,  the  tender  race 
By  thousands  tumble  from  their  honeyed  domes, 
Convolved,  and  agonizing  in  the  dust. 
And  was  it  then  for  this  ye  roamed  the  Spring, 
Intent  from  flower  to  flower?  for  this  ye  toiled  1185 

Ceaseless  the  burning  Summer-heats  away? 
For  this  in  Autumn  searched  the  blooming  waste, 
Nor  lost  one  sunny  gleam?  for  this  sad  fate? 
O  man !   tyrannic  lord !  how  long,  how  long 
Shall  prostrate  Nature  groan  beneath  your  rage  1190 

Awaiting  renovation  ?     When  obliged, 
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  i*95 

Again  regale  them  on  some  smiling  day? 
See  where  the  stony  bottom  of  their  town 
L  2 


148  THE  SEASONS. 

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         1205 

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  threads 
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        1215 
The  radiant  sun  how  gay!   how  calm  below 
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.  1225 

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 


AUTUMN.  149 

That  with  to-morrow's  sun  their  annual  toil 

Begins  again  the  never-ceasing  round. 

\ 

Oh!   knew  he  but  his  happiness,  of  men  1235 

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  wanting,  whose  proud  gate 
Each  morning  vomits  out  the  sneaking  crowd  1240 

Of  flatterers  false,  and  in  their  turn  abused  ? 
Vile  intercourse  !     What  though  the  glittering  robe, 
Of  every  hue  reflected  light  can  give, 
Or  floating  loose  or  stiff  with  mazy  gold, 
The  pride  and  gaze  of  fools,  oppress  him  not?  1245 

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 
Flames  not  with  costly  juice;   nor  sunk  in  beds,  1250 

Oft  of  gay  care,  he  tosses  out  the  night, 
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 —  1255 

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, 
In  herbs  and  fruits  ;  whatever  greens  the  Spring  1260 

When  heaven  descends  in  showers,  or  bends  the  bough 
WThen  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,  1265 

Luxuriant  spread  o'er  all  the  lowing  vale ; 
Nor  bleating  mountains ;  nor  the  chide  of  streams 
And  hum  of  bees,  inviting  sleep  sincere 


150  THE  SEASONS. 

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  grottos,  gleaming  lakes,  and  fountain  clear. 

Here  too  dwells  simple  truth ;   plain  innocence  ; 

Unsullied  beauty  ;   sound  unbroken  youth, 

Patient  of  labour,  with  a  little  pleased;  1275 

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, — 
Unpierced  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,  1285 

Find  other  lands  beneath  another  sun. 
Let  this  through  cities  work  his  eager  way 
By  legal  outrage  and  established  guile, 
The  social  sense  extinct ;   and  that  ferment 
Mad  into  tumult  the  seditious  herd,  1290 

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,  1295 

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,  1 300 

At  distance  safe,  the  human  tempest  roar, 
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  1305 


AUTUMN.  151 

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, 

Takes  what  she  liberal  gives,  nor  thinks  of  more.          1310 

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, 

And  not  an  opening  blossom  breathes  in  vain.  1315 

In  Summer  he,  beneath  the  living  shade, 

Such  as  o'er  frigid  Tempe  wont  to  wave, 

Or  Hemus  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         1325 

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,  1330 

Disclosed  and  kindled  by  refining  frost, 

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;  J335 

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  !34° 

Ecstatic  shine,  the  little  strong  embrace 

Of  prattling  children  twined  around  his  neck 


152  THE  SEASONS.— AUTUMN. 

And  emulous  to  please  him,  calling  forth 

The  fond  parental  soul.     Nor  purpose  gay, 

Amusement,  dance,  or  song  he  sternly  scorns;  1345 

For  happiness  and  true  philosophy 

Are  of  the  social  still  and  smiling  kind. 

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. 

O  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  1355 

Profusely  scattered  o'er  the  blue  immense, 
Shew  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,  1360 

O'er  that  the  rising  system,  more  complex, 
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 —  1365 

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  ! 


END  OF  AUTUMN. 


WINTER. 

SEE,  Winter  comes  to  rule  the  varied  year, 

Sullen  and  sad,  with  all  his  rising  train — 

Vapours,  and  clouds,  and  storms.     Be  these  my  theme, 

These,  that  exalt  the  soul  to  solemn  thought 

And  heavenly  musing.     Welcome,  kindred  glooms  !  5 

Congenial  horrors,  hail !     With  frequent  foot, 

Pleased  have  I  in  my  cheerful  morn  of  life, 

When  nursed  by  careless  solitude  I  lived 

And  sung  of  Nature  with  unceasing  joy, 

Pleased  have  I  wandered  through  your  rough  domain;     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  1 5 

Looked  out  the  joyous  Spring — looked  out  and  smiled. 

To  thee,  the  patron  of  this  first  essay, 
The  muse,  O  Wilmington !   renews  her  song. 
Since  has  she  rounded  the  revolving  year: 
Skimmed  the  gay  Spring;   on  eagle-pinions  borne,  20 

Attempted  through  the  Summer  blaze  to  rise  ; 
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,  25 

To  suit  her  sounding  cadence  to  the  floods, — 
As  is  her  theme,  her  numbers  wildly  great. 
Thrice  happy,  could  she  fill  thy  judging  ear 


154  THE  SEASONS. 

With  bold  description  and  with  manly  thought ! 

Nor  art  thou  skilled  in  awful  schemes  alone,  30 

And  how  to  make  a  mighty  people  thrive; 

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,  35 

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, 
And  fierce  Aquarius  stains  the  inverted  year — 
Hung  o'er  the  farthest  verge  of  heaven,  the  sun 
Scarce  spreads  o'er  ether  the  dejected  day.  45 

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  55 

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.  60 

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, 


WINTER.  155 

Untended  spreading,  crop  the  wholesome  root.  65 

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        75 
That  grumbling  wave  below.     The  unsightly  plain 
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,  80 

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,  85 

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  90 

Recounts  his  simple  frolic  ;    much  he  talks, 
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  o'erspread,  95 

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,  100 

Calm,  sluggish,  silent ;    till,  again  constrained, 


156  THE  SEASONS. 

Between  two  meeting  hills  it  bursts  away, 

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.  105 

Nature,  great  parent !    whose  unceasing  hand 
Rolls  round  the  seasons  of  the  changeful  year, 
How  mighty,  how  majestic  are  thy  works  ! 
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  ?  115 

In  what  far-distant  region  of  the  sky, 
Hushed  in  deep  silence,  sleep  ye  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.  125 

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;  130 

And  on  the  flood  the  dancing  feather  floats. 
With  broadened  nostrils  to  the  sky  upturned, 
The  conscious  heifer  snuffs  the  stormy  gale. 
Even,  as  the  matron  at  her  nightly  task 
With  pensive  labour  draws  the  flaxen  thread,  135 

The  wasted  taper  and  the  crackling  flame 
Foretell  the  blast.    But  chief  the  plumy  race, 


The  t< 


WINTER.  157 


The  tenants  of  the  sky,  its  changes  speak. 

Retiring  from  the  downs,  where  all  day  long 

They  picked  their  scanty  fare,  a  blackening  train  140 

Of  clamorous  rooks  thick-urge  their  weary  flight, 

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.         145 

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, 

Eat  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  155 

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.  160 

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  165 

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. 


158  THE  SEASONS. 

Nor  less  at  land  the  loosened  tempest  reigns.  175 

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.  180 

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,  185 

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  sighs, 
That,  uttered  by  the  demon  of  the  night, 
Warn  the  devoted  wretch  of  woe  and  death. 

Huge  uproar  lords  it  wide.     The  clouds,  commixed     195 
With  stars  swift-gliding,  sweep  along  the  sky. 
All  nature  reels  :   till  Nature's  King,  who  oft 
Amid  tempestuous  darkness  dwells  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,  205 

And  contemplation,  her  sedate  compeer ; 
Let  me  shake  off  the  intrusive  cares  of  day, 
And  lay  the  meddling  senses  all  aside. 

i-     Where  now,  ye  lying  vanities  of  life ! 

•Ye  ever-tempting,  ever-cheating  train!  210 

Where  are  you  now  ?  and  what  is  your  amount  ? 


WINTER.  159 

Vexation,  disappointment,  and  remorse. 

Sad,  sickening  thought !    and  yet  deluded  man, 

A  scene  of  crude  disjointed  visions  past, 

And  broken  slumbers,  rises  still  resolved    ,  215 

With  new-flushed  hopes  to  run  the  giddy  round. 

Father  of  light  and  life  !   thou  Good  Supreme  ! 
O  teach  me  what  is  good ;    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  ! 


The  keener  tempests  come  ;   and  fuming  dun 
From  all  the  livid  east  or  piercing  north 
Thick  clouds  ascend,  in  whose  capacious  womb  225 

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  235 

Bow  their  hoar  heads  ;   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 
The  works  of  man.     Drooping,  the  labourer-ox  240 

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,  245 


160  THE  SEASONS. 

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  255 

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;      265 
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, 
The  billowy  tempest  whelms  ;   till,  upward  urged, 
The  valley  to  a  shining  mountain  swells, 
Tipt  with  a  wreath  high-curling  in  the  sky.  275 

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,  280 

Of  horrid  prospect,  shag  the  trackless  plain  ; 
Nor  finds  the  river  nor  the  forest,  hid 


WINTER. 


16 


Beneath  the  formless  wild  ;   but  wanders  on 
From  hill  to  dale  still  more  and  more  astray, 
Impatient  flouncing  through  the  drifted  heaps,  285 

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  blest  abode  of  man,— 
While  round  him  night  resistless  closes  fast, 
And  every  tempest,  howling  o'er  his  head,  295 

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  unknown, 
What  water— of  the  still  unfrozen  spring, 
In  the  loose  marsh  or  solitary  lake, 
Where  the  fresh  fountain  from  the  bottom  boils. 
These  check  his  fearful  steps  ;   and  down  he  sinks  305 

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.  310 

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!  315 

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, 

M 


1 62  THE  SEASONS. 

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, 
And  wanton,  often  cruel,  riot  waste, —  325 

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  330 

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  335 

Of  misery  ;   sore  pierced  by  wintry  winds, 
How  many  shrink  into  the  sordid  hut 
Of  cheerless  poverty  ;  how  many  shake 
With  all  the  fiercer  tortures  of  the  mind, 
Unbounded  passion,  madness,  guilt,  remorse, —  340 

Whence  tumbled  headlong  from  the  height  of  life 
They  furnish  matter  for  the  tragic  muse  ; 
Even  in  the  vale,  where  wisdom  loves  to  dwell 
With  friendship,  peace,  and  contemplation  joined, 
How  many,  racked  with  honest  passions,  droop  345 

In  deep  retired  distress;   how  many  stand 
Around  the  deathbed  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, —  350 

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, 
And  her  wide  wish  benevolence  dilate  ;  355 


WINTER. 


163 


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        360 
Into  the  horrors  of  the  gloomy  jail, — 
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  365 

Whose  every  street  and  public  meeting  glows 
With  open  freedom,  little  tyrants  raged, — 
Snatched  the  lean  morsel  from  the  starving  mouth, 
Tore  from  cold  wintry  limbs  the  tattered  weed, 
Even  robbed  them  of  the  last  of  comforts— sleep,  370 

The  free-born  Briton  to  the  dungeon  chained, 
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.  375 

O  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,  380 

And  bid  the  cruel  feel  the  pains  they  give. 
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  385 

And  lengthen  simple  justice  into  trade) — 
How  glorious  were  the  day  that  saw  these  broke, 
And  every  man  within  the  reach  of  right ! 


By  wintry  famine  roused,  from  all  the  tract 
Of  horrid  mountains  which  the  shining  Alps, 
M  2 


390 


164  THE  SEASONS. 

And  wavy  Apennines  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  ;  395 

And,  pouring  o'er  the  country,  bear  along, 

Keen  as  the  north-wind  sweeps  the  glossy  snow. 

All  is  their  prize.     They  fasten  on  the  steed, 

Press  him  to  earth,  and  pierce  his  mighty  heart. 

Nor  can  the  bull  his  awful  front  defend,  400 

Or  shake  the  murdering  savages  away. 

Rapacious  at  the  mother's  throat  they  fly, 

And  tear  the  screaming  infant  from  her  breast. 

The  godlike  face  of  man  avails  him  nought. 

Even  beauty,  force  divine !    at  whose  bright  glance         405 

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,  415 

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 ; 
And  herds,  and  flocks,  and  travellers,  and  swains,  420 

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  425 


WINTER.  165 

The  ceaseless  winds  blow  ice,  be  my  retreat 

Between  the  groaning  forest  and  the  shore 

Beat  by  a  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, 

As  gods  beneficent,  who  blessed  mankind 

With  arts  and  arms,  and  humanized  a  world.  435 

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,  440 

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  teacher!    wisest  of  mankind!  445 

Solon  the  next,  who  built  his  commonweal 

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,  455 

As  at  Thermopylae  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  460 

Of  freedom  gave  the  noblest  name  of  Just, 

In  pure  majestic  poverty  revered ; 


1 66  THE  SEASONS. 

Who,  even  his  glory  to  his  country's  weal 
Submitting,  swelled  a  haughty  rival's  fame. 
Reared  by  his  care,  of  softer  ray  appears  465 

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.  475 

And,  equal  to  the  best,  the  Theban  pair, — 
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.  485 

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. 
The  two  Achaean  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  Philopcemen,  who  to  arms 
Turned  the  luxurious  pomp  he  could  not  cure,  495 

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 


WINTER.  167 

Which  knew  no  stain,  save  that  with  partial  flame          500 

Their  dearest  country  they  too  fondly  loved. 

Her  better  founder  first,  the  light  of  Rome, 

Numa, — who  softened  her  rapacious  sons. 

Servius, — the  king  who  laid  the  solid  base 

On  which  o'er  earth  the  vast  republic  spread.  505 

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,  Carthage,  bursting  loose 

From  all  that  pleading  Nature  could  oppose, 

From  a  whole  city's  tears,  by  rigid  faith  515 

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  awhile 

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,  525 

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        535 
Darkling  full  up  the  middle  steep  to  fame. 
Nor  absent  are  those  shades  whose  skilful  touch 


1 68  THE  SEASONS. 

Pathetic  drew  the  impassioned  heart,  and  charmed 

Transported  Athens  with  the  moral  scene  ; 

Nor  those  who  tuneful  waked  the  enchanting  lyre.          540 

First  of  your  kind  !    society  divine  ! 
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  545 

Save  a  few  chosen  friends,  who  sometimes  deign 
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,  550 

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  pride,     555 
The  friend  and  lover  of  the  tuneful  throng  ! 
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  ?  560 

What  now  avails  that  noble  thirst  of  fame 
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  ?  565 

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  virtue  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  ; 


WINTER.  169 

With  them  would  search  if  Nature's  boundless  frame      575 

Was  called  late- rising  from  the  void  of  night, 

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,  580 

And  each  diffusive  harmony  unite 

In  full  perfection  to  the  astonished  eye. 

Then  would  we  try  to  scan  the  moral  world, — 

Which,  though  to  us  it  seems  embroiled,  moves  on 

In  higher  order,  fitted  and  impelled  585 

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 

In  scattered  states  ;   what  makes  the  nations  smile,         590 

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  595 

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  600 

Would  learn  the  private  virtues — how  to  glide 

Through  shades  and  plains  along  the  smoothest  stream 

Of  rural  life ;  or,  snatched  away  by  hope 

Through  the  dim  spaces  of  futurity, 

With  earnest  eye  anticipate  those  scenes  605 

Of  happiness  and  wonder, — where  the  mind* 

In  endless  growth  and  infinite  ascent 

Rises  from  state  to  state  and  world  to  world. 

But,  when  with  these  the  serious  thought  is  foiled, 

We,  shifting  for  relief,  would  play  the  shapes  610 

Of  frolic  fancy,  and  incessant  form 


170  THE  SEASONS. 

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,  615 

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 ;  620 

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  sidelong  maid  625 

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,  630 

Full  of  each  theme  and  warm  with  mixed  discourse, 
Hums  indistinct.     The  sons  of  riot  flow 
Down  the  loose  stream  of  false  enchanted  joy 
To  swift  destruction.     On  the  rankled  soul 
The  gaming  fury  falls  ;   and  in  one  gulf  635 

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, 
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.  645 

Dread  o'er  the  scene  the  ghost  of  Hamlet  stalks  ; 


WINTER.  171 

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  Bevil  showed.  655 

O  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, 
O  Chesterfield,  to  grace  with  thee  hef  song! 
Ere  to  the  shades  again  she  humbly  flies,  665 

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 
The  boasted  manners  of  her  shining  court ; 
That  wit,  the  vivid  energy  of  sense, 

The  truth  of  nature,  which  with  Attic  point  675 

And  kind  well-tempered  satire,  smoothly  keen, 
Steals  through  the  soul,  and  without  pain  corrects. 
Or,  rising  thence  with  yet  a  brighter  flame, 
O  let  me  hail  thee  on  some  glorious  day 
When  to  the  listening  senate  ardent  crowd  680 

Britannia's  sons  to  hear  her  pleaded  cause. 
Then  dressed  by  thee,  more  amiably  fair, 


172  THE  SEASONS. 

Truth  the  soft  robe  of  mild  persuasion  wears ; 

Thou  to  assenting  reason  giv'st  again 

Her  own  enlightened  thoughts ;    called  from  the  heart,  685 

The  obedient  passions  on  thy  voice  attend  ; 

And  even  reluctant  party  feels  awhile 

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, 
1  For  sight  too  fine,  the  ethereal  nitre  flies, 
filling  infectious  damps,  and  the  spent  air  695 

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  700 

In  swifter  sallies  darting  to  the  brain, — 
Where  sits  the  soul,  intense,  collected,  cool, 
Bright  as  the  skies,  and  as  the  season  keen. 
All  Nature  feels  the  renovating  force 

Of  Winter,— only  to  the  thoughtless  eye  7°5 

In  ruin  seen.     The  frost-concocted  glebe 
Draws  in  abundant  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  stores 
Derived,  thou  secret  all-invading  power,  715 

Whom  even  the  illusive  fluid  cannot  fly  ? 
Is  not  thy  potent  energy,  unseen, 


WINTER. 


173 


I 


Myriads  of  little  salts,  or  hooked,  or  shaped 

Like  double  wedges,  and  diffused  immense 

Through  water,  earth,  and  ether?     Hence  at  eve,  720 

Steamed  eager  from  the  red  horizon  round, 

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,  725 

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,  730 

The  whole  imprisoned  river  growls  below. 

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  waterfall  735 

Swells  in  the  breeze,  and  with  the  hasty  tread 

Of  traveller  the  hollow-sounding  plain 

Shakes  from  afar.     The  full  ethereal  round, 

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  745 

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 ; 


1 74  THE  SEASONS. 

And  by  the  frost  refined  the  whiter  snow,  755 

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  blithesome  frolics  bent,  the  youthful  swains,  760 

While  every  work  of  man  is  laid  at  rest, 
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  765 

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. 
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  775 

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  780 

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;  785 

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, 


WINTER.  175 

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  795 

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,  800 

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 

Their  icy  horrors  to  the  frozen  main,  805 

And  cheerless  towns  far-distant — never  blessed, 
Save  when  its  annual  course  the  caravan 
Bends  to  the  golden  coast  of  rich  Cathay, 
With  news  of  human-kind.     Yet  there  life  glows  ; 
Yet  cherished  there  beneath  the  shining  waste  8 1  o 

The  furry  nations  harbour — tipped  with  jet, 
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.  815 

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,         825 
And  with  loud  shouts  rejoicing  bears  them  home. 
There  through  the  piny  forest  half-absorpt, 


176  THE  SEASONS. 

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  urge  his  tardy  wain,  835 

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,  with  dreadful  sweep        840 
Resistless  rushing  o'er  the  enfeebled  south, 
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  ;  845 

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.  _      850 

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         855 
O'er  hill  and  dale,  heaped  into  one  expanse 
Of  marbled  snow,  as  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,  860 

And  vivid  moons,  and  stars  that  keener  play 
With  doubled  lustre  from  the  radiant  waste, 
Even  in  the  depth  of  polar  night  they  find 


WINTER.  177 

A  wondrous  day — enough  to  light  the  chase, 

Or  guide  their  daring  steps  to  Finland  fairs.  865 

Wished  Spring  returns  ;   and  from  the  hazy  south, 

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 

Still  round  and  round  his  spiral  course  he  winds, 

And,  as  he  nearly  dips  his  flaming  orb, 

Wheels  up  again  and  reascends  the  sky. 

In  that  glad  season,  from  the  lakes  and  floods 

Where  pure  Niemi's  fairy  mountains  rise,  875 

And  fringed  with  roses  Tenglio  rolls  his  stream, 

They  draw  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.  880 

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  885 

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, 
Where,  failing  gradual,  life  at  length  goes  out,  890 

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;  895 

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,         900 
N 


178  THE  SEASONS. 

With  which  he  now  oppresses  half  the  globe. 

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,  905 

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,  915 

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, 
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,  925 

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.  935 

Hard  by  these  shores,  where  scarce  his  freezing  stream 
Rolls  the  wild  Oby,  live  the  last  of  men  ; 


WINTER. 


179 


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  945 

Beyond  the  kindred  bears  that  stalk  without ; 

Till  morn  at  length,  her  roses  drooping  all, 

Sheds  a  long  twilight  brightening  o'er  the  fields. 

And  calls  the  quivered  savage  to  the  chase. 

What  cannot  active  government  perform,  950 

New-moulding  man  ?    Wide-stretching  from  these  shores, 
A  people  savage  from  remotest  time, 
A  huge  neglected  empire — one  vast  mind, 
By  Heaven  inspired,  from  Gothic  darkness  called. 
Immortal  Peter,  first  of  monarchs  ! — he  955 

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;  965 

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 ; 

N  2 


i8o  THE  SEASONS. 

Far-distant  flood  to  flood  is  social  joined;  975 

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, 

One  scene  of  arts,  of  arms,  of  rising  trade  ;  985 

For  what  his  wisdom  planned  and  power  enforced 

More  potent  still  his  great  example  showed. 


Muttering,  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  swellj 
Of  bonds  impatient.     Sudden  from  the  hills, 
O'er  rocks  and  woods,  in  broad  brown  cataracts, 
A  thousand  snow-fed  torrents  shoot  at  once  ;  995 

And,  where  they  rush,  the  wide-resounding  plain 
Is  left  one  slimy  waste.     Those  sullen  seas, 
That  wash  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  1005 

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, — 


WINTER. 


181 


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  1015 

Tempest  the  loosened  brine  ;   while  through  the  gloom, 

Far  from  the  bleak  inhospitable  shore, 

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.  1025 

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,    1030 
Thy  sober  Autumn  fading  into  age, — 
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,  1035 

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,  1040 

His  guide  to  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 


1 82  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

In  every  heightened  form,  from  pain  and  death  1045 

For  ever  free.     The  great  eternal  scheme 

Involving  all,  and  in  a  perfect  whole 

Uniting,  as  the  prospect  wider  spreads, 

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 ;  1055 

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  1060 

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  ;  1065 

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. 


END   OF   WINTER. 


A  HYMN. 


THESE,  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father !   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, 
And  oft  at  dawn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve, 
By  brooks  and  groves,  in  hollow-whispering  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  bidd'st  the  world  adore, 
And  humblest  Nature  with  thy  northern  blast. 

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  wondering  oft  with  brute  unconscious  gaze 
Man  marks  Thee  not, — marks  not  the  mighty  hand 


10 


20 


1 84  A  HYMN. 

That  ever-busy  wheels  the  silent  spheres,  30 

Works  in  the  secret  deep,  shoots  steaming  thence 

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,  35 

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  genera]  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 
iFills  the  brown  shade  with  a  religious  awe. 
And  ye,  whose  bolder  note  is  heard  afar,  45 

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  I  muse  along. 

Ye  headlong  torrents,  rapid  and  profound;  50 

Ye  softer  floods,  that  lead  the  humid  maze 
Along  the  vale;   and  thou,  majestic  main, 
A  secret  world  of  wonders  in  thyself, 
Sound  His  stupendous  praise  whose  greater  voice 
Or  bids  you  roar,  or  bids  your  roarings  fall.  55 

Soft  roll  your  incense,  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 
In  mingled  clouds  to  Him  whose  sun  exalts, 
WJiose  breath  perfumes  you,  and  whose  pencil  paints. 
Ye  forests  bend,  ye  harvests  wave,  to  Him ; 
Breathe  your  still  song  into  the  reaper's  heart,  60 

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.  65 

Great  source  of  day,  best  image  here  below 


A   HYMN.  185 

Of  thy  Creator,  ever  pouring  wide, 

From  world  to  world,  the  vital  ocean  round, — 

On  Nature  write  with  every  beam  His  praise. 

The  thunder  rolls :   be  hushed  the  prostrate  world  ;          70 

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.  75 

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 

The  listening  shades,  and  teach  the  night  His  praise.      80 

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  85 

At  solemn  pauses  through  the  swelling  bass ; 

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 —  90 

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. 

For  me,  when  I  forget  the  darling  theme, 

Whether  the  blossom  blows,  the  Summer  ray  95 

Russets  the  plain,  inspiring  Autumn  gleams, 

Or  Winter  rises  in  the  blackening  east, 

Be  my  tongue  mute,  my  fancy  paint  no  more, 

And,  dead  to  joy,  forget  my  heart  to  beat ! 

Should  fate  command  me  to  the  farthest  verge  100 

Of  the  green  earth,  to  distant  barbarous  climes, 
Rivers  unknown  to  song,  where  first  the  sun 
Gilds  Indian  mountains,  or  his  setting  beam 


1 86  A  HYMN, 

Flames  on  the  Atlantic  isles— 'tis  nought  to  me  ; 

Since  God  is  ever  present,  ever  felt,  105 

In  the  void  waste  as  in  the  city  full ; 

And  where  He  vital  breathes  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,  no 

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,  115 

In  infinite  progression. — But  I  lose 

Myself  in  Him,  in  light  ineffable ! 

Come  then,  expressive  silence,  muse  His  praise. 


END   OF   HYMN. 


THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


CANTO   I. 

The  Castle  hight  of  Indolence, 

And  its  false  luxury  ; 
Where  for  a  little  time,  alas  ! 

We  lived  right  jollily. 

I. 

O  MORTAL  man,  who  livest  here  by  toil, 
Do  not  complain  of  this  thy  hard  estate  ; 
That  like  an  emmet  thou  must  ever  moil 
Is  a  sad  sentence  of  an  ancient  date  : 

And,  certes,  there  is  for  it  reason  great ;  5 

For,  though  sometimes  it  makes  thee  weep  and  wail, 
And  curse  thy  stars,  and  early  drudge  and  late, 
Withouten  that  would  come  an  heavier  bale, 
Loose  life,  unruly  passions,  and  diseases  pale. 

II. 

In  lowly  dale,  fast  by  a  river's  side,  10 

With  woody  hill  o'er  hill  encompassed  round, 
A  most  enchanting  wizard  did  abide, 
Than  whom  a  fiend  more  fell  is  nowhere  found. 
It  was,  T  ween,  a  lovely  spot  of  ground  ; 
And  there  a  season  atween  June  and  May,  15 

Half  prankt  with  spring,  with  summer  half  imbrowned, 
A  listless  climate  made,  where,  sooth  to  say, 
No  living  wight  could  work,  ne  cared  ev'n  for  play. 


i88  THE   CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


III. 

Was  nought  around  but  images  of  rest : 
Sleep-soothing  groves,  and  quiet  lawns  between  ;  20 

And  flowery  beds  that  slumbrous  influence  kest, 
From  poppies  breathed  ;   and  beds  of  pleasant  green, 
Where  never  yet  was  creeping  creature  seen. 
Meantime,  unnumbered  glittering  streamlets  played, 
And  hurled  everywhere  their  waters  sheen  ;  25 

That,  as  they  bickered  through  the  sunny  glade, 
Though  restless  still  themselves,  a  lulling  murmur  made. 


IV. 

Joined  to  the  prattle  of  the  purling  rills 
Were  heard  the  lowing  herds  along  the  vale, 
And  flocks  loud  bleating  from  the  distant  hills,  30 

And  vacant  shepherds  piping  in  the  dale  ; 
And  now  and  then  sweet  Philomel  would  wail, 
Or  stockdoves  'plain  amid  the  forest  deep, 
That  drowsy  rustled  to  the  sighing  gale; 
And  still  a  coil  the  grasshopper  did  keep:  35 

Yet  all  these  sounds  yblent  inclined  all  to  sleep. 


v. 

Full  in  the  passage  of  the  vale,  above, 
A  sable,  silent,  solemn  forest  stood  ; 
Where  nought  but  shadowy  forms  were  seen  to  move, 
As  Idless  fancied  in  her  dreaming  mood.  40 

And  up  the  hills,  on  either  side,  a  wood 
Of  blackening  pines,  aye  waving  to  and  fro, 
Sent  forth  a  sleepy  horror  through  the  blood; 
And  where  this  valley  winded  out,  below, 
The  murmuring  main  was  heard,  and  scarcely  heard,  to  flow. 


CANTO  I.  189 


VI. 

A  pleasing  land  of  drowsyhed  it  was  :  46 

Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye  ; 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
Forever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky  : 

There  eke  the  soft  delights,  that  witchingly  50 

Instil  a  wanton  sweetness  through  the  breast, 
And  the  calm  pleasures  always  hovered  nigh  ; 
But  whate'er  smacked  of  'noyance,  or  unrest, 
Was  far  far  off  expelled  from  this  delicious  nest. 


VII. 

The  landskip  such,  inspiring  perfect  ease,  55 

Where  INDOLENCE  (for  so  the  wizard  hight) 
Close  hid  his  castle  'mid  embowering  trees, 
That  half  shut  out  the  beams  of  Phoebus  brigtit, 
And  made  a  kind  of  checkered  day  and  night. 
Meanwhile,  unceasing  at  the  massy  gate,  60 

Beneath  a  spacious  palm,  the  wicked  wight 
Was  placed  ;   and,  to  his  lute,  of  cruel  fate 
And  labour  harsh  complained,  lamenting  man's  estate. 


VIII. 

Thither  continual  pilgrims  crowded  still, 
From  all  the  roads  of  earth  that  pass  there  by  :  65 

For,  as  they  chaunced  to  breathe  on  neighbouring  hill, 
The  freshness  of  this  valley  smote  their  eye, 
And  drew  them  ever  and  anon  more  nigh, 
Till  clustering  round  th'  enchanter  false  they  hung, 
Ymolten  with  his  syren  melody  ;  70 

While  o'er  th'  enfeebling  lute  his  hand  he  flung, 
And  to  the  trembling  chord  these  tempting  verses  sung  : 


190  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


IX. 

*  Behold  !    ye  pilgrims  of  this  earth,  behold ! 
See  all  but  man  with  unearned  pleasure  gay. 
See  her  bright  robes  the  butterfly  unfold,  75 

Broke  from  her  wintry  tomb  in  prime  of  May. 
What  youthful  bride  can  equal  her  array? 
Who  can  with  her  for  easy  pleasure  vie? 
From  mead  to  mead  with  gentle  wing  to  stray, 
From  flower  to  flower  on  balmy  gales  to  fly,  80 

Is  all  she  has  to  do  beneath  the  radiant  sky. 


x. 

'  Behold  the  merry  minstrels  of  the  morn, 
The  swarming  songsters  of  the  careless  grove, 
Ten  thousand  throats  !   that,  from  the  flowering  thorn, 
Hymn  their  good  God,  and  carol  sweet  of  love,  85 

Such  grateful  kindly  raptures  them  emove  : 
They  neither  plough,  nor  sow;  ne,  fit  for  flail, 
E'er  to  the  barn  the  nodding  sheaves  they  drove ; 
Yet  theirs  each  harvest  dancing  in  the  gale, 
Whatever  crowns  the  hill,  or  smiles  along  the  vale.  90 


XI. 

1  Outcast  of  nature,  man !   the  wretched  thrall 
Of  bitter-dropping  sweat,  of  sweltry  pain, 
Of  cares  that  eat  away  thy  heart  with  gall, 
And  of  the  vices,  an  inhuman  train, 

That  all  proceed  from  savage  thirst  of  gain  :  95 

For  when  hard-hearted  Interest  first  began 
To  poison  earth,  Astrsea  left  the  plain; 
Guile,  Violence,  and  Murder  seized  on  man  ; 
And,  for  soft  milky  streams,  with  blood  the  rivers  ran. 


CANTO  7.  191 


XII. 

'Come,  ye,  who  still  the  cumbrous  load  of  life  100 

Push  hard  up  hill;    but,  as  the  farthest  steep 
You  trust  to  gain,  and  put  an  end  to  strife, 
Down  thunders  back  the  stone  with  mighty  sweep, 
And  hurls  your  labours  to  the  valley  deep, 
Forever  vain  :    come,  and  withouten  fee  105 

I  in  oblivion  will  your  sorrows  steep, 
Your  cares,  your  toils  ;  will  steep  you  in  a  sea 
Of  full  delight  :    O  come,  ye  weary  wights,  to  me ! 


XIII. 

'With  me,  you  need  not  rise  at  early  dawn, 
To  pass  the  joyless  day  in  various  stounds  ;  no 

Or,  louting  low,  on  upstart  fortune  fawn, 
And  sell  fair  honour  for  some  paltry  pounds  ; 
Or  through  the  city  take  your  dirty  rounds, 
To  cheat,  and  dun,  and  lie,  and  visit  pay, 
Now  flattering  base,  now  giving  secret  wounds;  115 

Or  prowl  in  courts  of  law  for  human  prey, 
In  venal  senate  thieve,  or  rob  on  broad  highway. 


XIV. 

1  No  cocks,  with  me,  to  rustic  labour  call, 
From  village  on  to  village  sounding  clear  ; 
To  tardy  swain  no  shrill- voiced  matrons  squall;  120 

No  dogs,  no  babes,  no  wives,  to  stun  your  ear; 
No  hammers  thump;  no  horrid  blacksmith  sear, 
Ne  noisy  tradesman  your  sweet  slumbers  start 
With  sounds  that  are  a  misery  to  hear : 
But  all  is  calm  as  would  delight  the  heart  125 

Of  Sybarite  of  old,  all  nature,  and  all  art. 


192  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XV. 

{  Here  nought  but  candour  reigns,  indulgent  ease, 
Good-natured  lounging,  sauntering  up  and  down  : 
They  who  are  pleased  themselves  must  always  please  ; 
On  others'  ways  they  never  squint  a  frown,  130 

Nor  heed  what  haps  in  hamlet  or  in  town. 
Thus,  from  the  source  of  tender  indolence, 
With  milky  blood  the  heart  is  overflown, 
Is  soothed    and  sweetened  by  the  social  sense  ; 
For  interest,  envy,  pride,  and  strife  are  banished  hence. 


XVI. 

'What,  what  is  virtue,  but  repose  of  mind?  136 

A  pure  ethereal  calm  that  knows  no  storm, 
Above  the  reach  of  wild  ambition's  wind, 
Above  those  passions  that  this  world  deform, 
And  torture  man,  a  proud  malignant  worm!  140 

But  here,  instead,  soft  gales  of  passion  play, 
And  gently  stir  the  heart,  thereby  to  form 
A  quicker  sense  of  joy ;    as  breezes  stray 
Across  th'  enlivened  skies,  and  make  them  still  more  gay. 


XVII. 

'The  best  of  men  have  ever  loved  repose  :  145 

They  hate  to  mingle  in  the  filthy  fray, 
Where  the  soul  sours,  and  gradual  rancour  grows, 
Imbittered  more  from  peevish  day  to  day. 
Even  those  whom  fame  has  lent  her  fairest  ray, 
The  most  renowned  of  worthy  wights  of  yore,  150 

From  a  base  world  at  last  have  stolen  away  : 
So  Scipio,  to  the  soft  Cumasan  shore 
Retiring,  tasted  joy  he  never  knew  before. 


CANTO  /.  193 


XVIII. 

c  But  if  a  little  exercise  you  choose, 

Some  zest  for  ease,  'tis  not  forbidden  here.  155 

Amid  the  groves  you  may  indulge  the  muse, 
Or  tend  the  blooms,  and  deck  the  vernal  year  ; 
Or  softly  stealing,  with  your  watery  gear, 
Along  the  brooks,  the  crimson-spotted  fry 
You  may  delude:   the  whilst,  amused,  you  hear  160 

Now  the  hoarse  stream,  and  now  the  zephyr's  sigh, 
Attuned  to  the  birds,  and  woodland  melody. 


XIX. 
I 

'  O  grievous  folly  !    to  heap  up  estate, 
Losing  the  days  you  see  beneath  the  sun  ; 
When,  sudden,  comes  blind  unrelenting  fate,  165 

And  gives  th'  untasted  portion  you  have  won 
With  ruthless  toil,  and  many  a  wretch  undone, 
To  those  who  mock  you  gone  to  Pluto's  reign, 
There  with  sad  ghosts  to  pine,  and  shadows  dun  : 
But  sure  it  is  of  vanities  most  vain,  170 

To  toil  for  what  you  here  untoiling  may  obtain.' 


xx. 

He  ceased.     But  still  their  trembling  ears  retained 
The  deep  vibrations  of  his  'witching  song ; 
That,  by  a  kind  of  magic  power,  constrained 
To  enter  in,  pell-rriell,  the  listening  throng.  175 

Heaps  poured  on  heaps,  and  yet  they  slipt  along 
In  silent  ease  :    as  when,,  beneath  the  beam 
Of  summer  moons,  the  distant  woods  among, 
Or  by  some  flood  all  silvered  with  the  gleam, 
The  soft-embodied  fays  through  airy  portal  stream.  180 

O 


194  THE   CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXI. 

By  the  smooth  demon  so  it  ordered  was, 
And  here  his  baneful  bounty  first  began ; 
Though  some  there  were  who  would  not  further  pass, 
And  his  alluring  baits  suspected  han. 

The  wise  distrust  the  too  fair-spoken  man.  185 

Yet  through  the  gate  they  cast  a  wishful  eye  : 
Not  to  move  on,  perdie,  is  all  they  can ; 
For  do  their  very  best  they  cannot  fly, 
But  often  each  way  look,  and  often  sorely  sigh. 


XXII. 

*  i 

When  this  the  watchful  wicked  wizard  saw,  190 

With  sudden  spring  he  leaped  upon  them  straight ; 
And,  soon  as  touched  by  his  unhallowed  paw, 
They  found  themselves  within  the  cursed  gate; 
Full  hard  to  be  repassed,  like  that  of  fate. 
Not  stronger  were  of  old  the  giant  crew,  195 

Who  sought  to  pull  high  Jove  from  regal  state  ; 
Though  feeble  wretch  he  seemed,  of  sallow  hue : 

Certes,  who  bides  his  grasp  will  that  encounter  rue. 


XXIII. 

For,  whomsoe'er  the  villain  takes  in  hand, 

Their  joints  unknit,  their  sinews  melt  apace  ;  200 

As  lithe  they  grow  as  any  willow-wand, 

And  of  their  vanished  force  remains  no  trace. 

***** 
***** 
***** 
***** 
***** 


CANTO  I. 


195 


XXIV. 

Waked  by  the  crowd,  slow  from  his  bench  arose 
A  comely  full-spread  porter,  swoln  with  sleep : 
His  calm,  broad,  thoughtless  aspect  breathed  repose;     210 
And  in  sweet  torpor  he  was  plunged  deep, 
Ne  could  himself  from  ceaseless  yawning  keep ; 
While  o'er  his  eyes  the  drowsy  liquor  ran, 
Through  which  his  half-waked  soul  would  faintly  peep. 
Then,  taking  his  black  staff,  he  called  his  man,  215 

And  roused  himself  as  much  as  rouse  himself  he  can. 


XXV. 

The  lad  leapt  lightly  at  his  master's  call. 
He  was,  to  weet,  a  little  roguish  page, 
Save  sleep  and  play  who  minded  nought  at  all, 
Like  most  the  untaught  striplings  of  his  age. 
This  boy  he  kept  each  band  to  disengage, 
Garters  and  buckles,  task  for  him  unfit, 
But  ill  becoming  his  grave  personage, 
And  which  his  portly  paunch  would  not  permit. 
So  this  same  limber  page  to  all  performed  it. 


225 


XXVI. 

Meantime  the  master-porter  wide  displayed 
Great  store  of  caps,  of  slippers,  and  of  gowns, 
Wherewith  he  those  who  entered  in  arrayed, 
Loose  as  the  breeze  that  plays  along  the  downs, 
And  waves  the  summer  woods  when  evening  frowns. 
O  fair  undress,  best  dress!   it  checks  no  vein, 
But  every  flowing  limb  in  pleasure  drowns, 
And  heightens  ease  with  grace.     This  done,  right  fain, 
Sir  Porter  sat  him  down,  and  turned  to  sleep  again. 

O  2 


230 


196  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXVII. 

Thus  easy-robed,  they  to  the  fountain  sped  235 

That  in  the  middle  of  the  court  up-threw 
A  stream,  high  spouting  from  its  liquid  bed, 
And  falling  back  again  in  drizzly  dew : 
There  each  deep  draughts,  as  deep  he  thirsted,  drew. 
It  was  a  fountain  of  nepenthe  rare ;  240 

Whence,  as  Dan  Homer  sings,  huge  pleasaunce  grew, 
And  sweet  oblivion  of  vile  earthly  care, — 
Fair  gladsome  waking  thoughts,  and  joyous  dreams  more  fair. 


XXVIII. 

This  rite  performed,  all  inly  pleased  and  still, 
Withouten  trump,  was  proclamation  made  :  245 

'  Ye  sons  of  Indolence,  do  what  you  will, 
And  wander  where  you  list,  through  hall  or  glade : 
Be  no  man's  pleasure  for  another's  stayed; 
Let  each  as  likes  him  best  his  hours  employ, 
And  cursed  be  he  who  minds  his  neighbour's  trade!      250 
Here  dwells  kind  ease,  and  unreproving  joy : 
He  little  merits  bliss  who  others  can  annoy.3 


XXIX. 

Straight  of  these  endless  numbers,  swarming  round, 
As  thick  as  idle  motes  in  sunny  ray, 

Not  one  eftsoons  in  view  was  to  be  found,  255 

But  every  man  strolled  off  his  own  glad  way. 
Wide  o'er  this  ample  court's  blank  area, 
With  all  the  lodges  that  thereto  pertained, 
No  living  creature  could  be  seen  to  stray; 
While  solitude  and  perfect  silence  reigned  :  260 

So  that  to  think  you  dreamt,  you  almost  was  constrained.  , 


CANTO  I.  197 


XXX. 

As  when  a  shepherd  of  the  Hebrid  Isles, 
Placed  far  amid  the  melancholy  main, 
(Whether  it  be  lone  fancy  him  beguiles, 
Or  that  aerial  beings  sometimes  deign  265 

To  stand,  embodied,  to  our  senses  plain) 
Sees  on  the  naked  hill,  or  valley  low, 
The  whilst  in  ocean  Phcebus  dips  his  wain, 
A  vast  assembly  moving  to  and  fro ; 
Then  all  at  once  in  air  dissolves  the  wondrous  show.         270 


XXXI. 

Ye  gods  of  quiet,  and  of  sleep  profound, 
Whose  soft  dominion  o'er  this  castle  sways, 
And  all  the  widely  silent  places  round, — 
Forgive  me,  if  my  trembling  pen  displays 
What  never  yet  .was  sung  in  mortal  lays.  275 

But  how  shall  I  attempt  such  arduous  string? 
I,  who  have  spent  my  nights-  and  nightly  days, 
In  this  soul-deadening  place  loose-loitering : 
Ah  !  how  shall  I  for  this  uprear  my  moulted  wing  ? 


XXXII. 

Come  on,  my  muse,  nor  stoop  to  low  despair,  280 

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  thou  yet  shalt  sweep  the  lyre  ; 
Thou  yet  shalt  tread  in  tragic  pall  the  stage,  285 

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. 


198  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXXIII. 

The  doors,  that  knew  no  shrill  alarming  bell, 
Ne  cursed  knocker  plied  by  villain's  hand,  290 

Self-opened  into  halls,  where,  who  can  tell 
What  elegance  and  grandeur  wide  expand 
The  pride  of  Turkey  and  of  Persia  land? 
Soft  quilts  on  quilts,  on  carpets  carpets  spread, 
And  couches  stretch  around  in  seemly  band,  295 

And  endless  pillows  rise  to  prop  the  head, 
So  that  each  spacious  room  was  one  full-swelling  bed. 


XXXIV. 

And  everywhere  huge  covered  tables  stood, 
With  wines  high-flavoured  and  rich  viands  crowned  ; 
Whatever  sprightly  juice  or  tasteful  food  300 

On  the  green  bosom  of  this  earth  are  found, 
And  all  old  ocean  genders  in  his  round  : 
Some  hand  unseen  these  silently  displayed, 
Even  undemanded  by  a  sign  or  sound; 
You  need  but  wish,  and,  instantly  obeyed,  305 

Fair-ranged  the  dishes  rose,  and  thick  the  glasses  played. 


XXXV. 

Here  freedom  reigned,  without  the  least  alloy  ; 
Nor  gossip's  tale,  nor  ancient  maiden's  gall, 
Nor  saintly  spleen  durst  murmur  at  our  joy, 
And  with  envenomed  tongue  our  pleasures  pall.  310 

For  why  ?     There  was  but  one  great  rule  for  all ; 
To  wit,  that  each  should  work  his  own  desire, 
And  eat,  drink,  study,  sleep,  as  it  may  fall, 
Or  melt  the  time  in  love,  or  wake  the  lyre, 
And  carol  what,  unbid,  the  muses  might  inspire.  315 


CANTO  7.  199 


XXXVI. 

The  rooms  with  costly  tapestry  were  hung, 
Where  was  inwoven  many  a  gentle  tale, 
Such  as  of  old  the  rural  poets  sung 
Or  of  Arcadian  or  Sicilian  vale  : 

Reclining  lovers,  in  the  lonely  dale,  320 

Poured  forth  at  large  the  sweetly  tortured  heart  • 
Or,  looking  tender  passion,  swelled  the  gale, 
And  taught  charmed  echo  to  resound  their  smart  ; 
While    flocks,    woods,    streams     around,    repose    and     peace 
impart. 

XXXVII. 

Those  pleased  the  most,  where,  by  a  cunning  hand,       325 
Depeinten  was  the  patriarchal  age; 
What  time  Dan  Abraham  left  the  Chaldee  land, 
And  pastured  on  from  verdant  stage  to  stage, 
Where  fields  and  fountains  fresh  could  best  engage. 
Toil  was  not  then.     Of  nothing  took  they  heed,  330 

But  with  wild  beasts  the  silvan  war  to  wage, 
And  o'er  vast  plains  their  herds  and  flocks  to  feed  : 
Blessed  sons  of  nature  they  !   true  golden  age  indeed  ! 


XXXVIII. 

Sometimes  the  pencil,  in  cool  airy  halls, 
Bade  the  gay  bloom  of  vernal  landskips  rise,  335 

Or  Autumn's  varied  shades  imbrown  the  walls  : 
Now  the  black  tempest  strikes  the  astonished  eyes  ; 
Now  down  the  steep  the  flashing  torrent  flies ; 
The  trembling  sun  now  plays  o'er  ocean  blue, 
And  now  rude  mountains  frown  amid  the  skies ;  340 

Whate'er  Lorrain  light-touched  with  softening  hue, 
Or  savage  Rosa  dashed,  or  learned  Poussin  drew. 


200  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXXIX. 

Each  sound,  too,  here  to  languishment  inclined, 
Lulled  the  weak  bosom,  and  induced  ease. 
Aerial  music  in  the  warbling  wind,  345 

At  distance  rising  oft,  by  small  degrees, 
Nearer  and  nearer  came,  till  o'er  the  trees 
It  hung,  and  breathed  such  soul-dissolving  airs, 
As  did,  alas  !    with  soft  perdition  please  : 
Entangled  deep  in  its  enchanting  snares,  350 

The  listening  heart  forgot  all  duties  and  all  cares. 


XL. 

A  certain  music,  never  known  before, 
Here  soothed  the  pensive,  melancholy  mind ; 
Full  easily  obtained.     Behoves  no  more, 
But  sidelong,  to  the  gently  waving  wind,  355 

To  lay  the  well-tuned  instrument  reclined  ; 
From  which,  the  airy  flying  fingers  light, 
Beyond  each  mortal  touch  the  most  refined, 
The  god  of  winds  drew  sounds  of  deep  delight : 
Whence,  with  just  cause,  The  Harp  of  ^Eolus  it  hight.      360 


XLI. 

Ah  me  !   what  hand  can  touch  the  string  so  fine  ? 
Who  up  the  lofty  diapason  roll 
Such  sweet,  such  sad,  such  solemn  airs  divine, 
Then  let  them  down  again  into  the  soul  ? 
Now  rising  love  they  fanned ;   now  pleasing  dole  365 

They  breathed,  in  tender  musings,  thro'  the  heart  ; 
And  now  a  graver  sacred  strain  they  stole, 
As  when  seraphic  hands  an  hymn  impart  : 
Wild  warbling  nature  all,  above  the  reach  of  art. 


CANTO  I.  201 


XLII. 

Such  the  gay  splendour,  the  luxurious  state,  37° 

Of  Caliphs  old,  who  on  the  Tygris'  shore, 
In  mighty  Bagdat,  populous  and  great, 
Held  their  bright  court,  where  was  of  ladies  store ; 
And  verse,  love,  music  still  the  garland  wore  : 
When  sleep  was  coy,  the  bard,  in  waiting  there,  375 

Cheered  the  lone  midnight  with  the  muse's  lore ; 
Composing  music  bade  his  dreams  be  fair, 
And  music  lent  new  gladness  to  the  morning  air. 


XLIII. 

Near  the  pavilions  where  we  slept,  still  ran 
Soft-tinkling  streams,  and  dashing  waters  fell,  380 

And  sobbing  breezes  sighed,  and  oft  began 
(So  worked  the  wizard)  wintry  storms  to  swell, 
As  heaven  and  earth  they  would  together  mell : 
At  doors  and  windows,  threatening,  seemed  to  call 
The  demons  of  the  tempest,  growling  fell;  385 

Yet  the  least  entrance  found  they  none  at  all ; 
Whence  sweeter  grew  our  sleep,  secure  in  massy  hall. 


XLIV. 

And  hither  Morpheus  sent  his  kindest  dreams, 
Raising  a  world  of  gayer  tinct  and  grace ; 
O'er  which  were  shadowy  cast  Elysian  gleams,  390 

That  played,  in  waving  lights,  from  place  to  place, 
And  shed  a  roseate  smile  on  nature's  face. 
Not  Titian's  pencil  e'er  could  so  array, 
So  fleece  with   clouds  the  pure  ethereal  space  ; 
Ne  could  it  e'er  such  melting  forms  display,  395 

As  loose  on  flowery  beds  all  languishingly  lay. 


202  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XLV. 

No,  fair  illusions  !   artful  phantoms,  no ! 
My  muse  will  not  attempt  your  fairy-land  : 
She  has  no  colours  that  like  you  can  glow  ; 
To  catch  your  vivid  scenes  too  gross  her  hand.  400 

But  sure  it  is,  was  ne'er  a  subtler  band 
Than  these  same  guileful  angel-seeming  sprights, 
Who  thus  in  dreams  voluptuous,  soft,  and  bland, 
Poured  all  th'  Arabian  heaven  upon  our  nights, 
And  blessed  them  oft  besides  with  more  refined  delights.  405 


XLVI. 

They  were,  in  sooth,  a  most  enchanting  train, 
Even  feigning  virtue ;    skilful  to  unite 
With  evil  good,  and  strew  with  pleasure  pain. 
But  for  those  fiends,  whom  blood  and  broils  delight, 
Who  hurl  the  wretch,  as  if  to  hell  outright,  410 

Down,  down  black  gulfs,  where  sullen  waters  sleep, 
Or  hold  him  clambering  all  the  fearful  night 
On  beetling  cliffs,  or  pent  in  ruins  deep,— 
They,  till  due  time  should  serve,  were  bid  far  hence  to  keep. 


XLVII. 

Ye  guardian  spirits,  to  whom  man  is  dear,  415 

From  these  foul  demons  shield  the  midnight  gloom! 
Angels  of  fancy  and  of  love,  be  near, 
And  o'er  the  wilds  of  sleep  diffuse  a  bloom  ; 
Evoke  the  sacred  shades  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
And  let  them  virtue  with  a  look  impart !  420 

But  chief,  a  while,  oh  lend  us  from  the  tomb 
Those  long  lost  friends  for  whom  in  love  we  smart, 
And  fill  with  pious  awe  and  joy-mixed  woe  the  heart ! 


CANTO  /. 


203 


XLVIII. 

Or  are  you  sportive  ?— bid  the  morn  of  youth 
Rise  to  new  light,  and  beam  afresh  the  days  425 

Of  innocence,  simplicity,  and  truth, 
To  cares  estranged,  and  manhood's  thorny  ways ! 
What  transport  to  retrace  our  boyish  plays, 
Our  easy  bliss,  when  each  thing  joy  supplied, — 
The  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  warbling  maze         430 
Of  the  wild  brooks  ! — But,  fondly  wandering  wide, 
My  muse,  resume  the  task  that  yet  doth  thee  abide. 


XLIX. 

One  great  amusement  of  our  household  was — 
In  a  huge  crystal  magic  globe  to  spy, 
Still  as  you  turned  it,  all  things  that  do  pass  435 

Upon  this  ant-hill  earth  ;   where  constantly 
Of  idly  busy  men  the  restless  fry 
Run  bustling  to  and  fro  with  foolish  haste 
In  search  of  pleasures  vain,  that  from  them  fly, 
Or  which,  obtained,  the  caitiffs  dare  not  taste  :  440 

When  nothing  is  enjoyed,  can  there  be  greater  waste? 


Of  Vanity  the  Mirror  this  was  called. 
Here  you  a  muckworm  of  the  town  might  see 
At  his  dull  desk,  amid  his  ledgers  stalled, 
Eat  up  with  carking  care  and  penurie, —  445 

Most  like  to  carcase  parched  on  gallow-tree. 
'A  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got' — 
Firm  to  this  scoundrel  maxim  keepeth  he, 
Ne  of  its  rigour  will  he  bate  a  jot, 
Till  it  has  quenched  his  fire,  and  banished  his  pot.  450 


204  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


LI. 

Straight  from  the  filth  of  this  low  grub,  behold, 
Comes  fluttering  forth  a  gaudy  spendthrift  heir, 
All  glossy  gay,  enamelled  all  with  gold, 
The  silly  tenant  of  the  summer  air  ! 

In  folly  lost,  of  nothing  takes  he  care  ;  455 

Pimps,  lawyers,  stewards,  harlots,  flatterers  vile, 
And  thieving  tradesmen  him  among  them  share  : 
His  father's  ghost  from  limbo  lake,  the  while, 
Sees  this,  which  more  damnation  does  upon  him  pile. 


Lll. 

This  globe  pourtrayed  the  race  of  learned  men,  460 

Still  at  their  books,  and  turning  o'er  the  page 
Backwards  and  forwards  :    oft  they  snatch  the  pen 
As  if  inspired  and  in  a  Thespian  rage, 
Then  write  and  blot  as  would  your  ruth  engage. 
Why,  authors,  all  this  scrawl  and  scribbling  sore?  465 

To  lose  the  present,  gain  the  future  age, 
Praised  to  be  when  you  can  hear  no  more, 
And  much  enriched  with  fame  when  useless  worldly  store. 


LIII. 

Then  would  a  splendid  city  rise  to  view, 
With  carts,  and  cars,  and  coaches  roaring  all :  47° 

Wide-poured  abroad  behold  the  .prowling  crew  ! 
See  how  they  dash  along  from  wall  to  wall! 
At  every  door  hark  how  they  thundering  call! 
Good  lord !    what  can  this  giddy  rout  excite  ? 
Why,— each  on  each  to  prey  by  guile  or  gall,  475 

With  flattery  these,  with  slander  those  to  blight, 
And  make  new  tiresome  parties  for  the  coming  night. 


CANTO  I.  205 


LIV. 

The  puzzling  sons  of  party  next  appeared, 
In  dark  cabals  and  nightly  juntos  met; 
And  now  they  whispered  close,  now  shrugging  reared    480 
The  important  shoulder ;    then,  as  if  to  get 
New  light,  their  twinkling  eyes  were  inward  set. 
No  sooner  Lucifer  recalls  affairs, 
Than  forth  they  various  rush  in  mighty  fret ; 
When  lo  !    pushed  up  to  power,  and  crowned  their  cares,  485 
In  c6mes  another  set,  and  kicketh  them  down  stairs. 


LV. 

But  what  most  showed  the  vanity  of  life, 
Was  to  behold  the  nations  all  on  fire, 
In  cruel  broils  engaged,  and  deadly  strife : 
Most  Christian  kings,  inflamed  by  black  desire,  490 

With  honourable  ruffians  in  their  hire, 
Cause  war  to  rage,  and  blood  around  to  pour. 
Of  this  sad  work  when  each  begins  to  tire, 
They  sit  them  down  just  where  they  were  before, 
Till  for  new  scenes  of  woe  peace  shall  their  force  restore.  495 


LVI. 

To  number  up  the  thousands  dwelling  here, 
An  useless  were,  and  eke  an  endless  task, — 
From  kings,  and  those  who  at  the  helm  appear, 
To  gipsies  brown  in  summer-glades  who  bask. 
Yea,  many  a  man,  perdie,  I  could  unmask,  500 

Whose  desk  and  table  make  a  solemn  show, 
With  tape-tied  trash,  and  suits  of  fools  that  ask 
For  place  or  pension,  laid  in  decent  row ; 
But  these  I  passen  by,  with  nameless  numbers  moe. 


206  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


LVII. 

Of  all  the  gentle  tenants  of  the  place,  505 

There  was  a  man  of  special  grave  remark  : 
A  certain  tender  gloom  o'erspread  his  face, 
Pensive,  not  sad  ;  in  thought  involved,  not  dark. 
As  soot  this  man  could  sing  as  morning  lark, 
And  teach  the  noblest  morals  of  the  heart ;  510 

But  these  his  talents  were  yburied  stark  ; 
Of  the  fine  stores  he  nothing  would  impart, 
Which  or  boon  nature  gave,  or  nature-painting  art. 


LVIII. 

To  noontide  shades  incontinent  he  ran, 
Where  purls  the  brook  with  sleep-inviting  sound  ;  515 

Or,  when  Dan  Sol  to  slope  his  wheels  began, 
Amid  the  broom  he  basked  him  on  the  ground, 
Where  the  wild  thyme  and  camomil  are  found  : 
There  would  he  linger,  till  the  latest  ray 
Of  light  sat  quivering  on  the  welkin's  bound;  520 

Then  homeward  through  the  twilight  shadows  stray, 
Sauntering  and  slow.     So  had  he  passed  many  a  day. 


LIX. 

Yet  not  in  thoughtless  slumber  were  they  past ; 
For  oft  the  heavenly  fire,  that  lay  concealed 
Emongst  the  sleeping  embers,  mounted  fast,  525 

And  all  its  native  light  anew  revealed. 
Oft  as  he  traversed  the  cerulean  field, 
And  marked  the  clouds  that  drove  before  the  wind, 
Ten  thousand  glorious  systems  would  he  build, 
Ten  thousand  great  ideas  filled  his  mind;  530 

But  with  the  clouds  they  fled,  and  left  no  trace  behind. 


CANTO  I.  207 


-  LX. 

With  him  was  sometimes  joined,  in  silent  walk, 
(Profoundly  silent,  for  they  never  spoke) 
One  shyer  still,  who  quite  detested  talk  : 
Oft,  stung  by  spleen,  at  once  away  he  broke  535 

To  groves  of  pine  and  broad  o'ershadowing  oak ; 
There,  inly  thrilled,  he  wandered  all  alone, 
And  on  himself  his  pensive  fury  wroke, 
Ne  ever  uttered  word,  save  when  first  shone 
The  glittering  star  of  eve — '  Thank  heaven  !   the  day  is  done.' 


LXI. 

Here  lurked  a  wretch,  who  had  not  crept  abroad  541 

For  forty  years,  ne  face  of  mortal  seen, — 
In  chamber  brooding  like  a  loathly  toad  ; 
And  sure  his  linen  was  not  very  clean. 
Through  secret  loophole,  that  had  practised  been  545 

Near  to  his  bed,  his  dinner  vile  he  took; 
Unkempt,  and  rough,  of  squalid  face  and  mien, 
Our  castle's  shame !   whence,  from  his  filthy  nook, 
We  drove  the  villain  out  for  fitter  lair  to  look. 


LXIL, 

One  day  there  chanced  into  these  halls  to  rove  550 

A  joyous  youth,  who  took  you  at  first  sight ; 
Him  the  wild  wave  of  pleasure  hither  drove, 
Before  the  sprightly  tempest  tossing  light  : 
Certes,  he  was  a  most  engaging  wight, 
Of  social  glee,  and  wit  humane  though  keen,  555 

Turning  the  night  to  day  and  day  to  night : 
For  him  the  merry  bells  had  rung,  I  ween, 
If,  in  this  nook  of  quiet,  bells  had  ever  been. 


208  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


LXIII. 

But  not  even  pleasure  to  excess  is  good : 
What  most  elates,  then  sinks  the  soul  as  low  ;  560 

When  springtide  joy  pours  in  with  copious  flood, 
The  higher  still  the  exulting  billows  flow, 
The  farther  back  again  they  flagging  go, 
And  leave  us  groveling  on  the  dreary  shore:     . 
Taught  by  this  son  of  joy,  we  found  it  so  ;  565 

Who,  whilst  he  staid,  kept  in  a  gay  uproar 
Our  maddened  castle  all,  the  abode  of  sleep  no  more. 


LXIV. 

As  when  in  prime  of  June  a  burnished  fly, 
Sprung  from  the  meads,  o'er  which  he  sweeps  along, 
Cheered  by  the  breathing  bloom  and  vital  sky,  570 

Tunes  up  amid  these  airy  halls  his  song, 
Soothing  at  first  the  gay  reposing  throng  ; 
And  oft  he  sips  their  bowl ;  or,  nearly  drowned, 
He,  thence  recovering,  drives  their  beds  among, 
And  scares  their  tender  sleep,  with  trump  profound  ;       575 
Then  out  again  he  flies,  to  wing  his  mazy  round. 


LXV. 

Another  guest  there  was,  of  sense  refined, 
Who  felt  each  worth,  for  every  worth  he  had  ; 
Serene  yet  warm,  humane  yet  firm  his  mind, 
As  little  touched  as  any  man's  with  bad.  580 

Him  through  their  inmost  walks  the  Muses  lad, 
To  him  the  sacred  love  of  nature  lent ; 
And  sometimes  would  he  make  our  valley  glad. 
Whenas  we  found  he  would  not  here  be  pent, 
To  him  the  better  sort  this  friendly  message  sent :  585 


CANTO  I. 


209 


LXVI. 

'  Come,  dwell  with  us  !   true  son  of  virtue,  come ! 
But  if,  alas  !   we  cannot  thee  persuade 
To  lie  content  beneath  our  peaceful  dome, 
Ne  ever  more  to  quit  our  quiet  glade  ; 
Yet  when  at  last  thy  toils,  but  ill  apaid, 
Shall  dead  thy  fire,  and  damp  its  heavenly  spark, 
Thou  wilt  be  glad  to  seek  the  rural  shade, 
There  to  indulge  the  muse,  and  nature  mark  : 
We  then  a  lodge  for  thee  will  rear  in  Hagley  Park.' 


590 


LXVII. 

Here  whilom  ligged  th'  Esopus  of  the  age;  595 

But,  called  by  fame,  in  soul  ypricked  deep, 
A  noble  pride  restored  him  to  the  stage, 
And  roused  him  like  a  giant  from  his  sleep. 
Even  from  his  slumbers  we  advantage  reap  : 
With  double  force  the  astonished  scene  he  wakes,  600 

Yet  quits  not  nature's  bounds.     He  knows  to  keep 
Each  due  decorum  :   now  the  heart  he  shakes, 
And  now  with  well-urged  sense  the  enlightened  judgment  takes. 


LXVIII. 

A  bard  here  dwelt,  more  fat  than  bard  beseems ; 
Who,  void  of  envy,  guile,  and  lust  of  gain,  605 

On  virtue  still,  and  nature's  pleasing  themes, 
Poured  forth  his  unpremeditated  strain, 
The  world  forsaking  with  a  calm  disdain: 
Here  laughed  he  careless  in  his  easy  seat ; 
Here  quaffed,  encircled  with  the  joyous  train  ;  6rc 

Oft  moralizing  sage;  his  ditty  sweet 
He  loathed  much  to  write,  ne  cared  to  repeat. 


210  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


LXIX. 

Full  oft  by  holy  feet  our  ground  was  trod  ; 
Of  clerks  good  plenty  here  you  mote  espy. 
A  little,  round,  fat,  oily  man  of  God,  615 

Was  one  I  chiefly  marked  among  the  fry  : 
He  had  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
And  shone  all  glittering  with  ungodly  dew, 
If  a  tight  damsel  chanced  to  trippen  by; 
Which  when  observed,  he  shrunk  into  his  mew,  620 

And  straight  would  recollect  his  piety  anew. 


LXX. 

Nor  be  forgot  a  tribe,  who  minded  nought 
(Old  inmates  of  the  place)  but  state-affairs : 
They  looked,  perdie,  as  if  they  deeply  thought ; 
And  on  their  brow  sat  every  nation's  cares.  625 

The  world  by  them  is  parcelled  out  in  shares, 
When  in  the  Hall  of  Smoke  they  congress  hold, 
And  the  sage  berry  sun-burnt  Mocha  bears 
Has  cleared  their  inward  eye  :   then,  smoke-enrolled. 
Their  oracles  break  forth,  mysterious  as  of  old.  630 


LXXI. 

Here  languid  Beauty  kept  her  pale-faced  court : 
Bevies  of  dainty  dames,  of  high  degree, 
From  every  quarter  hither  made  resort ; 
Where,  from  gross  mortal  care  and  business  free, 
They  lay,  poured  out  in  ease  and  luxury.  635 

Or  should  they  a  vain  shew  of  work  assume, 
Alas  and  well-a-day !   what  can  it  be  ? 
To  knot,  to  twist,  to  'range  the  vernal  bloom ; 
But  far  is  cast  the  distaff,  spinning-wheel,  and  loom. 


CANTO  I.  211 


LXXII. 

Their  only  labour  was  to  kill  the  time  ;  640 

And  labour  dire  it  is,  and  weary  woe. 
They  sit,  they  loll,  turn  o'er  some  idle  rhyme ; 
Then,  rising  sudden,  to  the  glass  they  go, 
Or  saunter  forth,  with  tottering  step  and  slow  : 
This  soon  too  rude  an  exercise  they  find  ;  645 

Straight  on  the  couch  their  limbs  again  they  throw, 
Where  hours  on  hours  they  sighing  lie  reclined, 
And  court  the  vapoury  god  soft-breathing  in  the  wind. 


LXXII  I. 

Now  must  I  mark  the  villany  we  found, 
But  ah !   too  late,  as  shall  eftsoons  be  shewn.  650 

A  place  here  was,  deep,  dreary,  under  ground  ; 
Where  still  our  inmates,  when  unpleasing  grown, 
Diseased,  and  loathsome,  privily  were  thrown. 
Far  from  the  light  of  heaven,  they  languished  there, 
Unpitied  uttering  many  a  bitter  groan  ;  655 

For  of  these  wretches  taken  was  no  care  : 
Fierce  fiends  and  hags  of  hell  their  only  nurses  were. 


LXXIV. 

Alas  the  change !   from  scenes  of  joy  and  rest 
To  this  dark  den,  where  sickness  tossed  alway. 
Here  Lethargy,  with  deadly  sleep  opprest,  660 

Stretched  on  his  back  a  mighty  lubbard  lay, 
Heaving  his  sides,  and  snored  night  and  day: 
To  stir  him  from  his  traunce  it  was  not  eath, 
And  his  half-opened  eyne  he  shut  straightway  ; 
He  led,  I  wot,  the  softest  way  to  death,  665 

And  taught  withouten  pain  and  strife  to  yield  the  breath. 

P  2 


2 1 2  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


LXXV. 

Of  limbs  enormous,  but  withal  unsound, 
Soft-swoln  and  pale,  here  lay  the  Hydropsy  : 
Unwieldy  man!    with  belly  monstrous  round, 
For  ever  fed  with  watery  supply ;  670 

For  still  he  drank,  and  yet  he  still  was  dry. 
And  moping  here  did  Hypochondria  sit, 
Mother  of  spleen,  in  robes  of  various  dye, 
Who  vexed  was  full  oft  with  ugly  fit ; 
And  some  her  frantic  deemed,  and  some  her  deemed  a  wit. 


LXXVI. 

A  lady  proud  she  was,  of  ancient  blood,  676 

Yet  oft  her  fear  her  pride  made  crouchen  low : 
She  felt,  or  fancied  in  her  fluttering  mood, 
All  the  diseases  which  the  spittles  know, 
And  sought  all  physic  which  the  shops  bestow,  680 

And  still  new  leeches  and  new  drugs  would  try, 
Her  humour  ever  wavering  to  and  fro  : 
For  sometimes  she  would  laugh,  and  sometimes  cry, 
Then  sudden  waxed  wroth,  and  all  she  knew  not  why. 


LXXVII. 

Fast  by  her  side  a  listless  maiden  pined,  685 

With  aching  head,  and  squeamish  heart-burnings ; 
Pale,  bloated,  cold,  she  seemed  to  hate  mankind, 
Yet  loved  in  secret  all  forbidden  things. 
And  here  the  Tertian  shakes  his  chilling  wings ; 
The  sleepless  Gout  here  counts  the  crowing  cocks,          690 
A  wolf  now  gnaws  him,  now  a  serpent  stings  ; 
Whilst  Apoplexy  crammed  Intemperance  knocks 
Down  to  the  ground  at  once,  as  butcher  felleth  ox. 


CANTO  II. 


213 


GANTO    II. 


Tke  Knight  of  Art  and  Industry, 
And  his  achievements  fair ; 

That,  by  this  Castle's  overthrow, 
Seciircd,  and  crowned  were. 


ESCAPED  the  castle  of  the  sire  of  sin, 
Ah  !   where  shall  I  so  sweet  a  dwelling  find  ? 
For  all  around  without,  and  all  within, 
Nothing  save  what  delightful  was  and  kind, 
Of  goodness  savouring  and  a  tender  mind, 
E'er  rose  to  view.     But  now  another  strain, 
Of  doleful  note,  alas  !    remains  behind  : 
I  now  must  sing  of  pleasure  turned  to  pain, 
And  of  the  false  enchanter  INDOLENCE  complain. 


ii. 


Is  there  no  patron  to  protect  the  Muse, 
And  fence  for  her  Parnassus'  barren  soil? 
To  every  labour  its  reward  accrues, 
And  they  are  sure  of  bread  who  swink  and  moil ; 
But  a  fell  tribe  the  Aonian  hive  despoil, 
As  ruthless  wasps  oft  rob  the  painful  bee  : 
Thus  while  the  laws  not  guard  that  noblest  toil, 
Ne  for  the  Muses  other  meed  decree, 
They  praised  are  alone,  and  starve  right  merrily. 


214  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


III. 

I  care  not,  Fortune,  what  you  me  deny : 
You  cannot  rob  me  of  free  nature's  grace  ;  20 

You  cannot  shut  the  windows  of  the  sky, 
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  brace,  25 

And  I  their  toys  to  the  great  children  leave  : 
Of  fancy,  reason,  virtue,  nought  can  me  bereave. 


IV. 

Come  then,  my  Muse,  and  raise  a  bolder  song ; 
Come,  lig  no  more  upon  the  bed  of  sloth, 
Dragging  the  lazy  languid  line  along,  30 

Fond  to  begin,  but  still  to  finish  loth, 
Thy  half- writ  scrolls  all  eaten  by  the  motl>: 
Arise,  and  sing  that  generous  imp  of  fame, 
Who,  with  the  sons  of  softness  nobly  wroth, 
To  sweep  away  this  human  lumber  came,  35 

Or  in  a  chosen  few  to  rouse  the  slumbering  flame. 


v. 

In  Fairyland  there  lived  a  knight  of  old, 
Of  feature  stern,  Selvaggio  well  ycleped, 
A  rough  unpolished  man,  robust  and  bold, 
But  wondrous  poor:   he  neither  sowed  nor  reaped,  40 

Ne  stores  in  summer  for  cold  winter  heaped; 
In  hunting  all  his  days  away  he  wore  ; 
Now  scorched  by  June,  now  in  November  steeped, 
Now  pinched  by  biting  January  sore, 
He  still  in  woods  pursued  the  libbard  and  the  boar.  45 


CANTO  II.  21 


VI. 

As  he  one  morning,  long  before  the  dawn, 
Pricked  through  the  forest  to  dislodge  his  prey, 
Deep  in  the  winding  bosom  of  a  lawn, 
With  wood  wild  fringed,  he  marked  a  taper's  ray, 
That  from  the  beating  rain  and  wintry  fray  50 

Did  to  a  lonely  cot  his  steps  decoy  : 
There,  up  to  earn  the  needments  of  the  day, 
He  found  dame  Poverty,  nor  fair  nor  coy  ; 
And  she  became  his  wife,  the  mother  of  his  boy. 


VII. 

Amid  the  greenwood  shade  this  boy  was  bred,  55 

And  grew  at  last  a  knight  of  muchel  fame, 
Of  active  mind  and  vigorous  lustyhed, 
THE  KNIGHT  OF  ARTS  AND  INDUSTRY  by  name. 
Earth  was  his  bed,  the  boughs  his  roof  did  frame  ; 
He  knew  no  beverage  but  the  flowing  stream ;  6c 

His  tasteful  well  earned  food  the  sylvan  game, 
Or  the  brown  fruit  with  which  the  woodlands  teem  : 
The  same  to  him  glad  summer  or  the  winter  breme. 


VIII. 

So  passed  his  youthly  morning,  void  of  care, 
Wild  as  the  colts  that  through  the  commons  run :  65 

For  him  no  tender  parents  troubled  were ; 
He  of  the  forest  seemed  to  be  the  son, 
And  certes  had  been  utterly  undone 
But  that  Minerva  pity  of  him  took, 

With  all  the  gods  that  love  the  rural  wonne,  70 

That  teach  to  tame  the  soil  and  rule  the  crook; 
Ne  did  the  sacred  Nine  disdain  a  gentle  look. 


216  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


IX. 

Of  fertile  genius  him  they  nurtured  well 
In  every  science  and  in  every  art 

By  which  mankind  the  thoughtless  brutes  excel,  75 

That  can  or  use,  or  joy,  or  grace  impart, 
Disclosing  all  the  powers  of  head  and  heart. 
Ne  were  the  goodly  exercises  spared 
That  brace  the  nerves  or  make  the  limbs  alert, 
And  mix  elastic  force  with  firmness  hard  :  80 

Was  never  knight  on  ground  mote  be  with  him  compared. 


x. 

Sometimes  with  early  morn  he  mounted  gay 
The  hunter-steed,  exulting  o'er  the  dale, 
And  drew  the  roseate  breath  of  orient  day ; 
Sometimes,  retiring  to  the  secret  vale,  85 

Yclad  in  steel,  and  bright  with  burnished  mail, 
He  strained  the  bow,  or  tossed  the  sounding  spear, 
Or  darting  on  the  goal  outstript  the  gale, 
Or  wheeled  the  chariot  in  its  mid  career, 
Or  strenuous  wrestled  hard  with  many  a  tough  compeer.     90 


XI. 

At  other  times  he  pried  through  nature's  store, 
Whate'er  she  in  the  ethereal  round  contains, 
Whate'er  she  hides  beneath  her  verdant  floor — 
The  vegetable  and  the  mineral  reigns  ; 
Or  else  he  scanned  the  globe — those  small  domains          95 
Where  restless  mortals  such  a  turmoil  keep, 
Its  seas,  its  floods,  its  mountains,  and  its  plains; 
But  more  he  searched  the  mind,  and  roused  from  sleep 
Those  moral  seeds  whence  we  heroic  actions  reap. 


CANTO  II.  21 


XII. 

Nor  would  he  scorn  to  stoop  from  high  pursuits  100 

Of  heavenly  truth,  and  practise  what  she  taught. 
Vain  is  the  tree  of  knowledge  without  fruits. 
Sometimes  in  hand  the  spade  or  plough  he  caught, 
Forth  calling  all  with  which  boon  earth  is  fraught ; 
Sometimes  he  plied  the  strong  mechanic  tool,  105 

Or  reared  the  fabric  from  the  finest  draught ; 
And  oft  he  put  himself  to  Neptune's  school, 
Fighting  with  winds  and  waves  on  the  vexed  ocean  pool. 


XIII. 

To  solace  then  these  rougher  toils  he  tried 
To  touch  the  kindling  canvas  into  life;  no 

With  nature  his  creating  pencil  vied, — 
With  nature  joyous  at  the  mimic  strife  : 
Or  to  such  shapes  as  graced  Pygmalion's  wife 
He  hewed  the  marble  ;   or  with  varied  fire 
He  roused  the  trumpet  and  the  martial  fife,  115 

Or  bade  the  lute  sweet  tenderness  inspire, 
Or  verses  framed  that  well  might  wake  Apollo's  lyre. 


XIV. 

Accomplished  thus  he  from  the  woods  issued, 
Full  of  great  aims  and  bent  on  bold  emprise  ; 
The  work  which  long  he  in  his  breast  had  brewed         120 
Now  to  perform  he  ardent  did  devise, 
To  wit,  a  barbarous  world  to  civilize. 
Earth  was  till  then  a  boundless  forest  wild — 
Nought  to  be  seen  but  savage  wood  and  skies  ; 
No  cities  nourished  arts,  no  culture  smiled,  125 

No  government,  no  laws,  no  gentle  manners  mild. 


2i8  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XV. 

A  rugged  wight,  the  worst  of  brutes,  was  man  ; 
On  his  own  wretched  kind  he  ruthless  preyed  : 
The  strongest  still  the  weakest  over-ran  ; 
In  every  country  mighty  robbers  swayed,  130 

And  guile  and  ruffian  force  were  all  their  trade. 
Life  was  not  life,  but  rapine,  want,  and  woe  ; 
Which  this  brave  knight,  in  noble  anger,  made 
To  swear  he  would  the  rascal  rout  o'erthrow; 
For,  by  the  powers  divine,  it  should  no  more  be  so !         135 


XVI. 

It  would  exceed  the  purport  of  my  song 
To  say  how  this  best  sun,  from  orient  climes, 
Came  beaming  life  and  beauty  all  along, 
Before  him  chasing  indolence  and  crimes. 
Still  as  he  passed,  the  nations  he  sublimes,  140 

And  calls  forth  arts  and  virtue  with  his  ray  : 
Then  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome  their  golden  times 
Successive  had  ;  but  now  in  ruins  grey 
They  lie,  to  slavish  sloth  and  tyranny  a  prey. 


XVII. 

To  crown  his  toils,  Sir  INDUSTRY  then  spread  145 

The  swelling  sail,  and  made  for  Britain's  coast. 
A  silvan  life  till  then  the  natives  led, 
In  the  brown  shades  and  green-wood  forest  lost, 
All  careless  rambling  where  it  liked  them  most  : 
Their  wealth  the  wild  deer  bouncing  through  the  glade,  150 
They  lodged  at  large,  and  lived  at  nature's  cost, 
Save  spear  and  bow,  withouten  other  aid  ; 
Yet  not  the  Roman  steel  their  naked  breast  dismayed. 


CANTO  II.  219 


XVIII. 

He  liked  the  soil,  he  liked  the  clement  skies, 
He  liked  the  verdant  hills  and  flowery  plains  :  155 

*  Be  this  my  great,  my  chosen  isle  !  (he  cries) 
This — whilst  my  labours  liberty  sustains — 
This  queen  of  ocean  all  assault  disdains.' 
Nor  liked  he  less  the  genius  of  the  land, 
To  freedom  apt  and  persevering  pains,  160 

Mild  to  obey,  and  generous  to  command, 
Tempered  by  forming  Heaven  with  kindest  firmest  hand. 


XIX. 

Here  by  degrees  his  master-work  arose, 
Whatever  arts  and  industry  can  frame, 
Whatever  finished  agriculture  knows,  165 

Fair  Queen  of  Arts  !   from  heaven  itself  who  came, 
When  Eden  flourished  in  unspotted  fame  ; 
And  still  with  her  sweet  innocence  we  find, 
And  tender  peace,  and  joys  without  a  name, 
That,  while  they  rapture,  tranquillize  the  mind;  170 

Nature  and  art  at  once,  delight  and  use  combined. 


xx. 

Then  towns  he  quickened  by  mechanic  arts, 
And  bade  the  fervent  city  glow  with  toil ; 
Bade  social  commerce  raise  renowned  marts, 
Join  land  to  land,  and  marry  soil  to  soil,  175 

Unite  the  poles,  and  without  bloody  spoil 
Bring  home  of  either  Ind  the  gorgeous  stores  ; 
Or,  should  despotic  rage  the  world  embroil, 
Bade  tyrants  tremble  on  remotest  shores, 
While  o'er  the  encircling  deep  Britannia's  thunder  roars.  180 


220  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXI. 

The  drooping  muses  then  he  westward  called, 
From  the  famed  city  by  Propontis  sea, 
What  time  the  Turk  th'  enfeebled  Grecian  thralled ; 
Thence  from  their  cloistered  walks  he  set  them  free, 
And  brought  them  to  another  Castalie, —  185 

Where  I  sis  many  a  famous  nursling  breeds, 
Or  where  old  Cam  soft-paces  o'er  the  lea 
In  pensive  mood,  and  tunes  his  doric  reeds, 
The  whilst  his  flocks  at  large  the  lonely  shepherd  feeds. 


XXII, 

Yet  the  fine  arts  were  what  he  finished  least.  19 

For  why  ?     They  are  the  quintessence  of  all, 
The  growth  of  labouring  time,  and  slow  increased  ; 
Unless,  as  seldom  chances,  it  should  fall 
That  mighty  patrons  the  coy  sisters  call 
Up  to  the  sunshine  of  uncumbered  ease,  195 

Where  no  rude  care  the  mounting  thought  may  thrall, 
And  where  they  nothing  have  to  do  but  please — 
Ah,  gracious  God  !   thou  know'st  they  ask  no  other  fees. 


XXIII. 

But  now  alas !    we  live  too  late  in  time : 
Our  patrons  now  even  grudge  that  little  claim,  200 

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,  205 

While  she  protects,  inspires  the  noblest  strains. 
The  best  and  sweetest  far,  are  toil-created  gains. 


CANTO  II.  221 


XXIV. 

Whenas  the  knight  had  framed  in  Britain-land 
A  matchless  form  of  glorious  government, 
In  which  the  sovereign  laws  alone  command,  210 

Laws  stablished  by  the  public  free  consent, 
Whose  majesty  is  to  the  sceptre  lent, — 
When  this  great  plan,  with  each  dependent  art, 
Was  settled  firm,  and  to  his  heart's  content, 
Then  sought  he  from  the  toilsome  scene  to  part,  215 

And  let  life's  vacant  eve  breathe  quiet  through  the  heart. 


xxv. 

For  this  he  chose  a  farm  in  Deva's  vale, 
Where  his  long  alleys  peeped  upon  the  main. 
In  this  calm  seat  he  drew  the  healthful  gale, 
Commixed  the  chief,  the  patriot,  and  the  swain,  220 

The  happy  monarch  of  his  silvan  train  ! 
Here,  sided  by  the  guardians  of  the  fold, 
He  walked  his  rounds,  and  cheered  his  blest  domain ; 
His  days,  the  days  of  unstained  nature,  rolled, 
Replete  with  peace  and  joy,  like  patriarch's  of  old.  225 


XXVI. 

Witness,  ye  lowing  herds,  who  lent  him  milk ; 
Witness,  ye  flocks,  whose  woolly  vestments  far 
Exceed  soft  India's  cotton,  or  her  silk ; 
Witness,  with  Autumn  charged,  the  nodding  car, 
That  homeward  came  beneath  sweet  evening's  star,        2 
Or  of  September  moons  the  radiance  mild. 
O  hide  thy  head,  abominable  war ! 
Of  crimes  and  ruffian  idleness  the  child ! 
From  Heaven  this  life  ysprung,  from  hell  thy  glories  vild ! 


222  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXVII. 

Nor  from  his  deep  retirement  banished  was  235 

The  amusing  cares  of  rural  industry. 
Still,  as  with  grateful  change  the  seasons  pass, 
New  scenes  arise,  new  landskips  strike  the  eye, 
And  all  the  enlivened  country  beautify : 
Gay  plains  extend  where  marshes  slept  before  ;  240 

O'er  recent  meads  the  exulting  streamlets  fly ; 
Dark  frowning  heaths  grow  bright  with  Ceres'  store, 
And  woods  imbrown  the  steep,  or  wave  along  the  shore. 


XXVIII. 

As  nearer  to  his  farm  you  made  approach, 
He  polished  nature  with  a  finer  hand:  245 

Yet  on  her  beauties  durst  not  art  encroach  ; 
'Tis  art's  alone  these  beauties  to  expand. 
In  graceful  dance  immingled,  o'er  the  land, 
Pan,  Pales,  Flora,  and  Pomona  played  : 
Even  here,  sometimes,  the  rude  wild  common  fand         250 
A  happy  place;    where,  free  and  unafraid, 
Amid  the  flowering  brakes  each  coyer  creature  strayed. 


XXIX. 

But  in  prime  vigour  what  can  last  for  aye  ? 
That  soul-enfeebling  wizard,  INDOLENCE, 
I  whilom  sung,  wrought  in  his  works  decay:  255 

Spread  far  and  wide  was  his  cursed  influence ; 
Of  public  virtue  much  he  dulled  the  sense, 
Even  much  of  private ;  eat  our  spirit  out, 
And  fed  our  rank  luxurious  vices :    whence 
The  land  was  overlaid  with  many  a  lout  ;  260 

Not,  as  old  fame  reports,  wise  generous,  bold,  and  stout. 


CANTO  II. 


223 


XXX. 

A  rage  of  pleasure  maddened  every  breast ; 
Down  to  the  lowest  lees  the  ferment  ran  : 
To  his  licentious  wish  each  must  be  blest, 
With  joy  be  fevered, — snatch  it  as  he  can.  265 

Thus  vice  the  standard  reared  ;   her  arrier-ban 
Corruption  called,  and  loud  she  gave  the  word. 
'  Mind,  mind  yourselves  !   why  should  the  vulgar  man, 
The  lacquey,  be  more  virtuous  than  his  lord  ? 
Enjoy  this  span  of  life!  'tis  all  the  gods  afford.3  270 


XXXI. 

The  tidings  reached  to  where  in  quiet  hall 
The  good  old  knight  enjoyed  well  earned  repose  : 
1  Come,  come,  Sir  Knight !    thy  children  on  thee  call ; 
Come,  save  us  yet,  ere  ruin  round  us  close ! 
The  demon  INDOLENCE  thy  toils  o'erthrows.' 
On  this  the  noble  colour  stained  his  cheeks, 
Indignant  glowing  through  the  whitening  snows 
Of  venerable  eld ;  his  eye  full-speaks 
His  ardent  soul,  and  from  his  couch  at  once  he  breaks. 


275 


XXXII. 

'I  will  (he  cried),  so  help  me  God!    destroy  280 

That  villain  Archimage.' — His  page  then  strait 
He  to  him  called, — a  fiery-footed  boy 
Benempt  Dispatch.     '  My  steed  be  at  the  gate  ; 
My  bard  attend  ;   quick,  bring  the  net  of  fate.' 
This  net  was  twisted  by  the  sisters  three  ;  2.85 

Which,  when  once  cast  o'er  hardened  wretch,  too  late 
Repentance  comes  :   replevy  cannot  be 
From  the  strong  iron  grasp  of  vengeful  destiny. 


224  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXXIII. 

He  came,  the  bard,  a  little  Druid  wight 
Of  withered  aspect ;  but  his  eye  was  keen,  290 

With  sweetness  mixed.     In  russet  brown  bedight, 
As  is  his  sister  of  the  copses  green, 
He  crept  along,  unpromising  of  mien. 
Gross  he  who  judges  so.     His  soul  was  fair, 
Bright  as  the  children  of  yon  azure  sheen.  295 

True  comeliness,  which  nothing  can  impair, 
Dwells  in  the  mind  :   all  else  is  vanity  and  glare. 


XXXIV. 

'  Come !    (quoth  the  Knight)  a  voice  has  reached  mine  ear, 
The  demon  INDOLENCE  threats  overthrow 
To  all  that  to  mankind  is  good  and  dear  :  300 

Come,  Philomelus  !   let  us  instant  go, 
O'erturn  his  bowers,  and  lay  his  castle  low. 
Those  men,  those  wretched  men,  who  will  be  slaves, 
Must  drink  a  bitter  wrathful  cup  of  woe  ; 
But  some  there  be,  thy  song,  as  from  their  graves,         305 
Shall  raise.     Thrice  happy  he  who  without  rigour  saves !' 


XXXV. 

Issuing  forth,  the  Knight  bestrode  his  steed 
Or  ardent  bay,  and  on  whose  front  a  star 
Shone  blazing  bright ; — sprung  from  the  generous  breed 
That  whirl  of  active  day  the  rapid  car,  310 

He  pranced  along,  disdaining  gate  or  bar. 
Meantime,  the  bard  on  milk-white  palfrey  rode, — 
An  honest  sober  beast,  that  did  not  mar 
His  meditations,  but  full  softly  trode. 
And  much  they  moralized  as  thus  yfere  they  yode.  315 


CANTO  77.  225 


XXXVI. 

They  talked  of  virtue,  and  of  human  bliss. 
What  else  so  fit  for  man  to  settle  well  ? 
And  still  their  long  researches  met  in  this, 
This  truth  of  truths^  which  nothing  can  refel  : 
'From  virtue's  fount  the  purest  joys  outwell, 
Sweet  rills  of  thought  that  cheer  the  conscious  soul ; 
While  vice  pours  forth  the  troubled  streams  of  hell, 
The  which,  howe'er  disguised,  at  last  with  dole 
Will  through  the  tortured  breast  their  fiery  torrent  roll.' 


XXXVII. 

At  length  it  dawned,  that  fatal  valley  gay,  325 

O'er  which  high  wood-crowned  hills  their  summits  rear. 
On  the  cool  height  awhile  our  palmers  stay, 
And  spite  even  of  themselves  their  senses  cheer ; 
Then  to  the  wizard's  wonne  their  steps  they  steer. 
Like  a  green  isle  it  broad  beneath  them  spread,  330 

With  gardens  round,  and  wandering  currents  clear, 
And  tufted  groves  to  shade  the  meadow-bed, 
Sweet  airs  and  song;   and  without  hurry  all  seemed  glad. 


XXXVIII. 

'  As  God  shall  judge  me,  Knight !  we  must  forgive 
(The  half-enraptured  Philomelus  cried)  335 

The  frail  good  man  deluded  here  to  live, 
And  in  these  groves  his  musing  fancy  hide. 
Ah,  nought  is  pure !    It  cannot  be  denied 
That  virtue  still  some  tincture  has  of  vice, 
And  vice  of  virtue.     What  should  then  betide,  340 

But  that  our  charity  be  not  too  nice  ? 
Come,  let  us  those  we  can  to  real  bliss  entice.' 

Q 


226  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


XXXIX. 

'Ay,  sicker  (quoth  the  Knight),  all  flesh  is  frail, 
To  pleasant  sin  and  joyous  dalliance  bent; 
But  let  not  brutish  vice  of  this  avail,  345 

And  think  to  'scape  deserved  punishment. 
Justice  were  cruel  weakly  to  relent ; 
From  mercy's  self  she  got  her  sacred  glaive  : 
Grace  be  to  those  who  can  and  will  repent ; 
But  penance  long  and  dreary  to  the  slave,  350 

Who  must  in  floods  of  fire  his  gross  foul  spirit  lave.3 


XL. 

Thus  holding  high  discourse,  they  came  to  where 
The  cursed  carle  was  at  his  wonted  trade, — 
Still  tempting  heedless  men  into  his  snare 
In  witching  wise,  as  I  before  have  said.  355 

But  when  he  saw,  in  goodly  geer  arrayed, 
The  grave  majestic  Knight  approaching  nigh, 
And  by  his  side  the  bard  so  sage  and  staid, 
His  countenance  fell;  yet  oft  his  anxious  eye 
Marked  them,  like  wily  fox  who  roosted  cock  doth  spy.    360 


XLI. 

Nathless  with  feigned  respect  he  bade  give  back 
The  rabble  rout,  and  welcomed  them  full  kind. 
Struck  with  the  noble  twain,  they  were  not  slack 
His  orders  to  obey,  and  fall  behind. 

Then  he  resumed  his  song ;   and  unconfined  365 

Poured  all  his  music,  ran  through  all  his  strings  : 
With  magic  dust  their  eyne  he  tries  to  blind, 
And  virtue's  tender  airs  o'er  weakness  flings. 
What  pity  base  his  song  who  so  divinely  sings! 


CANTO  If.  227 


(  XLII. 

Elate  in  thought,  he  counted  them  his  own,  370 

They  listened  so  intent  with  fixed  delight  : 
But  they  instead,  as  if  transmewed  to  stone, 
Marvelled  he  could  with  such  sweet  art  unite 
The  lights  and  shades  of  manners,  wrong  and  right. 
Meantime  the  silly  crowd  the  charm  devour,  375 

Wide  pressing  to  the  gate.     Swift  on  the  Knight 
He  darted  fierce  to  drag  him  to  his  bower, 
Who  backening  shunned  his  touch,  for  well  he  knew  its  power. 


XLIII. 

As  in  thronged  amphitheatre  of  old 

The  wary  retiarius  trapped  his  foe,  380 

Even  so  the  Knight,  returning  on  him  bold, 
At  once  involved  him  in  the  net  of  woe, 
Whereof  I  mention  made  not  long  ago. 
Enraged  at  first,  he  scorned  so  weak  a  jail, 
And  leaped,  and  flew,  and  flounced  to  and  fro;  385 

But  when  he  found  that  nothing  could  avail 
He  sat  him  felly  down,  and  gnawed  his  bitter  nail. 


XLIV. 

Alarmed,  the  inferior  demons  of  the  place 
Raised  rueful  shrieks  and  hideous  yells  around  ; 
Black  ruptured  clouds  deformed  the  welkin's  face,  390 

And  from  beneath  was  heard  a  wailing  sound, 
As  of  infernal  sprights  in  cavern  bound  ; 
A  solemn  sadness  every  creature  strook, 
And  lightnings  flashed,  and  horror  rocked  the  ground: 
Huge  crowds  on  crowds  outpoured,  with  blemished  look,  395 
As  if  on  Time's  last  verge  this  frame  of  things  had  shook. 

Q2 


228  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


XLV. 

Soon  as  the  short-lived  tempest  was  yspent — 
Steamed  from  the  jaws  of  vexed  Avernus'  hole — 
And  hushed  the  hubbub  of  the  rabblement, 
Sir  INDUSTRY  the  first  calm  moment  stole :  400 

'There  must  (he  cried)  amid  so  vast  a  shoal 
Be  some  who  are  not  tainted  at  the  heart, 
Not  poisoned  quite  by  this  same  villain's  bowl : 
Come  then,  my  bard,  thy  heavenly  fire  impart; 
Touch  soul  with  soul,  till  forth  the  latent  spirit  start.'        405 


XLVI. 

The  bard  obeyed ;   and  taking  from  his  side, 
Where  it  in  seemly  sort  depending  hung, 
His  British  harp,  its  speaking  strings  he  tried, 
The  which  with  skilful  touch  he  deftly  strung, 
Till  tinkling  in  clear -symphony  they  rung.  410 

Then,  as  he  felt  the  Muses  come  along, 
Light  o'er  the  chords  his  raptured  hand  he  flung, 
And  played  a  prelude  to  his  rising  song  : 
The   whilst,  like   midnight  mute,  ten    thousands   round   him 
throng. 


XLVII. 

Thus  ardent  burst  his  strain:  'Ye  hapless  race,  415 

Dire  labouring  here  to  smother  reason's  ray, 
That  lights  our  Maker's  image  in  our  face, 
And  gives  us  wide  o'er  earth  unquestioned  sway, — 
What  is  the  adored  Supreme  Perfection,  say? 
What  but  eternal  never-resting  soul,  420 

Almighty  power,  and  all-directing  day, 
By  whom  each  atom  stirs,  the  planets  roll, 
Who  fills,  surrounds,  informs,  and  agitates  the  whole? 


CANTO  II.  229 


XLVIII. 

'  Come,  to  the  beaming  God  your  hearts  unfold  ! 
Draw  from  its  fountain  life  !     'Tis  thence  alone  425 

We  can  excel.     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. 
In  universal  nature  this  clear  shown  430 

Not  needeth  proof :  to  prove  it  were,  I  wis, 
To  prove  the  beauteous  world  excels  the  brute  abyss. 


XLIX. 

4  Is  not  the  field  with  lively  culture  green 
A  sight  more  joyous  than  the  dead  morass  ? 
Do  not  the  skies  with  active  ether  clean,  435 

And  fanned  by  sprightly  zephyrs,  far  surpass 
The  foul  November  fogs  and  slumbrous  mass 
With  which  sad  nature  veils  her  drooping  face  ? 
Does  not  the  mountain  stream,  as  clear  as  glass, 
Gay-dancing  on,  the  putrid  pool  disgrace?  440 

The  same  in  all  holds  true,  but  chief  in  human  race. 


'  It  was  not  by  vile  loitering  in  ease 
That  Greece  obtained  the  brighter  palm  of  art ; 
That  soft  yet  ardent  Athens  learned  to  please, 
To  keen  the  wit,  and  to  sublime  the  heart, —  445 

In  all  supreme !  complete  in  every  part ! 
It  was  not  thence  majestic  Rome  arose, 
And  o'er  the  nations  shook  her  conquering  dart  : 
For  sluggard's  brow  the  laurel  never  grows ; 
Renown  is  not  the  child  of  indolent  repose.  450 


230  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


LI. 

'  Had  unambitious  mortals  minded  nought 
But  in  loose  joy  their  time  to  wear  away, 
Had  they  alone  the  lap  of  dalliance  sought, 
Pleased  on  her  pillow  their  dull  heads  to  lay, 
Rude  nature's  state  had  been  our  state  to-day ;  455 

No  cities  e'er  their  towery  fronts  had  raised, 
No  arts  had  made  us  opulent  and  gay, 
With  brother  brutes  the  human  race  had  grazed, 
None   e'er  had   soared   to  fame,  none  honoured  been,  none 
praised. 


LII. 

{  Great  Homer's  song  had  never  fired  the  breast  460 

To  thirst  of  glory  and  heroic  deeds  ; 
Sweet  Maro's  muse,  sunk  in  inglorious  rest, 
Had  silent  slept  amid  the  Mincian  reeds  ; 
The  wits  of  modern  time  had  told  their  beads, 
The  monkish  legends  been  their  only  strains;  465 

Our  Milton's  Eden  had  lain  wrapt  in  weeds, 
Our  Shakespeare  strolled  and  laughed  with  Warwick  swains, 
Ne  had  my  master  Spenser  charmed  his  Mulla's  plains. 


LIII. 

'Dumb  too  had  been  the  sage  historic  muse, 
And  perished  all  the  sons  of  ancient  fame  ;  470 

Those  starry  lights  of  virtue,  that  diffuse 
Through  the  dark  depth  of  time  their  vivid  flame, 
Had  all  been  lost  with  such  as  have  no  name. 
Who  then  had  scorned  his  ease  for  others'  good? 
Who  then  had  toiled  rapacious  men  to  tame?  475 

Who  in  the  public  breach  devoted  stood, 
And  for  his  country's  cause  been  prodigal  of  blood  ? 


CANTO  II.  231 


LIV. 

'  But  should  to  fame  your  hearts  impervious  be, 
If  right  I  read,  you  pleasure  all  require : 
Then  hear  how  best  may  be  obtained  this  fee,  480 

How  best  enjoyed  this  nature's  wide  desire. 
Toil  and  be  glad  !    let  Industry  inspire 
Into  your  quickened  limbs  her  buoyant  breath  ! 
Who  does  not  act  is  dead  ;    absorpt  entire 
In  miry  sloth,  no  pride,  no  joy  he  hath  :  485 

O  leaden-hearted  men,  to  be  in  love  with  death! 


LV. 

*  Better  the  toiling  swain,  oh  happier  far ! 
Perhaps  the  happiest  of  the  sons  of  men ! 
Who  vigorous  plies  the  plough,  the  team,  or  car, 
Who  houghs  the  field,  or  ditches  in  the  glen,  490 

Delves  in  his  garden,  or  secures  his  pen  : 
The  tooth  of  avarice  poisons  not  his  peace  ; 
He  tosses  not  in  sloth's  abhorred  den  ; 
From  vanity  he  has  a  full  release ; 
And,  rich  in  nature's  wealth,  he  thinks  not  of  increase.     495 


LVI. 

'  Good  Lord !   how  keen  are  his  sensations  all ! 
His  bread  is  sweeter  than  the  glutton's  cates ; 
The  wines  of  France  upon  the  palate  pall 
Compared  with  what  his  simple  soul  elates, 
The  native  cup  whose  flavour  thirst  creates;  500 

At  one  deep  draught  of  sleep  he  takes  the  night ; 
And  for  that  heart-felt  joy  which  nothing  mates, 
Of  the  pure  nuptial  bed  the  chaste  delight, — 
The  losel  is  to  him  a  miserable  wight. 


232  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


LVII. 

'But  what  avail  the  largest  gifts  of  Heaven,  505 

When  sickening  health  and  spirits  go  amiss  ? 
How  tasteless  then  whatever  can  be  given! 
Health  is  the  vital  principle  of  bliss, 
And  exercise  of  health.     In  proof  of  this, 
Behold  the  wretch  who  slugs  his  life  away,  510 

Soon  swallowed  in  disease's  sad  abyss  ; 
While  he  whom  toil  has  braced,  or  manly  play, 
Has  light  as  air  each  limb,  each  thought  as  clear  as  day. 


LVIII. 

'  O  who  can  speak  the  vigorous  joys  of  health  ! 
Unclogged  the  body,  unobscured  the  mind;  515 

The  morning  rises  gay,  with  pleasing  stealth 
The  temperate  evening  falls  serene  and  kind. 
In  health  the  wiser  brutes  true  gladness  find. 
See  how  the  younglings  frisk  along  the  meads, 
As  May  comes  on  and  wakes  the  balmy  wind ;  520 

Rampant  with  life,  their  joy  all  joy  exceeds  : 
Yet  what   save   high-strung   health    this   dancing   pleasaunce 
breeds  ? 


LIX. 

'  But  here  instead  is  fostered  every  ill 
Which  or  distempered  minds  or  bodies  know. 
Come  then,  my  kindred  spirits  !    do  not  spill  525 

Your  talents  here.     This  place  is  but  a  show, 
Whose  charms  delude  you  to  the  den  of  woe. 
Come,  follow  me !    I  will  direct  you  right 
Where  pleasure's  roses  void  of  serpents  grow, 
Sincere  as  sweet ;   come,  follow  this  good  Knight,          530 
And  you  will  bless  the  day  that  brought  him  to  your  sight. 


CANTO  II.  233 

LX. 

'  Some  he  will  lead  to  courts,  and  some  to  camps ; 
To  senates  some,  and  public  sage  debates, 
Where,  by  the  solemn  gleam  of  midnight  lamps, 
The  world  is  poised,  and  managed  mighty  states;  535 

To  high  discovery  some,  that  new  creates 
The  face  of  earth ;    some  to  the  thriving  mart ; 
Some  to  the  rural  reign,  and  softer  fates ; 
To  the  sweet  muses  some,  who  raise  the  heart  : 
All  glory  shall  be  yours,  all  nature,  and  all  art.  540 


LXI. 

'  There  are,  I  see,  who  listen  to  my  lay, 
Who  wretched  sigh  for  virtue,  but  despair. 
"All  may  be  done  (methinks  I  hear  them  say), 
Even  death  despised  by  generous  actions  fair; 
All,  but  for  those  who  to  these  bowers  repair,  545 

Their  every  power  dissolved  in  luxury, 
To  quit  of  torpid  sluggishness  the  lair, 
And  from  the  powerful  arms  of  sloth  get  free — 
'Tis  rising  from  the  dead !    Alas  it  cannot  be !  " 


LXII. 

'Would  you  then  learn  to  dissipate  the  band  550 

Of  these  huge  threatening  difficulties  dire 
That  in  the  weak  man's  way  like  lions  stand, 
His  soul  appal,  and  damp  his  rising  fire? 
Resolve  !   resolve !   and  to  be  men  aspire ! 
Exert  that  noblest  privilege,  alone  555 

Here  to  mankind  indulged  ;  control  desire ; 
Let  godlike  reason  from  her  sovereign  throne 
Speak  the  commanding  word  /  will !  and  it  is  done. 


234  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


LXIII. 

1  Heavens  !    can  you  then  thus  waste  in  shameful  wise 
Your  few  important  days  of  trial  here  ?  560 

Heirs  of  eternity,  yborn  to  rise 
Through  endless  states  of  being,  still  more  near 
To  bliss  approaching  and  perfection  clear, 
Can  you  renounce  a  fortune  so  sublime, 
Such  glorious  hopes,  your  backward  steps  to  steer,         565 
And  roll,  with  vilest  brutes,  through  mud  and  slime  ? 
No !    no  ! — Your  heaven-touched  hearts  disdain    the  piteous 
crime ! ' 


LXIV. 

'  Enough !   enough  ! '   they  cried.     Straight  from  the  crowd 
The  better  sort  on  wings  of  transport  fly, 
As,  when  amid  the  lifeless  summits  proud  570 

Of  Alpine  cliffs,  where  to  the  gelid  sky 
Snows  piled  on  snows  in  wintry  torpor  lie, 
The  rays  divine  of  vernal  Phcebus  play, 
The  awakened  heaps,  in  streamlets  from  on  high, 
Roused  into  action,  lively  leap  away,  575 

Glad  warbling  through  the  vales,  in  their  new  being  gay. 


LXV. 

Not  less  the  life,  the  vivid  joy  serene, 
That  lighted  up  these  new-created  men 
Than  that  which  wings  the  exulting  spirit  clean 
When,  just  delivered  from  this  fleshly  den,  580 

It  soaring  seeks  its  native  skies  agen  : 
How  light  its  essence  !    how  unclogged  its  powers, 
Beyond  the  blazon  of  my  mortal  pen  ! 
Even  so  we  glad  forsook  these  sinful  bowers  ; 
Even  such  enraptured  life,  such  energy  was  ours.  585 


CANTO  II.  235 

LXVI. 

I 

But  far  the  greater  part,  with  rage  inflamed, 
Dire  muttered  curses,  and  blasphemed  high  Jove. 
'  Ye  sons  of  hate  !    (they  bitterly  exclaimed) 
What  brought  you  to  this  seat  of  peace  and  love  ? 
While  with  kind  nature  here  amid  the  grove  590 

We  passed  the  harmless  sabbath  of  our  time, 
What  to  disturb  it  could,  fell  men  !    emove 
Your  barbarous  hearts  ?    Is  happiness  a  crime  ? 
Then  do  the  fiends  of  hell  rule  in  yon  Heaven  sublime.' 

LXVII. 

'Ye  impious  wretches,  (quoth  the  Knight  in  wrath)         595 
Your  happiness  behold  ! '     Then  straight  a  wand 
He  waved,  an  anti-magic  power  that  hath 
Truth  from  illusive  falsehood  to  command. 
Sudden  the  landskip  sinks  on  every  hand  ; 
The  pure  quick  streams  are  marshy  puddles  found  ;       600 
On  baleful  heaths  the  groves  all  blackened  stand  ; 
And  o'er  the  weedy  foul  abhorred  ground, 
Snakes,  adders,  toads,  each  loathly  creature  crawls  around. 

LXVIII. 

And  here  and  there,  on  trees  by  lightning  scathed, 
Unhappy  wights  who  loathed  life  yhung  ;  605 

Or  in  fresh  gore  and  recent  murder  bathed 
They  weltering  lay  ;   or  else,  infuriate  flung 
Into  the  gloomy  flood,  while  ravens  sung 
The  funeral  dirge,  they  down  the  torrent  rolled  :  • 
These,  by  distempered  blood  to  madness  stung,  610 

Had   doomed   themselves ;    whence    oft,   when   night    con- 
trolled 
The  world,  returning  hither  their  sad  spirits  howled. 


236  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


Meantime  a  moving  scene  was  open  laid. 
That  lazar-house  I  whilom  in  my  lay 

Depeinten  have  its  horrors  deep  displayed,  615 

And  gave  unnumbered  wretches  to  the  day, 
Who  tossing  there  in  squalid  misery  lay. 
Soon  as  of  sacred  light  the  unwonted  smile 
Poured  on  these  living  catacombs  its  ray, 
Through  the  drear  caverns  stretching  many  a  mile,        620 
The  sick  upraised  their  heads,  and  dropped  their  woes  awhile. 


LXX. 

'  O  Heaven !    (they  cried)  and  do  we  once  more  see 
Yon  blessed  sun,  and  this  green  earth  so  fair? 
Are  we  from  noisome  damps  of  pest-house  free  ? 
And  drink  our  souls  the  sweet  ethereal  air  ?  625 

O  thou  or  Knight  or  God!  who  boldest  there 
That  fiend,  oh  keep  him  in  eternal  chains ! 
But  what  for  us,  the  children  of  despair, 
Brought  to  the  brink  of  hell,  what  hope  remains  ? 
Repentance  does  itself  but  aggravate  our  pains.'  630 


LXXI. 

The  gentle  Knight,  who  saw  their  rueful  case, 
Let  fall  adown  his  silver  beard  some  tears. 
*  Certes  (quoth  he)  it  is  not  even  in  grace 
To  undo  the  past,  and  eke  your  broken  years  : 
Nathless  to  nobler  worlds  repentance  rears  635 

With  humble  hope  her  eye ;   to  her  is  given 
A  power  the  truly  contrite  heart  that  cheers; 
She  quells  the  brand  by  which  the  rocks  are  riven  ; 
She  more  than  merely  softens— she  rejoices  Heaven. 


CANTO  II.  237 


LXXII. 

'Then  patient  bear  the  sufferings  you  have  earned,         640 
And  by  these  sufferings  purify  the  mind  ; 
Let  wisdom  be  by  past  misconduct  learned  : 
Or  pious  die,  with  penitence  resigned  ; 
And  to  a  life  more  happy  and  refined 
Doubt  not  you  shall  new  creatures  yet  arise.  645 

Till  then,  you  may  expect  in  me  to  find 
One  who  will  wipe  your  sorrow  from  your  eyes, 
One  who  will  soothe  your  pangs,  and  wing  you  to  the  skies.' 


LXXIII. 

They  silent  heard,  and  poured  their  thanks  in  tears. 
'  For  you  (resumed  the  Knight  with  sterner  tone)  650 

Whose  hard  dry  hearts  th'  obdurate  demon  sears,— 
That  villain's  gifts  will  cost  you  many  a  groan  ; 
In  dolorous  mansion  long  you  must  bemoan 
His  fatal  charms,  and  weep  your  stains  away ; 
Till,  soft  and  pure  as  infant  goodness  grown,  655 

You  feel  a  perfect  change  :   then,  who  can  say 
What  grace  may  yet  shine  forth  in  Heaven's  eternal  day   ' 


LXXIV. 

This  said,  his  powerful  wand  he  waved  anew  : 
Instant  a  glorious  angel-train  descends, 
The  charities,  to  wit,  of  rosy  hue  :  660 

Sweet  love  their  looks  a  gentle  radiance  lends, 
And  with  seraphic  flame  compassion  blends. 
At  once  delighted  to  their  charge  they  fly : 
When  lo!   a  goodly  hospital  ascends, 
In  which  they  bade  each  human  aid  be  nigh,  665 

That  could  the  sick-bed  smooth  of  that  unhappy  fry. 


238  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


LXXV. 

It  was  a  worthy  edifying  sight, 
And  gives  to  human  kind  peculiar  grace, 
To  see  kind  hands  attending  day  and  night 
With  tender  ministry  from  place  to  place.  670 

Some  prop  the  head ;    some  from  the  pallid  face 
Wipe  off  the  faint  cold  dews  weak  nature  sheds ; 
Some  reach  the  healing  draught :    the  whilst,  to  chase 
The  fear  supreme,  around  their  softened  beds, 
Some  holy  man  by  prayer  all  opening  Heaven  dispreds.    675 

LXXVI. 

Attended  by  a  glad  acclaiming  train 
Of  those  he  rescued  had  from  gaping  hell, 
Then  turned  the  Knight ;  and,  to  his  hall  again 
Soft-pacing,  sought  of  peace  the  mossy  cell, 
Yet  down  his  cheeks  the  gems  of  pity  fell  680 

To  see  the  helpless  wretches  that  remained, 
There  left  through  delves  and  deserts  dire  to  yell ; 
Amazed,  their  looks  with  pale  dismay  were  stained, 
And,    spreading    wide   their    hands,    they    meek    repentance 
feigned. 

LXXVII. 

But  ah  !   their  scorned  day  of  grace  was  past :  685 

For  (horrible  to  tell !)  a  desert  wild 
Before  them  stretched,  bare,  comfortless,  and  vast, 
With  gibbets,  bones,  and  carcases  defiled. 
There  nor  trim  field  nor  lively  culture  smiled ; 
Nor  waving  shade  was  seen,  nor  fountain  fair;  690 

But  sands  abrupt  on  sands  lay  loosely  piled, 
Through  which  they  floundering  toiled  with  painful  care, 
Whilst   Phoebus   smote   them   sore,  and  fired  the  cloudless 
air. 


CANTO  II.  239 


LXXVIII. 

Then,  varying  to  a  joyless  land  of  bogs, 
The  saddened  country  a  gray  waste  appeared,  695 

Where  nought  but  putrid  streams  and  noisome  fogs 
For  ever  hung  on  drizzly  Auster's  beard  ; 
Or  else  the  ground,  by  piercing  Caurus  seared, 
Was  jagged  with  frost  or  heaped  with  glazed  snow  : 
Through  these  extremes  a  ceaseless  round  they  steered,  700 
By  cruel  fiends  still  hurried  to  and  fro, 
Gaunt  beggary  and  scorn,  with  many  hell-hounds  moe. 


LXXIX. 

The  first  was  with  base  dunghill  rags  yclad, 
Tainting  the  gale,  in  which  they  fluttered  light ; 
Of  morbid  hue  his  features,  sunk  and  sad ;  705 

His  hollow  eyne  shook  forth  a  sickly  light ; 
And  o'er  his  lank  jawbone,  in  piteous  plight, 
His  black  rough  beard  was  matted  rank  and  vile  ; 
Direful  to  see  !   a  heart-appalling  sight ! 
Meantime  foul  scurf  and  blotches  him  defile  ;  710 

And  dogs,  where'er  he  went,  still  barked  all  the  while. 


LXXX. 

The  other  was  a  fell  despightful  fiend: 
Hell  holds  none  worse  in  baleful  bower  below ; 
By  pride,  and  wit,  and  rage,  and  rancour  keened  ; 
Of  man,  alike  if  good  or  bad,  the  foe  :  7*5 

With  nose  upturned,  he  always  made  a  show 
As  if  he  smelt  some  nauseous  scent ;   his  eye 
Was  cold  and  keen,  like  blast  from  boreal  snow  ; 
And  taunts  he  casten  forth  most  bitterly. 
Such  were  the  twain  that  off  drove  this  ungodly  fry.          720 


240  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


LXXXI. 

Even  so  through  Brentford  town,  a  town  of  mud, 
A  herd  of  bristly  swine  is  pricked  along ; 
The  filthy  beasts,  that  never  chew  the  cud, 
Still  grunt,  and  squeak,  and  sing  their  troublous  song  ; 
And  oft  they  plunge  themselves  the  mire  among:  725 

But  aye  the  ruthless  driver  goads  them  on, 
And  aye  of  barking  dogs  the  bitter  throng 
Makes  them  renew  their  unmelodious  moan, 
Ne  ever  find  they  rest  from  their  unresting  fone. 


END   OF  THE  CASTLE  OF   INDOLENCE. 


NOTES. 


SPRING. 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

Placed  in  its  natural  order  in  the  collected  seasons,  Spring  came  third 
in  the  order  of  composition.  It  was  published  in  1728,  with  a  dedi- 
cation in  prose  to  the  Countess  of  Hertford,  whom  Thomson  describes 
as  a  lady  of  '  fine  imagination '  and  having  '  intimate  acquaintance 
with  rural  nature.'  He  adds  the  interesting  information  that  the  poem 
grew  up  under  her  encouragement,  and  had  therefore  a  natural  claim  to 
her  patronage.  Johnson  offers  a  peculiar  view  of  the  nature  of  this 
encouragement :  it  was  this  lady's  practice,  he  says,  '  to  invite  every 
summer  some  poet  into  the  country,  to  hear  her  verses  and  assist  her 
studies.  This  honour  was  one  summer  conferred  on  Thomson,  who  took 
more  delight  in  carousing  with  Lord  Hertford  and  his  friends  than 
assisting  her  ladyship's  poetical  operations,  and  therefore  never  received 
another  summons.'  The  scene  of  those  carousals  was  Marlborough 
Castle,  in  Wiltshire,  where,  probably  in  1727,  notwithstanding  the 
alleged  dissipations,  time  was  found  to  write  the  larger  portion,  if  not  the 
whole,  of  Spring.  '  Here  Mr.  Thomson  composed  one  of  his  Seasons'  is 
the  testimony  of  Stephen  Duck,  the  Wiltshire  thresher-poet,  a  contem- 
porary of  Thomson,  and  only  some  five  years  his  junior.  Lady  Hertford's 
manner  of  life  at  Marlborough  may  be  inferred  from  the  following 
verses  of  her  own  composition  : — 

'  We  sometimes  ride,  and  sometimes  walk, 

We  play  at  chess,  or  laugh,  or  talk ; 

Sometimes  beside  the  crystal  stream 

We  meditate  some  serious  theme  ; 

Or  in  the  grot  beside  the  spring 

We  hear  the  feathered  warblers  sing. 
R 


242          THE  SEASONS. —  SPRING. 

Shakspeare  perhaps  an  hour  diverts, 

Or  Scott  directs  to  mend  our  hearts, 

With  Clarke  God's  attributes  explore 

And  taught  by  him  admire  them  more. 

Gay's  pastorals  sometimes  delight  us, 

Or  Tasso's  grisly  spectres  fright  us ; 

Sometimes  we  trace  Armida's  bowers 

And  view  Rinaldo  chained  with  flowers. 

Often  from  thoughts  sublime  as  these 

I  sink  at  once — and  make  a  cheese  ; 

Or  see  my  various  poultry  fed 

And  treat  my  swans  with  scraps  of  bread.' 
Sometimes  upon  the  smooth  canal  they  go  boating  till  sundown  ; 
'  Then  tolls  the  bell,  and  all  unite 

In  prayer  that  God  would  bless  the  night.' 
From  this — 

'  To  cards  we  go  till  ten  has  struck, 

And  then,  however  bad  our  luck, 

Our  stomachs  ne'er  refuse  to  eat 

Eggs,  cream,  fresh-butter,  or  calves'-feet, 

And  cooling  fruit,  or  savoury  greens, 

'Sparagus,  peas,  or  kidney  beans. 

Our  supper  past,  an  hour  we  sit 

And  talk  of  history,  Spain,  or  wit.' 

One  may  imagine  Thomson  joining  occasionally  in  some  part  of  all  this. 
The  prose  dedication  of  Spring  was  not  repeated.  In  the  second 
edition  appeared  the  greater  compliment  of  those  half-dozen  lines  at  the 
commencement  of  the  poem  which  rendered  it  unnecessary.  Lady  Hert- 
ford, if  she  did  not  again  invite  Thomson  to  her  country  seat,  did  not 
cease  to  admire  and  praise  his  genius.  Twenty  years  after  the  publica- 
tion of  Spring  she  promised  to  a  correspondent  'much  entertainment 
in.  Mr.  Thomson's  Castle  of  Indolence,'  and  recommended  '  the  many 
pretty  paintings  in  it.* 

The  publisher  of  Spring  was  one  Andrew  Miller,  who  did  business  at 
the  sign  of  Buchanan's  Head,  and  who  seems  to  hare  favoured,  or  been 
favoured  by,  Scottish  authors.  He  paid  Thomson  fifty  guineas  for 
copyright.  It  was  not  till  1731  that  he  brought  otit  the  second  edition, 
but  in  the  interval,  more  particularly  in  1730,  the  first  edition  of  the 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  243 

collected   Seasons    had    appeared.      Spring,   The   Dunciad,    and    Theli 
Beggars'  Opera  were  the  chief  London  publications  of  1728. 

In  Spring,  Thomson's  imagination  does  not  carry  him  beyond  the 
British  Isles.  He  found  at  home  all  that  was  needful  for  a  poetical 
representation  of  that  delightful  season.  Nowhere,  indeed,  is  nature 
lovelier  in  springtime.  '  My  genius  spreads  her  wing,'  sang  Goldsmith, 
in  1764,  in  the  character  of  the  Traveller — 

'And  flies  where  Britain  courts  the  western  spring, 
Where  lawns  extend  that  scorn  Arcadian  pride, 
And  brighter  streams  than  famed  Hydaspes  glide  : 
There  all  around  the  gentlest  breezes  play, 
There  gentle  music  melts  on  every  spray ; — 
Creation's  mildest  charms  are  there  combined.' 

And  the  wish  of  Browning  among  Italian  scenery  was  *O  to  be  in 
England  now  that  April's  there ! ' 

Spring  was  augmented  in  the  later  editions  by  about  one-tenth.  The 
lines  on  angling  are  a  charming  addition.  It  is  a  question,  however, 
whether  the  description  of  Hagley  Park  and  its  people  greatly  improves 
the  poem.  It  is  only  right  to  say  that  the  Lytteltons  deserved  the 
tribute  of  that  description. 

The  Argument  of  the  poem,  as  given  in  the  edition  of  1738,  offers  the 
following  summary : — 

'  The  subject  proposed.  Inscribed  to  Lady  Hertford.  This  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  purer  and  more  reasonable  kind.' 

The  finest  descriptive  passages  in  Spring  include  a  series  of  views — 
not  all  original — that  almost  exhaust  the  poetical  aspects  of  bird-life. 
Of  these  the  fullest  and  most  striking  are  the  bird  concert,  bird  court- 
ship, teaching  the  young  birds  to  fly,  the  mother  bird's  return  to  her 
harried  nest,  and  the  St.  Kilda  eagle.  Of  equal  power  and  fidelity  to 
nature  are  the  glimpses  of  the  swan  on  the  river,  the  dove,  and  the 
parading  peacock.  One  misses,  however,  the  return  of  the  swallows — 
a  theme  on  which  Thomson  should  have  had  something  good  to  say. 
The  capture  of  the  big  trout  and  the  bull  in  the  broom  are  drawn  with 
as  firm  and  faithful  a  touch  as  Thomson  has  anywhere  shown,  even  in 

R  2 


244          THE  SEASONS. — SPRING. 

Winter ;  while  the  description  of  the  deluge,  compressed  into  eight 
wonderful  lines,  ending  in  a  climax  that  awes  the  imagination,  reveals 
the  advance  which  the  poet  had  made  in  imaginative  force  since  the 
publication  of  Winter.  There  is  a  tendency  to  indulge  the  preaching 
vein  in  the  panegyric  on  nuptial  love  ;  but  the  most  prolix  part  of  the 
poem  is  the  description  of  the  woes  of  the  lover,  especially  the  jealous 
lover.  The  idea  of  love  enters  the  poet's  mind  when  he  is  about  half 
through  the  poem,  and  a  description  of  the  effects  of  that  passion  on 
bird,  beast,  and  man  follows  and  continues  to  the  end.  Before 
Tennyson,  Thomson  knew  that 

'  In  the  Spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love.' 
The  poem  opens  with  a  rapid  but  graphic  account  of  the  transition 
from  Winter  to  Spring,  none  of  the  essential  phenomena  that  mark  the 
change  being  omitted.  We  are  introduced  to  a  scene  of  snow-clad  hills, 
livid  torrents,  and  cloud-laden  skies,  and  before  the  poem  closes  we  find 
ourselves  on  the  threshold  of  Summer.  The  work  of  the  farm  occupies 
but  a  small  portion  of  the  poem.  It  is  not  merely,  nor  even  mainly, 
cultivated  nature  as  transformed  by  the  advancing  season  that  forms 
the  subject  of  the  poem.  The  range  is  wider ;  it  is  rather  over  nature 
unmodified  by  the  arts  and  influence  of  man.  The  presence  of  man 
is  lost  in  the  all- pervading  presence  of  nature.  The  poet  never  once 
follows  Spring  into  village  street  or  town.  Even  within  the  flower- 
garden  he  looks  beyond,  as  if  impatient  of  its  confining  wall,  to  the 
ethereal  mountain  or  the  distant  main.  The  freshness  and  freedom  of 
\J  'the  air  of  the  open  wilderness  are  everywhere  about  him.  It  is  the 
musical  expression  of  these  qualities,  so  admirably  caught  from  the  poem, 
that  recommends  Haydn's  setting  of  Spring  to  every  admirer  of 
Thomson. 


Lines  1-4.  This  invocation  is  simply  the  poet's  way  of  announcing  his 
choice  of  subject.  Instead  of  saying,  in  a  prosaic  way,  that  he  means  to 
describe  the  mild  winds  and  refreshing  rains,  the  song-birds  and  flowers, 
and  other  features  of  the  Spring  season,  he  imagines  a  goddess  de- 
scending from  heaven  in  response  to  his  call,  garlanded  with  roses  and 
surrounded  with  music.  The  image  of  the  goddess  is  purposely  obscured 
with  the  cloud  and  the  veil,  to  harmonize  with  the  shy  graces  of  early 
Spring-time.  For  the  same  reason  there  is  a  blending  of  figure  and 
feeling  in  the  first  line,  which,  though  evasively  bewildering  to  one's 


NOTES,  1-22.  245 

imagination,  admirably  suggests  a  sense  of  the  presence  of  Spring. 
Thomson  attempted  to  alter  these  lines,  but  never  succeeded  to  his 
satisfaction. 

3,  4.  veiled  in  a  shower  Of  shadowing  roses.  Cp.  Milton's  descrip- 
tion of  Eve  in  the  garden  of  Eden — 

'  Veiled  in  a  cloud  of  fragrance,  where  she  stood 
Half-spied,  so  thick  the  roses  bushing  round 
About  her  glowed.' — Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IX.  11.  425-7. 

5.  0  Hertford,  &c.  P'rances  Thynne,  granddaughter  of  Viscount 
Weymouth,  and  wife  of  the  Earl  of  Hertford,  afterwards  Duke  of 
Somerset.  She  was  a  lady  of  considerable  literary  taste  and  many 
acquirements.  Her  knowledge  of  history  is  said  to  have  been  par- 
ticularly extensive.  She  was  fond  of  the  society  of  poets l,  and  made 
some  figure  herself  as  a  verse-writer.  A  specimen  of  her  talent  has 
already  been  given  in  the  Introductory  Note  to  this  poem.  To  her,  in 
1750,  Shenstone  inscribed  his  ode  on  Rural  Elegance.  Watts  also 
inscribed  his  Miscellanies  to  her.  She  is  described  by  Horace  Walpole 
as  affable,  yet  dignified,  affectionately  devoted  to  her  husband  in  his  long 
illness,  and  careful  in  training  her  children  in  virtue  and  religion.  John- 
son speaks  rather  contemptuously  of  her  'poetical  operations.'  Walpole, 
without  characterizing  her  verses,  gives  her  credit  for  having  '  as  much 
taste  for  the  writings  of  others,  as  modesty  about  her  own.'  Thomson 
alludes  to  her  fitness  for  '  shining  in  courts ' — a  fitness  which  Queen 
Caroline  rewarded  by  making  her  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  bed-chamber. 
She  died  in  1754,  f°ur  years  after  the  death  of  her  husband. 

21,  22.  scarce  The  bittern  knows  his  time.  The  time  here  referred  to 
is  the  breeding  season.  The  bittern,  or  more  correctly  the  bitour  or 
bittor  (from  the  French  butor),  is  a  genus,  or  sub-genus,  of  the  heron 
family  of  wading  birds.  It  is  somewhat  less  than  the  heron,  and  differs 
from  it  in  building  its  nest  on  the  ground.  It  haunts  marshy  places  on 
upland  moors,  lies  close  by  day,  and  wakens  up  towards  evening  to  fill 
the  air  with  that  peculiar  booming  cry  from  which  its  name  seems  to  be 
derived.  In  some  localities  in  England  it  is  familiarly  called,  from  the 
same  peculiarity,  the  mire-drum,  the  bull-of-the-bog,  &c.  Owing  to  the 
modern  system  of  drainage  it  is  not  now  so  common  in  our  country  as 
it  was  in  the  time  of  Thomson.  The  breeding  season  of  this  bird  is  in 
February  or  March.  It  used  to  be  believed  that  its  peculiar  cry  was 
produced  by  the  bird  inserting  its  four-inch  long  bill  into  a  reed,  or  into 
the  marsh ;  but  it  is  now  known  that  its  cries  are  uttered  in  the  air, 
often  while  the  bird  is  making  its  lofty  spiral  ascent.  The  bittern  is  of 

1  It  was  by  her  intercession  with  the  Queen  that  a  pardon  was  procured  in  1727 
for  the  unfortunate  Savage,  who  had  killed  a  man  in  a  tavern  brawl. 


246  THE  SEASONS.— SPRING. 

a  dull  yellow  colour  irregularly  marked  with  black,  has  a  long  bare 
neck,  and  when  wounded  is  dangerous  to  approach,  as  it  fights 
desperately  and  strikes  at  the  eye  of  its  assailant. 

23,  24.  from  the  shore  The  plovers.  Crested  lapwings,  or  peewits,  are 
meant.  They  are  a  genus  of  the  plover  family  of  wading  birds,  and 
well-known  in  Britain  wherever  there  are  moors  or  marshy  tracts.  They 
live  in  flocks,  in  the  Winter  season,  chiefly  at  the  seaside  :  in  the  early 
Spring  they  fly  inland  to  upland  moors  and  waste  lands,  where  they  pair, 
and  build  their  nests  on  the  ground.  Their  artifices  to  prevent  people 
from  discovering  their  eggs  are  described  in  lines  693-7  infra.  Plovers 
are  named  from  the  circumstance  of  their  being  especially  restless,  and 
therefore  most  seen,  in  rainy  weather  (Lat.  pluvialis,  rainy).  In  Germany 
the  plover  is  the  rain-piper  (Regenpfeiffer).  It  is  worth  noting  that 
Goldsmith  also  brings  the  bittern  and  the  lapwing  together  in  poetry, 
but  with  a  purpose  different  from  that  of  Thomson :  the  later  poet's 
object  is  to  accentuate  the  desolation  of  the  deserted  village — 
'Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 

The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest; 

Amidst  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies 

And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries.' 
Tennyson  makes — 

'  The  tufted  plover  pipe  along  the  fallow  lea.' 
26,  27.  At  last  from  Aries  rolls  the  bounteous  sun,  And  the  bright  Bull 
receives  him.  In  plain  English — poetry,  or  pedantry,  apart— it  is  now 
about  the  end  of  April.  The  sun  enters  the  sign  (not  now  the  constella- 
tion) of  Aries  at  the  vernal  equinox.  The  precession  of  the  equinoxes 
has  quite  disarranged  the  Zodiac.  Thomson  rather  affects  the  old- 
fashioned  poetical  way  of  marking  the  advance  of  the  year.  So  in 
Winter,  lines  42,  43 — 

*  To  Capricorn  the  Centaur- Archer  yields, 

And  fierce  Aquarius  stains  th'  inverted  year.' 

These  references  to  the  position  of  the  sun  in  the  Zodiac,  as  indicative  of 
the  time  of  the  year,  are  as  old  in  our  literature  as  the  age  of  Chaucer, 
the  author  of  the  Astrolabe.  To  take  a  familiar  example — 

' the  yonge  sonne 
Hath  in  the  Ram  his  halfe  cours  i-ronne.' 

Prologue  to  Tales,  11.  7,  8. 

This  was  a  mere  display  of  learning,  but  Chaucer  had  the  humanity  to 
surround  it  with  natural  images  suggestive  of  the  progress  of  the  season 
which  everybody  could  understand.  It  was  rather  late  in  the  day  for 
Thomson  seriously  to  adopt  the  old  method  of  marking  time.  The 
lines  are  sonorous  enough,  but  they  are  nothing  more. 


NOTES,  23-54.  247 

34-36.  JoyoTis,  the  impatient  husbandman,  &c.  Compare  and 
contrast — 

'  Ac  neque  jam  stabulis  gaudet  pecus  aut  arator  igni.' 

Hor.  Car.  I.  4. 

The  ox  in  this  country,  even  in  Scotland,  is  now  all  but  superseded  as 
a  beast  of  burden  and  of  draught  by  the  horse.  Dunbar  has  a  kindly 
notice  of  the  plough-ox  in  the  Thistle  and  the  Rose — 

'  And  lat  no  bowgle,  with  his  busteous  hornis, 
The  meik  pluch  ox  oppress,  for  all  his  pryd, 
Bot  in  the  yok  go  peciable  him  besyd.'  11.  110-112. 

The  bowgle  is  the  bugle,  or  wild  ox.  Milton's  notice  in  Comus  of  '  the 
laboured  ox '  returning  in  loose  traces  from  the  furrow,  will  occur  to 
every  one.  So  late  as  the  time  of  Burns,  who  lived  two  generations 
after  Thomson,  the  ox  was  still  in  common  use  on  Scottish  farms  as  a 
beast  of  draught.  The  ploughman-poet  sings  in  The  Lea-rig  of '  owsen 
frae  the  furrow'd  field  '  returning  '  dowf  an'  weary,'  but  he  writes  also  of 
small  horses,  or  '  pownies,'  reeking  before  the  plough  or  harrows.  In 
the  end  of  last  century  an  ox  and  a  horse  were  often  to  be  seen  on  low- 
land farms  dragging  the  same  plough.  Thomson's  knowledge  of  the 
work  of  the  farm,  it  may  be  noted  here,  was  altogether  drawn  from  the 
Scottish  lowlands. 

40.  the  simple  song.  Of  the  ploughman.  It  is  still  happily  his 
practice  to  sing  at  the  plough.  For  the  song  of  Thomson's  '  husband- 
man '  one  may  reasonably  consult  such  a  collection  of  old  songs, 
Scottish  and  English,  as  Allan  Ramsay  brought  together  in  his  Tea- 
Table  Miscellany  in  1724. 

42.  The  master.  The  ploughman  proper.     The  attendance  of  a  boy 
or  young  man  as  gadsman,  or  goadsman,  to  walk  at  the  head  or  side  of 
the  oxen  and  keep  them  going  with  his  goad,  appears  to  be  implied. 

removes  the  obstriicting  clay.  From  the  mould-board.  This  is 
done  with  the  pottle  or  plough-spade.  It  is  the  mould-board  that 
throws  the  furrow,  and  it  is  essential  to  good  ploughing  that  this  should 
be  done  cleanly. 

43.  Winds  the  whole  work.     Plans  the  method  and  order  of  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  field  ;   or  directs  the  progress  of  the  whole  work,  first 

feering,  and  then  gathering  the  furrows  into  ridges.  Or  cleaving,  a 
process  the  reverse  of  gathering,  may  be  adopted.  The  modern  method 
of  laying  out  a  field  with  the  plough  is  casting.  Cp.  '  to  wind  a  watch,' 
i.  e.  to  set  a-going  and  keep  in  continual  motion. 

52-54.  Nor  ye  who  live  in  luxury,  &c.  Cp.  the  lines  of  Gray  in  the 
well-known  Elegy  (published  1751)— 

'Let  not  ambition  mock  their' useful  toil,'  &c. 


248  THE  SEASONS.  — SPRING. 

55.  the  rural  Maro,  Virgil,  the  author  of  the  Georgics.  The  first 
of  the  four  Georgics  treats  of  agriculture.  The  whole  work,  undertaken 
at  the  instance  of  Maecenas,  occupied  the  poet  seven  years — from  his 
34th  to  his  41  st  year  ;  it  was  mostly  written  at  Naples  and  is  the  best 
specimen  of  his  verse.  His  descriptions  of  life  and  work  at  the  farm 
are  singularly  vivid,  and  are  beautifully  illustrated  with  many  poetical 
episodes.  He  was  born,  70  B.C.,  on  his  father's  farm  or  estate  near 
Mantua  ;  lived  mainly  a  country  life,  uninfluenced  by  personal  ex- 
perience of  Rome,  till  he  was  thirty;  and  died  19  B.C.,  and  was  buried 
near  his  beloved  Naples.  The  ^Eneid  is,  of  course,  regarded  as  his 
greatest  poem. 

Traces  of  Thomson's  study  of  the  first  two  Georgics  may  be  found  in 
the  foregoing  passage  commencing  'Forth  fly  the  tepid  airs'  (1.  32) — 
more  especially  in  those  parts  of  it  which  suggest  the  feeling  of  Spring 
in  the  air,  and  express  sympathy  with  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the 
farmer. 

59.  awful  fathers  of  mankind.     Such  as  Cincinnatus — 'awful  from 
the  plough'  (see  Winter,  1.  512)  ;  and  Philopcemen  'toiling  in  his  farm 
a  simple  swain  '  or  '  thundering  in  the  field '  of  battle  (Winter,  1.  494). 

60.  your  insect  tribes.     Thomson  is  not  often  so  severe.     He  is  of 
course  addressing  those  '  who  live  in  luxury  and  ease '  and  think  agri- 
culture, and  external  nature  generally,  unworthy  of  their  attention  or 
of  poetical  treatment.     (See  11.  52-54  supra.} 

65.  and  greatly  independent  lived.     So  in  the  early  editions  ;    ex- 
panded and  weakened  in  the  later  thus — 

'  and  greatly  independent  scorned 
All  the  vile  stores  corruption  can  bestow.' 

66.  venerate  the  plough.     In  the  original  version,   '  cttltivate  the 
plough.' 

69-75.  The  commerce,  agriculture,  and  manufactures  of  Britain  are 
briefly  noticed  in  these  lines,  and  the  wish  is  expressed  that  greater 
national  interest  were  directed  to  the  production  of  corn  and  wool. 
The  use  of  the  comparatives,  '  superior '  and  '  better,'  shows  that  Thom- 
son believed  in  the  establishment  of  the  British  power  upon  rural 
industry  at  home  rather  than  upon  trade  and  traffic  abroad.  In  various 
parts  of  Liberty,  a  noble  and  eloquent  historical  poem  strangely 
neglected  ever  since  Johnson  condemned  without  having  read  it,  the 
same  preference  for  an  agricultural  to  a  commercial  basis  as  the  first 
foundation  of  national  strength  and  welfare  is  expressed  or  implied. 
Britannia  is  thus  described — 

'  Great  nurse  of  fruits,  of  flocks,  of  commerce,  she ! 
Great  nurse  of  men  ! ' — Part  V.  11.  81-2. 


NOTES,  $5-11$.  249 

In  the  same  Part  occurs  the  following  passage — 

'  She,  whitening  o'er  her  downs,  diffusive  pours 
Unnumber'd  flocks ;  she  weaves  the  fleecy  robe 
That  wraps  the  nations;  she  to  lusty  droves 
The  richest  pasture  spreads  ;  and,  hers,  deep  wave 
Autumnal  seas  of  pleasing  plenty  round,'  &c. 

11.  38-42,  et  seqq. 

80.  the  steaming  Power.  The  sap  which  had  retreated  to  the  roots, 
'  the  dark  retreat  of  vegetation.'  It  is  now '  set  at  large,'  and  '  wanders ' 
again  through  stems  and  stalks  all  over  the  spring  landscape,  giving 
their  '  various  hues '  to  the  purpling  buds  and  green  unfolding  leaves  of 
trees  and  bushes,  '  its  vivid  verdure '  to  '  the  wither'd  hill,'  its  white 
blossoms  to  the  hawthorn,  &c. — all  as  described  in  the  succeeding 
lines.  See  also  11.  566-570  infra. 

84.  United  light  and  shade.  Neither  so  brilliant  as  to  dazzle,  nor 
yet  sombre,  but  an  intermediate  cheerful  tint  that  soothes  and  strengthens 
the  eye. 

86,  87.  '  The  hounds  of  Spring  are  on  Winter's  traces.'     (Swinburne.) 
89.  But  the  whitening  of  the  hawthorn  comes  considerably  later  than 
the  budding  of  trees — even  of  the  ash. 

100-106.  Thomson  mentions  the  town  in  Spring  only  to  leave  it. 
Compare  with  this  passage  Milton's  fine  simile — 

'As  one  who,  long  in  populous  city  pent, 
Where  houses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the  air, 
Forth  issuing  on  a  summer's  morn,  to  breathe 
Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  farms 
Adjoined,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight — 
The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass,  or  kine, 
Or  dairy,'  8cc.—Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IX.  11.  445-451. 
107.  Some  eminence,  Augusta,  in  thy  plains.     Richmond  Hill  will 
answer,  and  is  probably  intended.     Thomson  went  to  live  at  Richmond 
in  1736.     The  surname  of  Augusta  was  first  given  to  London  in  the 
time  of  Constantine  the  Great,  in  the  early  part  of  the  fourth  century. 
It  was  then  a  large  and  important  town,  no  longer  confined  to  the  south 
bank  of  the  Thames,  but  extending  along  the  north  bank  as  well,  and  on 
the  latter  side  defended  by  a  wall. 

in,  112.  hid  beneath  The  fair  prof tisi on  yellorv  Autumn  spies.  Anti- 
cipates a  good  crop  of  fruit  from  the  abundance  of  blossom.  Note  the 
colouring,  from  1.  109  to  the  reference  to  '  yellow  autumn.' 

113.  If,  brushed  from  Russian  wilds,  &c.  The  east  winds  which 
visit  us  in  Spring  are  part  of  the  polar  current  which  then  descends 
upon  Europe  through  Russia.  The  clause  expresses  the  condition 


250  THE  SEASONS.  —  SPRING. 

upon  which  the  poet's  expectation  of  a  'yellow  Autumn'  will  be 
realized. 

115.  The  clammy  mildew.  Mildew,  as  it  is  commonly  understood,  is 
not  '  clammy,'  and  does  not  appear  upon  plants  till  the  end  of  summer. 
The  literal  meaning  of  the  word  is  'honey-dew,' — not  'meal-dew'  ;  and 
the  vegetable  disease  known  by  this  name,  which  chiefly  appears  in 
Spring,  is  probably  what  Thomson  here  refers  to.  The  word  comes 
from  the  Anglo-Saxon  mele  or  mil,  allied  to  the  Latin  mel,  honey ;  and 
dedzu,  dew.  Honey-dew  is  a  sugary  exudation  of  certain  plants  and 
trees  caused,  it  is  supposed,  either  by  the  punctures  of  such  insects  as  the 
aphides,  or  by  the  rupture  of  the  vegetable  tissues  from  some  such 
cause  as  dry  weather.  The  exudation  coats  the  leaves  or  stalks  with  a 
clammy  film,  which,  if  not  washed  off  by  a  squirt,  produces  fungi,  or  at 
least  catches  whatever  the  air  brings  to  it,  and  thus  clogs  the  pores  of 
the  plant,  and  injures  its  growth.  Some,  however,  believe  that  honey- 
dew  is  an  exudation  of  the  aphides  themselves.  Thomson  here  attri- 
butes it  to  a  '  humid,'  or — as  he  first  put  it — a  'foggy'  east  wind.  To 
a  dry  east  wind,  or  north  wind,  he  attributes  the  blight  of  leaf  and 
blossom  in  springtime  through  the  instrumentality  of  aphides  (1.  119 
et  seqq^. 

1 20.  insect  armies  warp.  Advance  with  a  wavering  motion.  Cp. 
Milton's  '  cloud  of  locusts  warping  on  the  eastern  wind  '  (Par.  Lost, 
Bk.  I.  1.  341).  Shakespeare,  in  As  You  Like  It,  uses  the  word  causa- 
tively — *  Though  thou  [the  winter  wind]  the  waters  warp.' 

125.  Corrosive  famine.  An  insatiable  hunger.  Famine  is  not  used 
here  in  its  ordinaiy  sense  of  scarcity  of  food. 

127.  before  his  orchard.  An  orchard  is  no  uncommon  appendage  of 
an  English  farm,  but  on  Scottish  farms  it  is  far  from  common. 

130,  131.  Scatters  o'er  the  blooms  The  pungent  dust  of  pepper.  In 
the  early  editions  Thomson  had  instead — '  onions,  steaming  hot,  beneath 
his  trees  exposes.' 

135.  Here  in  the  early  editions  followed  a  passage  of  thirty-three 
lines,  afterwards  transferred  with  a  few  alterations  to  Summer,  11.  289- 

317. 

141.  drown  the  crttde  unripened  year.     See,  for  a  description  of  a 
wet  summer,  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  II,  Sc.  i.  11.  89-114 — 
'Therefore  the  winds  .... 
....  have  sucked  up  from  the  sea 
Contagious  fogs,'  &c. 
151,  152.  ivintry  storms  .  .  .  Oppressing  life.     Cp.  Winter — 

'  Thus  Winter  falls 
A  heavy  gloom  oppressive  o'er  the  world.' — 11.  57,  58. 


NOTES,  115-227.  251 

156.  the  closing  woods.     The    innumerable   leaves    of  the    forest, 
no   longer   stirred   by   the   wind,    fall  into  their  natural  places,    and 
remaining  motionless,  give  the   idea   of  a   closed   tent    or   curtained 
tabernacle. 

157.  many -twinkling  leaves.    Gray,  in  The  Progress  of  Poesy,  has  the 
same  expression,  but  applied  to  dancers — '  glance  their  many-twinkling 
feet '  (1.35,). 

168.  forests  seem,  impatient,  to  demand.  In  the  early  editions 
'  expansive '  had  the  place  of  '  impatient.'  The  change  is  no  improve- 
ment. 

1 76.  This  line  at  first  stood  '  'Tis  scarce  to  patter  heard,  the  stealing 
shower,' — a  common  Scottish  inversion. 

182.  This  line  explains  the  bold  metaphor  of  the  three  preceding 
lines. 

1 86.  Indulge  their  genial  stores.  Here  'indulge'  means  'freely 
bestow,'  or  '  set  no  check  or  restraint  upon.' 

191,  192.  strikes  the  illumined  mountains.     Cp.  Tennyson's — 

'  wildly  dash'd  on  tower  and  tree 

The  sunbeam  strikes  along  the  world.' — In  Memoriam,  XV. 
195.  Increased;  i.e.  with  rain. 

207.  Here,  awful  Newton.  Shortly  after  Newton's  death,  at  the 
age  of  84,  in  March  1727,  Thomson  wrote  and  published  his  poem, 
To  the  Memory  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.  The  following  passage  from  that 
poem  describes  Newton's  discovery  of  the  composition  of  the  white  or 
colourless  ray — 

'  Even  light  itself,  which  every  thing  displays, 
Shone  undiscovered  till  his  brighter  mind 
Untwisted  all  the  shining  robe  of  day, 
And  from  the  whitening  undistinguished  blaze, 
Collecting  every  ray  into  his  kind, 
To  the  charmed  eye  educed  the  gorgeous  train 
Of  parent  colours.     First  the  flaming  Red/  &c. 

11.  1 02,  et  seqq. 
An  enumeration  of  the  seven  primitive  rays  follows. 

218-2  20.  to  give  to  light,  &c.  There  is  some  obscurity  of  meaning  here. 
By  the  '  balmy  treasures '  are  probably  meant  both  the  bloom  and  the 
fragrance,  which  were  produced  by  the  refreshing  rain  of  the  previous 
day.  The  lines  ran  originally — 

'to  give  again, 

Transmuted  soon  by  nature's  chemistry 
The  blooming  blessings  of  the  former  day.' 
227.  Construe — '  what  dull  and  incurious  people  account  as  weeds.* 


252  THE  SEASONS. — SPRING. 

244.  their  light  slumbers  gently  filmed  aivay.     Cp.  Milton — 
'Now  Morn,  her  rosy  steps  in  the  eastern  clime 
Advancing,  sowed  the  earth  with  orient  pearl, 
When  Adam  waked,  so  'customed  ;  for  his  sleep 
Was  aery  light,  from  pure  digestion  bred, 
And  temperate  vapours  bland,  which  the  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora's  fan 
Lightly  dispersed,'  &c.—Par.  Lost,  Bk.  V.  11.  1-7. 
2  70.  Sttch  "were  those  prime  of  days.     Thomson's  description  of  the 
age  of  primeval  innocence  may  have  been  partly  suggested  by  a  passage 
in  Virgil's  first  Georgic,  commencing  (1.  125)  c  Ante  Jovem  nulli  subi- 
gebant  arva  coloni ' ;  but  it  bears  a  closer  and  fuller  resemblance  to 
Ovid's  beautiful  lines  on  the  golden  age  in  the  first  book  of  the  Meta- 
morphoses.    Part  of  Dryden's  translation  of  those  lines  may  be  given — 
'  The  golden  age  was  first,  when  men,  yet  new 
No  rule  but  uncorrupted  reason  knew.  .  .  . 
The  mountain -trees  in  distant  prospect  please, 
Ere  yet  the  pine  descended  to  the  seas ; 
And  happy  mortals,  unconcerned  for  more, 
Confined  their  wishes  to  their  native  shore.  .  .  . 
Nor  swords  were  forged  ;  but  void  of  care  and  crime, 
The  soft  creation  slept  away  their  time.  .  .  . 
Content  with  food,  which  nature  freely  bred, 
On  wildings  and  on  strawberries  they  fed.  .  .  . 
The  flowers  unsown  in  fields  and  meadows  reigned, 
And  western  winds  immortal  spring  maintained.  .  . 
From  veins  of  valleys,  milk  and  nectar  broke, 
And  honey  sweating  through  the  pores  of  oak.' 
Long  though  Thomson's  account  of  the  Age  of  primeval  innocence 
is,  it  was  yet  longer  in  the  early  editions  by  some  twenty-eight  lines. 
Tn  the  edition  of  1 738  these  lines  still  found  a  place  ;  and,  though  it 
was  a  proof  of  Che  growing  refinement  of  his  taste  to  withdraw  them  at 
last,  they  are  so  characteristic,  in  a  certain  wild  and  even  grotesque 
luxuriance  of  imagination,  that  they  may  be  reproduced  here  — 
'  This  to  the  poets  1  gave  the  Golden  Age, — 
When,  as  they  sung  in  elevated  phrase, 
The  sailor-pine  had  not  the  nations  yet 
In  commerce  mixed  ;  for  every  country  teemed 
With  everything.     Spontaneous  harvest  waved 
Still  in  a  sea  of  yellow  plenty  round. 

*  Virgil  and  Ovid. 


NOTES,  244-305.  253 

The  forest  was  the  vineyard,  where,  untaught 
To  climb,  unpruned  and  wild,  the  juicy  grape 
Burst  into  floods  of  wine.     The  knotted  oak 
Shook  from  his  boughs  the  long  transparent  streams 
Of  honey,  creeping  through  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  foamed  with  nectar;  or  diffuse, 
Silent  and  soft  the  milky  maze  devolved. 
Nor  had  the  spongy  full-expanded  fleece 
Yet  drunk  the  Tyrian  dye:  the  stately  ram 
Shone  through  the  mead  in  native  purple  clad 
Or  milder  saffron ;  and  the  dancing  lamb 
The  vivid  crimson  to  the  sun  disclosed. 
Nothing  had  power  to  hurt :   the  savage  soul, 
Yet  untransfused  into  the  tiger's  heart, 
Burned  not  his  bowels,  nor  his  gamesome  paw 
Drove  on  the  fleecy  partners  of  his  play ; 
While  from  the  flowery  brake  the  serpent  rolled 
His  fairer  spires,  and  played  his  pointless  tongue.' 
Some  of  this  is  grotesque  enough  to  be  ridiculous,  but  there  is  also 
much  of  that   raciness    which    Johnson   missed  in  the  later  editions. 
The  warmth  and  variety  of  colouring  should  be  noted. 

271,  272.  whence  the  fabling  poets  took  Their  golden  age.     Contrast 
Cowper — 

'Would  I  had  fallen  upon  those  happier  days 
That  poets  celebrate, — those  golden  times 
And  those  Arcadian  scenes  that  Maro  sings  .  .  . 
Vain  wish !  those  days  were  never  :  airy  dreams 
Sat  for  the  picture.'—  The  Task,  Bk.  IV. 
279.  or  else  approving.     This  can  hardly  be  said  of  reason. 
304,  305.  extinct  each  social  feeling,  fell  And  joyless  inhumanity,  &c. 
'  — social  love  is  of  quite  another  nature  [from  self-love]  ;  the  just  and 
free  exercise  of  which,  in  a  particular  manner,  renders  one  amiable  and 
divine.     The  accomplished  man  I  admire,  the  honest  man  I  trust ;  but 
it  is  only  the  truly  generous  man  I  entirely  love.     Humanity  is  the  very 
smile  and  consummation  of  virtue ;  it  is  the  image  of  that  fair  perfection 
in  the  supreme  Being,  which  while  he  was  infinitely  happy  in  himself, 
moved  him  to  create  a  world  of  beings  to  make  them  so.'     Letter  to 
Aaron  Hill,  April,  18,  1726. 


254  THE  SEASONS. — SPRING. 

313,  314.  Cp.  the  lines  in  Burns' s  Brigs  of  Ayr — which  revealed 
to  Carlyle  '  a  world  of  rain  and  ruin ' : 

4  Then  down  ye'll  hurl 

And  dash  the  gumlie  jaups  up  to  the  pouring  skies.* 
The  criticism  will  apply  more  fitly  to  the  lines  of  Thomson. 
316,  317.  These  lines  originally  stood — 

'  The  Seasons  since,  as  hoar  tradition  tells, 

Have  kept  their  constant  chase/  &c. 

This  explanation  of  the  phenomenon  of  the  Seasons,  as  due  to  the  deluge, 
has  no  scientific  value :  it  is  purely  fanciful. 

319,  320.  fruits  and  blossoms  blushed .  .  .  on  the  selfsame  bough.  So 
Milton — 

'  trees  loaden  with  fairest  fruit, 
Blossoms  and  fruits  at  once  of  golden  hue.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  147,  8. 

334.  Originally — '  The  fleeting  shadow  of  a  Winter's  sun.' 
341.  And -worse.     In  respect  that  he  acts  in  a  manner  contrary  to  his 
better  knowledge  and  better  nature.     He  is  therefore  more  cruel ;  and  is 
ungrateful  in  addition. 

350-352.  Cp.  Milton's  Comus — 

'  did  Nature  pour  her  bounties  forth 
With  such  a  full  and  unwithdrawing  hand, 
Covering  the  earth  with  odours,  fruits,  and  flocks.' 

11.  710-13. 

361,  362.  the  plain  ox  .  .  .  that  guileless  animal.  *  The  meik  pluch 
ox.' — Dunbar. 

367.  The  downs  he  feeds.    I.  e.,  with  the  harvest  with  which  he  toiled 
to  clothe  the  land,  by  preparing  the  furrows  for  the  seed,  and  by  harrowing 
and  othenvise  dressing  the  ground  after  sowing  was  over. 

368.  the  riot  of  the  Autumnal  feast.     Such  as  the  Lady  describes  in 
Comus — 

'  Methought  it  was  the  sound 
Of  riot  and  ill-managed  merriment, 
Such  as  the  jocund  flute  or  gamesome  pipe 
Stirs  up  among  the  loose  unlettered  hinds 
AY  hen,  for  their  teeming  flocks  and  granges  full, 
In  wanton  dance  they  praise  the  bounteous  Pan,'  &c. 

11.  171-6. 

372.  the  numbers  of  the  Samicm  Sage.  The  doctrine  of  the  trans- 
migration of  souls  was  taught  by  Pythagoras,  and  as  a  consequence 
abstention  from  animal  food  was  required.  The  supposed  transmigration 
was  both  into  human  bodies  and  the  bodies  of  brutes.  Pythagoras  himself 


NOTES,  313-377.  255 

professed  to  recollect  having  passed  through  former  stages  of  existence. 
It  is  also  said  that  he  pretended  to  recognise  in  the  cries  of  a  dog  that 
\vas  being  beaten  the  voice  of  a  friend  whose  soul  he  believed  to  be 
imprisoned  in  the  body  of  that  animal.  Pythagoras  was  born  about 
570  B.  c.  in  the  isle  of  Samos  ;  travelled  a  great  deal  in  the  East  in  search 
of  knowledge ;  made  important  discoveries  in  geometry,  music,  and 
astronomy ;  settled  at  Crotona  in  Italy,  where,  besides  founding  a 
philosophical  sect,  he  organised  a  political  order,  which,  at  first  suc- 
cessful, was  afterwards  suppressed ;  and  died,  it  is  generally  supposed, 
t  at  Metapontum,  504  B.  c.  (See  Liberty,  Part  III.  1.  32.) 

Thomson's  line  of  argument,  commencing  at  line  271,  and  running 
not  always  clearly  through  the  hundred  following  lines,  seems  to  be 
that  the  wickedness  of  mankind,  after  the  age  of  primeval  innocence 
was  past,  was  punished  by  the  Flood,  which  brought  about  a  great 
climatic  change  still  visible  in  the  succession  of  the  Seasons.  *  Great 
Spring  before  greened  all  the  year.'  This  climatic  change  acting  upon 
vitiated  human  nature — which  had  become  *  fired  with  hot  ravin '  and 
'  ensanguined '—has  enfeebled  the  health  of  mankind,  and  greatly 
shortened  the  term  of  human  life.  And  yet  there  is  a  remedy  for  the 
imperfections  of  ill-health  and  shortness  of  life,  in  a  return  to  vegetable 
diet — 

'  the  food  of  man 

While  yet  he  lived  in  innocence,  and  told 
A  length  of  golden  years,  unfleshed  in  blood.' 

It  is,  however,  now  too  late  in  the  history  of  the  world  to  propose 
a  universal  return  to  vegetable  food.  The  attempt  of  Pythagoras  more 
than  two  thousand  years  ago  did  not  succeed ;  there  is  less  likelihood  of 
success  now.  (See  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  331,  et  seqq.} 

373.  High  Heaven  forbids.  Here  Thomson  throws  up  the  argument : 
it  is  the  will  of  Heaven,  for  wise  ends,  that  we  remain  in  our  present 
state  of  imperfection. 

376,  377-  Besides,  he  seems  to  add,  the  slaughter  of  the  lower  animals 
may  mean  their  admission  into  a  higher  life !  There  seems  to  be  here 
a  theory  of  evolution  of  a  peculiar  kind— the  evolution  of  the  indestructible 
spirit  or  principle  of  life  in  every  animate  individual  into  a  higher  state 
of  existence. — These  lines  were  added  in  the  later  editions.  A  passage 
in  his  Liberty,  Part  III,  well  illustrates  Thomson's  adaptation  of  the 
Pythagorean  doctrine  of  metempsychosis — 

'  He  even  into  his  tender  system  took 
"Whatever  shares  the  brotherhood  of  life : 
He  taught  that  life's  indissoluble  flame 
From  brute  to  man,  and  man  to  brute  again, 


256          THE  SEASONS. — SPRING. 

For  ever  shifting,  runs  th'  eternal  round  ; 
Thence  tried  against  the  blood  polluted  meal, 
And  limbs  yet  quivering  with  some  kindred  soul 
To  turn  the  human  heart.     Delightful  trttth, 
Had  he  beheld  the  living  chain  ascend, 
And  not  a  circling  form,  but  raising  whole  /' — 11.  61-70. 
With  this  compare  Blake's  theory  as  set  forth  in  Night,  one  of  the  Songs 
of  Innocence  (published  1789). 

378-465.  These  exquisite  lines,  descriptive  of  an  angling  excursion, 
were  a  happy  afterthought.  They  were  not  yet  ready  for  the  edition  of 
1738.  The  scene  is  apparently  the  poet's  native  Teviotdale,  and  the 
brooks  and  streams  of  the  description,  their  undulating  currents  and 
dusky  pools,  still  entice  the  angler  to  the  moors  and  glens  of  the  Cheviots. 
The  whole  passage  is  clearly  a  recollection  of  a  day's  fishing  on  the  Upper 
Jed,  or  some  one  or  other  of  its  tributaries,  which  the  poet  enjoyed,  let 
us  say,  when  he  was  free  from  college  in  the  long  vacation  in  the  early 
part  of  his  student  life.  He  has  returned  from  his  first  experience  of 
a  town  life  with  a  new  zest  for  the  beauty  and  abandon  of  country 
life  ;  and  he  carries  with  him,  in  addition  to  the  '  fine  tapering  rod ' 
and  '  the  slender  watery  stores,'  a  pocket-copy  of  Virgil.  The  book 
may  be  unsportsmanlike,  but  it  is  rather  for  companionship  than 
serious  study.  And,  indeed,  the  whole  excursion  is  planned  rather  as 
a  device  for  surprising  nature  than  a  serious  attempt  to  secure  a  big 
basket. 

387.        '  Around  the  steel  no  tortured  worm  shall  twine.' 

Gay's  Rural  Sports,  Canto  I.  (published  1713). 

391.  the  weak  helpless  uncomplaining  wretch.  The  trout.  Fishing 
with  worm  is  discredited  on  two  grounds — it  is  cruelty  to  both  worm  and 
fish.  Fly-fishing  is  preferred  :  the  fly  is  not  swallowed,  but  fastens  in  the 
trout's  mouth  in  some  cartilage  which  is  almost,  or  altogether,  insensible 
to  pain.  It  was  chiefly  for  upholding  the  use  of  live-bait  that  Byron 
characterized  Izaak  Walton  as  cruel,  and  angling  as  a  solitary  vice  (vide 
Don  Juan,  Canto  XIII.  st.  cvi).  '  They  may  talk,'  says  Lord  Byron, 
'  about  the  beauties  of  nature,  but  the  angler  merely  thinks  of  his  dish  of 
fish  ;  he  has  no  leisure  to  take  his  eyes  from  off  the  streams,  and  a  single 
bite  is  to  him  worth  more  than  all  the  scenery  around.'  Thomson 
at  least  was  no  such  angler.  Neither  indeed  was  Walton  insensible  to 
the  scenery  of  the  riverside.  But  there  was  a  great  advance  in  the 
humanity  of  Thomson  upon  that  of  Walton.  Not  only  does  Thomson 
deprecate  the  use  of  live-bait 1,  but  he  '  softly  disengages '  the  young 

1  When  he  was  a  minor  he  had  perhaps  no  such  scruples.    See  his  poem,  in  heroic 
couplets,  On  a  Country  Life,  first  published  in  The  Edinburgh  Miscellany  of  1720. 


NOTES,  378-423.  257 

trout  from  his  hook  and  returns  them  to  the  water.  To  circumvent  the 
'monarch  of  the  brook,'  however,  is  in  his  opinion  fair  sport.  It  is 
noticeable  that  this  is  the  only  form  of  sport  he  favours  which  can  be 
said  to  expose  him  to  a  charge  of  cruelty.  He  approves  of  fox-hunting, 
and  the  destruction  of  beasts  of  prey  generally ;  but  his  sympathies  are 
with  the  flying  hare  (see  Autumn,  11.  401-425),  and  the  murdered  deer 
(Autumn,  11.  426-457).  His  tenderness,  indeed,  to  the  peaceful  lower 
creation  is  a  principal  feature  of  his  character  and  his  poetry.  An 
advance  upon  his  tenderness  is,  however,  very  perceptible  in  the  teaching 
of  Burns  and  Wordsworth.  The  latter  has  taught  us 

'Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  feels,' 

Hart-Leap  Well,  Pt.  II ; 

while  the  former  can  find  it  in  his  heart  to  say  of  the  fox — 
'The  blood-stained  roost,  and  sheep-cote  spoil'd, 

My  heart  forgets, 
While  pitiless  the  tempest  wild 

Sore  on  you  beats.' — A  Winter  Night. 

420,  421.  Some  annotators  see  in  these  lines  an  acquaintance  on  the 
part  of  Thomson  with  the  long  Latin  poem  (in  ten  books,  afterwards 
enlarged  to  sixteen)  of  The  Country  Farm,  written  by  the  Jesuit  Vaniere 
(Jacobi  Vanierii  e  Societate  Jesu  Pracdium  Rusticitin).  The  first 
edition  of  this  elaborate  work  was  published  at  Toulouse  in  1706,  and 
a  copy  may  have  found  its  way  into  Thomson's  possession.  This 
is  indeed  more  likely  than  that  any  portion  of  it  inspired  a  single  idea 
or  suggested  a  single  expression  in  Thomson's  description  of  angling. 
Natural  benevolence,  and  not  Vaniere,  taught  Thomson  to  return  the 
little  fish  to  the  water :  besides,  Vaniere's  action  is  prompted  by  a 
different  motive  from  that  which  actuates  Thomson ;  his  motive  is 
prudence,  Thomson's  pity.  Vaniere  writes : — 

'  We  percat  gens  tota,  vagae  miserere  juventae 
Pisciculumque  vadis  haerentem  tolle  ;  futurae 
Spem  sobolis,  vivumque  novae  demitte  paludi.' 
Thomson  has  no  such  ulterior  end  in  view.     But — 

'  Him,  piteous  of  his  youth,  and  the  short  space 
He  has  enjoyed  the  vital  light  of  heaven, 
Soft  disengage,  and  back  into  the  stream 
The  speckled  infant  throw.' 

423.  The  monarch  of  the  brook  ;  or  rather  of  the  pool — '  his  old  secure 
abode'  (1.  433).  Such  a  trout  is  called  in  Scotland  'a  linn-lier.'  Vaniere's 
trout,  like  the  more  interesting  linn-lier,  also  occupies  '  uninhabited 

S 


258  THE  SEASONS. — SPRING. 

waters,'  and  '  lacubus  dominatur  avitis.'  The  similarity  between 
Vaniere's  description  and  that  of  Thomson  is  of  the  slightest,  and  the 
points  at  which  they  make  their  nearest  approach  to  each  other  are  such 
as  Thomson  could  discover  for  himself,  and  indeed  could  hardly  avoid 
in  a  detailed  account  of  angling.  It  is  more  likely  that  Thomson  was 
indebted  to  Gay's  Ritral  Sports,  Canto  I. 

434.  flounces  round  the  pool.     In  his  minor  poem  On  a  Country  Life 
(1720)  we  find  in  a  description  of  the  capture  of  a  pike  — 
'And,  being  struck,  in  vain  he  flies  at  last; 
He  rages,  storms,  and  flounces  through  the  stream.' 

444.  And,  in  angler's  phrase,  the  trout  are  no  longer  '  taking.' 

452.  sounding  culver.  A.  S.  culfre,  a  pigeon.  The  rock-pigeon,  the 
original  of  all  varieties  of  the  domestic  dove,  is  probably  meant.  When 
startled  into  flight,  the  pigeon  makes  a  noisy  flapping,  or  clapping,  with 
its  wings,  but  when  fairly  launched  in  the  air  it  can  glide  noiselessly 
along  on  '  liquid  wing.' 

454.  the  classic  page.  Such  as  Virgil's.  Even  Walton  made 
provision  of  '  a  book  'as  he  '  loitered  long  days  by  Shawford  brook,' 
and  'angled  on.'  Thomson's  admiration  of  Virgil  is  repeated  in 
Winter  (11.  530-532). 

45 7 >  458-  catch  thyself  the  landscape,  &c.  I.  e.  laying  aside  the  book, 
conjure  up  in  your  own  imagination,  the  'rural  scenes'  through  which 
'  the  classic  page '  has  just  been  '  leading  your  fancy.'  '  The  land- 
scape' is  clearly  not  the  scene  around  him.  Thomson  seems  here  to 
distinguish  for  a  moment  between  fancy  and  imagination,  allotting  to 
the  latter  faculty  a  more  sustained  creative  power,  and  a  larger  and 
freer  range. 

459-465.  These  lines  describe  a  further  stage  in  the  indulgence  of  the 
imaginative  mood,  the  condition,  namely,  of  reverie.  The  mind  escapes 
into  a  solitude  filled  with  a  succession  of  tranquillizing  images,  where  it 
is  free  from  the  cares  and  passions  of  waking  life,  and  enjoys  the  con- 
sciousness of  being — or  rather  of  beginning  to  be — at  peace  with  the 
whole  world. 

466,  467.  At  these  lines  the  poet  takes  leave  of  the  angler,  and  enters 
upon  a  new  subject  —a  description  of  the  beauty  and  fragrance  of  Spring 
vegetation.  The  loveliness  of  the  living  and  fragrant  landscape,  he  says 
in  effect,  demands  description,  but  will  tax  the  highest  descriptive  talent 
to  do  it  justice.  Yet  (1.  479)  he  will  try. 

470,  471.  with  that  matchless  skill .  .  .  as  appears.  '  That '  and  '  as  ' 
are  not  true  correlatives.  But  the  appearance  of  •  as '  is  explained  by 
restoring  a  line  which  the  poet  struck  out  of  the  later  editions.  The 
passage  ran  originally — 


NOTES,  434-497-  259 

'  Or  can  he  [Imagination]  mix  them  with  that  matchless  skill, 
And  lay  them  on  so  delicately  fine, 
And  lose  them  in  each  other,  as  appears 
In  every  bud  that  blows  ? ' 

The  construction,  though  the  line  be  restored,  is  loose  and  even 
slovenly,  and  the  grammar  faulty. 

482-487.  These  lines  appear  in  no  edition  till  after  1738.  Amanda 
was  a  Miss  Young,  one  of  the  daughters  of  Captain  Gilbert  Young,  a 
gentleman  belonging  to  Dumfriesshire.  Thomson  made  her  acquaint- 
ance, probably  at  Richmond,  about  the  year  1740,  through  her  brother- 
in-law,  James  Robertson,  who  was  then  surgeon  to  the  Household  at 
Kew,  and  with  whom  Thomson  had  been  in  friendly  relation  so  early 
1726.  Thomson  was  deeply  in  love  with  her.  No  fewer  than  seven  of 
his  minor  poems  are  addressed  to  her,  and  all  of  them  display  the 
sincerity  of  his  passion.  A  letter  of  his,  directed  to  Miss  Young  from 
Hagley,  of  date  August  29th,  1 743,  has  also  been  published  :  it  is 
interesting  in  many  ways  :  in  the  course  of  it  he  says — '  You  mix  with 
all  my  thoughts,  even  the  most  studious,  and,  instead  of  disturbing, 

as  give  them  greater  harmony  and  spirit You  so  fill  my  mind  with 

all  ideas  of  beauty,  so  satisfy  my  soul  with  the  purest  and  most  sincere 
delight,  I  should  feel  the  want  of  little  else.'  Amanda  has  been 
described  by  Robertson  as  '  a  fine,  sensible  woman ' ;  by  Ramsay  of 
Ochtertyre  as  '  not  a  striking  beauty,  but  gentle-mannered  and  elegant- 
minded,  worthy  the  love  of  a  man  of  taste  and  virtue.'  '  Thomson,' 
says  Robertson,  '  was  never  wealthy  enough  to  marry ' ;  and,  says 
Ramsay  {Scotland  and  Scotsmen  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  from  the 
Ochtertyre  MSS.),  '  it  was  Mrs.  Young,  a  coarse,  vulgar  woman,  who 
constantly  opposed  the  poet's  pretensions  to  her  daughter,  saying  to 
her  one  day,  "  What !  would  you  marry  Thomson  ?  He  will  make 
ballads,  and  you  will  sing  them!"'  Amanda  afterwards  became  the 
wife  of  Admiral  Campbell. 

484,  485.  Come  with  those  downcast  eyes  sedate  . . .  Those  looks  demure. 
Cp.- 

'  Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure, 

Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 

With  even  step  and  musing  gait,  .  . 

thine  eyes  .  . 

With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast.' 

//  Penseroso,  11.  31-43. 

497.  In  fair  profiision  decks.  In  the  early  editions,  '  profusely 
climbs/  followed  by  the  following  passage — 

'  Turgent  in  every  pore 

The  gummy  moisture  shines,  new  lustre  lends, 
S  2 


260  THE  SEASONS.— SPRING. 

And  feeds  the  Spirit  that  diffusive  round 
Refreshes  all  the  dale.' 
499.  Arabia  cannot  boast.     Cp.  Milton — 

'  Sabe'an  odours  from  the  spicy  shore 
Of  Araby  the  Elest.'—Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  162,  163. 
501.  Breathes  throtigh  the  sense.     Enters  the  nostrils. 
505.  undisgiiised  by  mimic  art.     Growing  wild — having  their  forms 
unaltered  by  domestication.     Contrast,  for  example,  the  wild  daisy  with 
the  garden  daisy. 

512,  513.  they  soaring  dare  The  purple  heath.  This  is  a  flight  out  of 
Spring  into  Autumn. 

516.  Us  alleys  green.  'I  know  each  lane  and  every  alley  green.' — 
Comus,  \.  311. 

517-524.  The  scene  is  perhaps  laid  in  Wiltshire  (see  Introductory 
Note  to  Spring).  It  is  characteristic  of  Thomson's  love  of  uncultivated 
nature  and  a  wide  landscape,  that  he  is  no  sooner  in  the  flower-garden 
than  his  eyes  are  beyond  its  enclosing  walls,  sweeping  the  distant  horizon. 
Contrast  Cowper's  love  of  nature — not  less  genuine,  but  quieter  and 
more  fastidious.  To  him  a  garden  was  '  a  blest  seclusion,'  and  when  he 
walked  abroad  it  was  to  see  '  nature  in  her  cultivated  trim.'  (See  The 
Task,  Bk.  III.)  His  description  of  an  English  landscape  may  be 
profitably  compared  with  Thomson's  : — 

'  Far  beyond,  and  overthwart  the  stream, 
That,  as  with  molten  glass,  inlays  the  vale, 
The  sloping  land  recedes  into  the  clouds ; 
Displaying  on  its  varied  side  the  grace 
Of  hedge-row  beauties  numberless,  square  tower, 
Tall  spire,  from  which  the  sound  of  cheerful  bells 
Just  undulates  upon  the  listening  ear, 
Groves,  heaths,  and  smoking  villages  remote.' 

The  Task,  Bk.  I.  11.  169-176. 

529.  Here  begins  a  poetical  catalogue  of  garden  flowers.  It  is  worth 
noting  that  Thomson  was  early  familiar  with  gardens  and  gardening 
work.  His  paternal  grandfather,  at  least  one  uncle — also  on  the  father's 
side — and  some  of  his  cousins,  all  followed  the  occupation  of  a  gardener. 
It  was  one  of  those  cousins  that  latterly  kept  the  poet's  own  garden  at 
Richmond  in  proper  trim. — Crocus,  Gr.  KPOKOS,  from  its  saffron  colour. 
Violet,  dimin.  of  Fr.  viole, '  a  gilliflower ' — according  to  Cotgrave,  Gr.  iovf 
a  violet.  Polyanthus,  Gr.  iro\v-,  many,  and  avOos,  flower.  Anemone, 
lit.  wind-flower,  from  Gr.  avfpos,  wind.  Auricula,  lit.  the  lobe  of  the  ear, 
used  to  name  the '  bear's  ear  '  flower,  a  double  dimin.,  from  Lat.  attris,  the 
ear.  Ranunculus,  lit.  a  little  frog,  a  double  dimin.,  from  Lat.  rana,  a  frog. 


1VOT£S,  499-612.  261 

tulip,  originally  from  Pers.  or  Hind,  dulband,  a  turban,  through  Turk. 
tiilbend,  and  last  from  Fr.  tulippe  or  tulipan,  a  tulip,  a  turban-like  flower 
(early  forms  of  turban  in  English  are  turbant  (Par.  Regained),  tulibant, 
and  tulipant).  Hyacinth,  Gr.  vaftii>9os  (according  to  Prof.  Skeat,  not 
our  hyacinth,  but)  an  iris,  larkspur.  Jonquil,  from  Yr.jonquilie,  named 
from  its  rushlike  leaves  (Lat.  jimcus,  a  rush).  Narcissus,  Gr.  vdpKiaaos, 
a  flower  so  called  from  its  narcotic  property  (Gr.  va.pna.oj,  I  grow  numb). 
Carnation,  named  from  its  flesh  colour,  Lat.  earn-  stem  of  caro,  flesh. 
Pink,  named  from  the  peaked  edges  of  the  petals. 

540.  the  father-dust.     The-  fertilising  pollen. 

541.  while  they  break.     'Break'  is  printed  in  the  early  editions  in 
small  capitals,  as  if  it  were  a  technical  term  of  gardening.     It  means 
'  blossom  '  or  '  burst  into  colour.'     Cp.  '  daybreak.' 

549.  the  fabled  fountain.  For  the  story  of  Narcissus,  who,  falling  in 
love  with  his  own  shadow  in  the  water,  pined  and  died  on  the  fountain- 
brink,  see  Ovid's  Metam.  Bk.  III. 

'  As  his  own  bright  image  he  surveyed 
He  fell  in  love  with  the  fantastic  shade  ; 
And  o'er  the  fair  resemblance  hung  unmoved, 
Nor  knew,  fond  youth  !   it  was  himself  he  loved. 

For  him  the  Naiads  and  the  Dryads  mourn,  .  . 
And  now  the  sister-nymphs  prepare  his  urn  ; 
When,  looking  for  his  corpse,  they  only  found 
A  rising  stalk  with  yellow  blossoms  crown'd.' 

Addison's  translation. 

555-570.  It  has  been  remarked  that,  while  Cowper's  gloomy  views 
of  religion  drove  him  for  relief  and  solace  to  the  study  of  nature, 
Thomson's  love  of  nature  inspired  him  with  a  cheerful  religious 
sentiment  and  a  robust  belief  in  the  bounty  and  benevolence  of  deity. 
Here  he  traces  the  beauty  of  vegetable  nature  to  the  benevolence  of  God. 
In  the  remaining  part  of  the  poem  he  traces  the  joy  of  animal  life  to  the 
same  source. 

566-570.  These  lines  furnish  an  explanatory  commentary  on  lines 
78-82  supra. 

578.  From  the  first  note  the  hollow  cuckoo  sings.  In  the  well-known 
and  much-admired  Ode  to  the  Cuckoo  by  Michael  Bruce  (born  1 746) 
the  cuckoo  is  correctly  described  as  '  attendant  on  the  spring.' 

585.  the  long-forgotten  strain.  Referring  to  the  silence  of  the  birds 
during  winter. 

600.  listening  Philomela.  The  nightingale  (literally  the  night- 
singer)  is  mostly  silent  by  day. 


262  THE  SEASONS. — SPRING. 

609-612.  The  jay,  the  rook,  the  daw,  &c.     Cp.  Cowper — 
'  Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
The  livelong  night ;   nor  these  alone  .... 
But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud, 
The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl, 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me.' 

The  Task,  Bk.  I.  11.  197-203. 

The  jay  is  named  from  its  showy  plumage  (Fr.  gai,  gay).  It  dwells  in 
woods,  and  seldom  flies  into  the  open  country.  Indeed  it  is  rarely  seen, 
though  its  note — which,  when  the  bird  is  alarmed,  is  extremely  harsh — 
is  often  enough  heard.  It  is  a  smaller  bird  and  more  predatory  than 
the  magpie,  and  has  a  much  shorter  tail,  broadening  at  the  tip.  By  the 
jay,  however,  Thomson  probably  means  the  magpie,  which  is  much 
commoner  in  Scotland,  and  often  called  the  jay-pyot  (pied).  See 
Summer,  11.  224,  225. — The  daw,  or  jackdaw,  is  named  from  its  cry  ; 
it  is  a  lively  and  noisy  bird,  almost  impudently  familiar.  It  haunts 
steeples,  ruined  castles,  and  such  inaccessible  places. — The  stockdove 
is  the  ringdove,  or  cushat. 
624.  approvance.  Approval. 
627.  After  this  line  in  the  earlier  editions— 

'And,  throwing  out  the  last  efforts  of  love.' 
652.  In  the  earlier  editions — 

'  But  hurry,  hurry  through  the  busy  air.' 
694.   The  white-winged  plover.     See  note,  line  24  supra. 
699.  pioiis  fraud  !    A  deceit  prompted  by  their  love  for  their  young. 
Cp.  piiis  Aeneas. 

701,  702.  the  irnise  .  .  .  Her  brothers  of  the  grove.  See  Castle  of 
Indolence,  Canto  II.  st.  xxxiii : 

Philomelus — 'in  russet  brown  bedight 
As  is  his  sister  of  the  copses  green.' 
710.  this  barbarous  act  forbear.     Cp.  Shenstone — 
'  I  have  found  out  a  gift  for  my  fair, 

I  have  found  where  the  wood-pigeons  breed  ; 
But  let  me  that  plunder  forbear, 

She  will  say  'twas  a  barbarous  deed.' 

Pastoral  Ballad,  Pt.  II.  (date  I743\ 

714.  Her  ruined  care.  Her  young,  stolen  from  the  nest.  The 
objects  of  her  defeated  care. 

719.  The  pause  after  the  word  '  robbed'  is  peculiarly  effective.  The 
strain  suddenly  modulates  into  the  minor  key.  This  is  a  favourite 
pause  of  Tennyson's.  The  picture  of  Philomela  mourning  in  the 


NOTES,  624-806. 


263 


.poplar  shade  for  the  loss  of  her  young  is  copied  from  Virgil's  Fourth 
Georgic. 

724.  Sole-sitting.  Originally  '  sad-sitting.'  Wordsworth's  use  of  this 
compound  is  well-known — 

'Lady  of  the  mere, 
Sole-sitting  by  the  shores  of  old  romance.' 

Poems  on  the  Naming  of  Places,  IV. 
at  every  dying  fall.     Cp.  Shakespeare — 

'That  strain  again!    it  had  a  dying  fall.' 

Twelfth  Night,  Act  I.  sc.  i.  1.  4. 
729.  weighing  .  .  .  their  ^vings.  In  the  sense  of  balancing  themselves. 

738.  Nature  s  common.     The  air.     Cp.  Burns — 

'  Commoners  of  air 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where.' 

Epistle  to  Dame. 

739.  Wing.      Fly.      Construe — '  Nature's    common,   the    air,   their 
range  and  pasture  as  far  as  they  can  see  or  fly.' 

752.  7"he  acquitted  parents.  In  the  first  text  'the  exonered  parents'— 
a  Scotticism  for  '  exonerated.' 

754-764.  These  lines  graphically  describe  a  striking  scene.     In  the 
original  version  (scarcely  less  vigorous,  but  cancelled,  probably  because 
of  the  somewhat  ridiculous  image  of  the  last  line)  the  passage  stood  : — 
'  High  from  the  summit  of  a  craggy  cliff 
Hung  o'er  the  green  sea,  grudging  at  its  base, 
The  royal  eagle  draws  his  young,  resolved 
To  try  them  at  the  sun.     Strong-pounced,  and  bright 
As  burnished  day,  they  up  the  blue  sky  wind, 
Leaving  dull  sight  below,  and  with  fixed  gaze 
Drink  in  their  native  noon  :   the  father-king 
Claps  his  glad  pinions,  and  approves  the  birth.' 
The  colouring  of  the  first  draught  should  be  noted. 

765-787.  Probably — at  least  in  part — a  recollection  of  Marlborough 
in  Wiltshire.  (See  Lady  Hertford's  verses  in  the  Introduction  to 
Spring,  supra.} 

766-769.   Whose  lofty  elms  .  . .  Invite  the  rook  who  .  .  .  ceaseless  caws. 
'  The  building  rook  'ill  caw  from  the  windy  tall  elm-tree.' 

Tennyson. 

779.  with  oary  feet.  The  expression  is  Milton's  :  Par.  Lost.  Bk.  VII. 
1.  440. 

806.  balmy  breathing  near.  '  Redolent  in  view,'  in  the  early 
editions.  Much  of  this  description  is  copied  from  the  Third  Georgic, 
from  1.  215  onwards. 


264  THE  SEASONS.— SPRING. 

815.  exciting  gale.  In  the  first  version,  'informing  gale.'  'Notas 
auras  '  in  the  Third  Georgic,  1.  251. 

818,  819.  Such  is  the  force,  &c.    Cp.  the  courser  of  Adonis  in  Shake- 
speare ;  and  Virgil's  description  in  the  Third  Georgic,  11.  250-254. 
825.  Following  this  line,  appeared  in  the  earlier  editions — 
'  How  the  red  lioness,  her  whelps  forgot 
Amid  the  thoughtless  fury  of  her  heart ; 
The  lank  rapacious  wolf,  the  unshapely  bear; 
The  spotted  tiger,  fellest  of  the  fell ; 
And  all  the  terrors  of  the  Libyan  swain, 
By  this  new  flame  their  native  warmth  sublimed, 
Roam  the  resounding  waste  in  fiercer  bands.' 

830.  the  British  fair.  'British'  and  'Britons'  seem  to  have  been 
commoner  expressions  in  the  last  century  for  the  United  Kingdom  and 
its  inhabitants  than  they  are  now.  Cp.  Rule,  Britannia — '  Britons  never 
will  be  slaves.'  In  Goldsmith's  Traveller  it  is  Britons  that  are  '  the 
lords  of  human  kind.'  '  English '  and  '  Englishmen  '  have  almost  super- 
seded the  words. 

832.  The  same  scene  is  described  in  similar  language  in  Liberty, 
1.  3 20  of  Part  III. 

852-854.  boundless  spirit  all,  &c.     Cp.  Pope — 

'  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul.' 

Essay  on  Man,  Ep.  I.  11.  267,  268.     (Published  1732-4.) 
860.  Instead  of  this  line  the  earlier  editions  had — 

'  His  grandeur  in  the  heavens :   the  sun  and  moon, 
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, 
By  the  deep  ear  of  meditation  heard, 
Still  in  their  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  shakes  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,  unnoticed  wonders  rise.     But  chief 
In  thee,  boon  Spring,  and  in  thy  softer  scenes.' 
Then  followed  1.  861  of  the  present  text. 


NOTES,  815-902.  265 

864.  undcsigning  hearts.     I.e.  actuated  by  instinct. 

874.  flowing  Spring.  A  repetition  of  the  idea  contained  in  '  boun- 
teous '  in  1.  873. 

875-880.     See  note  to  11.  304,  305,  supra. 

890.  these  green  days.     Of  Spring. 

892.  yoimg-eyed.  This  beautiful  compound  is  Shakespeare's — 'the 
young-eyed  cherubins '  (Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  V.  Sc.  i.). 

901.  the  present  Deity.     The  phrase  occurs  in  Dryden's  Alexander's 
Feast — '  A  present  deity  !  they  shout  around.' 

902.  A  noble  image,  seldom  absent  from  the  religious  thought  of 
Thomson.     After  this  line  in  the  earlier  text  came  a  passage  which 
anticipates  something  of  the  teaching,  and  even  reminds  one  of  the 
style  of  Wordsworth  : — 

'  'Tis  harmony,  that  world-attuning  power, 
By  which  all  beings  are  adjusted,  each 
To  all  around,  impelling  and  impelled 
In  endless  circulation,  that  inspires 
This  universal  smile.     Thus  the  glad  skies, 
The  wide-rejoicing  earth,  the  woods,  the  streams, 
With  every  life  they  hold,  down  to  the  flower 
That  paints  the  lowly  vale,  or  insect-wing 
Waved  oer  the  shepherd's  shimber,  touch  the  mind 
To  nature  tuned,  with  a  light-flying  hand 
Invisible ;  quick-urging  through  the  nerves 
The  glittering  spirits  in  a  flood  of  day.' 

These  are  lines  of  the  utmost  significance  to  the  student  of  Wordsworth 
considered  in  historical  relation  to  his  predecessors.  They  were 
followed  by  the  passage  commencing  at  1.  963  of  the  present  text,  to 
which  they  were  joined  by  the  word  '  Hence ' — '  Hence  from  the 
virgin's  cheek,'  &c.  The  intervening  lines  (from  903-962)  were 
inserted  after  the  year  1738,  and  constitute  a  compliment  to  Lord 
Lyttelton,  no  small  part  of  which  is  the  description  of  his  lordship's 
Worcestershire  seat.  Indeed  it  was  not  till  the  autumn  of  1743  that 
Thomson  saw  Hagley  Park.  He  was  then  engaged  in  the  preparation 
of  a  corrected  and  enlarged  edition  of  The  Seasons,  and  the  invita- 
tions to  Hagley  Park  came  at  a  time  singularly  favourable  to  the 
poetical  fame  of  the  place  and  its  inhabitants.  The  poet's  letter  of 
acceptance  is  of  date  July  14,  1743,  and  part  of  it  is  in  the  following 
terms  : — 

'  Hagley  is  the  place  in  England  I  most  desire  to  see ;  I  imagine  it  to 
be  greatly  delightful  in  itself,  and  I  know  it  to  be  so  to  the  highest 
degree  by  the  company  it  is  animated  with.  Some  reasons  prevent  me 


266  THE  SEASONS.— SPRING. 

waiting  upon  you  immediately,  but,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  let  me 
know  how  long  you  design  to  stay  in  the  country,  nothing  shall  hinder 
me  from  passing  three  weeks  or  a  month  with  you  before  you  leave  it. 
As  this  will  fall  in  autumn  I  shall  like  it  the  better,  for  I  think  that 
season  of  the  year  the  most  pleasing  and  the  most  poetical.  The  spirits 
are  not  then  dissipated  with  the  gaiety  of  spring,  and  the  glaring  light  of 
summer,  but  composed  into  a  .serious  and  tempered  joy.  The  year  is 
perfect.  In  the  meantime  I  will  go  on  with  correcting  The  Seasons, 
and  hope  to  carry  down  [from  London]  more  than  one  of  them  with  me. 
The  Muses  whom  you  obligingly  say  I  shall  bring  along  with  me,  I 
shall  find  with  you — the  muses  of  the  great  simple  country,  not  the 
little  fine-lady  muses  of  Richmond  Hill.  I  have  lived  so  long  in  the 
noise  (or  at  least  its  distant  din)  of  the  town,  that  I  begin  to  forget  what 
retirement  is.' 

905.  0  Lyttelton,  the  friend  !  Here  '  the '  is  a  superlative.  Cp.  simi- 
lar use  of  ilk  in  Latin.  Burns  has  'O  Henderson,  the  man,  the 
brother ! ' 

George,  eldest  son  of  Sir  Thomas  Lyttelton  of  Hagley  Park,  in 
Worcestershire,  was  born  in  1709,  and,  after  studying  at  Eton  and 
Oxford,  and  travelling  in  France  and  Italy,  entered  political  life  as  a  Tory 
in  1730.  He  had  already  made  some  name  as  an  author.  His  poem 
of  Blenheim  Palace  was  published  when  he  was  only  nineteen.  He 
afterwards  published  The  Progress  of  Love,  1732  ;  Letters  from  a 
Persian  in  England,  1735  ;  The  Conversion  of  St.  Paul,  written  in  1746, 
to  confirm  the  wavering  Christianity  of  Thomson  ;  Dialogues  of  the 
Dead,  1760-1765  ;  and  a  History  of  King  Henry  II,  1767.  He  also 
wrote  a  Monody  on  the  death  of  his  wife,  who  died  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
eight  some  five  years  after  marriage  ;  and  the  Prologue  to  Thomson's 
posthumous  tragedy,  Coriolanus.  The  Monody  is  written  with  much 
tenderness ;  and  the  Prologue — when  spoken  by  Quin — brought  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  a  large  audience.  Of  his  friendship  for  Thomson  and  other 
men  of  letters  he  gave  many  convincing  proofs.  To  him  both  Thomsyn 
and  Fielding  indeed  owed  the  ease  and  independence  of  the  latter  part 
of  their  lives.  In  politics  he  was  a  vigorous  opponent  of  Walpole. 
When  Walpole  was  at  last  ousted  from  office,  Lyttelton,  who  had 
previously  been  principal  Secretary  to  Frederic,  Prince  of  Wales,  was, 
in  1744,  made  one  of  the  lords  of  the  Treasury.  In  1755  he  was  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer,  and  was  raised  to  the  peerage  on  a  change  of 
administration  in  1757.  He  died  in  1773. 

907, 908.  Hagley  Park  .  .  .  thy  British  Tempt.  Lyttelton  had  himself 
compared  the  park  surrounding  Blenheim,  in  his  poem  on  that  historic 
house,  to  the  vale  of  Tempe.  Tempe  was  the  name  of  a  singularly 


NOTES,  905-962.  267 

beautiful  valley  in  the  north  of  Thessaly  between  Olympus  and  Ossa. 
Xenophon's  is  one  of  many  famous  descriptions  of  its  pastoral  beauty 
and  fertility. — Thomson  has  described  Hagley  Park  in  prose  :  '  After  a 
disagreeable  stage-coach  journey  ....  I  am  come  to  the  most  agree- 
able place  and  company  in  the  world.  The  park,  where  we  pass  a  great 
part  of  our  time,  is  thoroughly  delightful,  quite  enchanting.  It  consists 
of  several  little  hills,  finely  tufted  with  wood,  and  rising  softly  one  above 
another,  from  which  are  seen  a  great  variety  of  at  once  beautiful  and 
grand  extensive  prospects ;  but  I  am  most  charmed  with  its  sweet 
embowered  retirements,  and  particularly  with  a  winding  dale  that  runs 
through  the  middle  of  it.  This  dale  is  overhung  with  deep  woods,  and 
enlivened  by  a  stream  that,  now  gushing  from  mossy  rocks,  now  falling 
in  cascades,  and  now  spreading  into  a  calm  length  of  water,  forms  the 
most  natural  and  pleasing  scene  imaginable.  At  the  source  of  this  water, 
composed  of  some  pretty  rills,  that  purl  from  beneath  the  roots  of  oaks, 

there  is  as  fine  a  retired  seat  as  lover's  heart  could  wish Nor  is 

the  society  here  inferior  to  the  scene.  .  .  .  This  is  the  truly  happy  life, 
the  union  of  retirement  and  choice  society.  It  gives  an  idea  of  that 
which  the  patriarchal  or  golden  age  is  supposed  to  have  been,  when 
every  family  was  a  little  state  of  itself,  governed  by  the  mild  laws  of 
reason,  benevolence  and  love.'  (See  Spring,  1.  256). — From  a  Letter  to 
Miss  Young  (Amanda),  dated  Aug.  29,  1743. 

925.  conducted  by  historic  truth.  Both  Thomson  and  Lyttelton  were 
great  readers  of  history.  Witness  Liberty,  which  may  fairly  be  called  a 
historical  poem ;  witness  also  the  hundred  lines  of  Winter  commencing 
1.  431.  Lyttelton's  Dialogues  and  Reign  of  Henry  II  give  proof  of  his 
researches  in  history. 

930.  Lyttelton's  political  honesty  cannot,  be  impeached.  He  was  a 
virtuous  politician — a  phenomenon  rare  in  his  day. 

935.  Lucinda.  See  note  to  1.  904  supra.  Mrs.  Lyttelton's  maiden 
name  was  Lucy  Fortescue,  of  Filleigh  in  Devonshire.  A  large  number 
of  Lord  Lyttelton's  poetical  compositions  consist  of  Verses  to  Lucy. 
His  Monody  in  nineteen  irregular  stanzas,  written  to  soothe  his  grief  for 
her  loss,  is  probably  his  best  as  it  is  his  tenderest  composition.  The 
first  line  of  her  epitaph  at  Hagley  describes  her  as — '  Made  to  engage 
all  hearts  and  charm  all  eyes.' 

949-961.  See  note  to  11.  517-524  supra. 

953.  embosomed  soft  in  trees.     Cp.  Milton,  describing  Windsor:  — 
'  Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees.' — V Allegro. 

960.  Hereford  is  the  march  county  between  Worcester  and  Wales. 

962.  Having  described  'the  sacred  feelings  of  the  heart'  (1.  903),  the 


268  THE  SEASONS.  — SPRING. 

poet  now  proceeds  to  describe  '  the  infusive  force  of  Spring '  (1.  867)  on 
the  animal  nature  of  man. 

993,  994.  The  Sirens  of  classical  story  are  here  referred  to.  They  had 
the  power  of  charming  by  their  songs  all  that  listened  to  them.  Their 
charms  were  fatal.  The  mermaid,  or  lorelei,  is  the  modern  form  of 
the  siren. 

1 01 1.  bends  into  a  dusky  vault.  Cp.  Shakespeare: — 'This  brave 
o'erhanging  firmament  .  .  .  why,  it  appears  no  other  thing  to  me  than 
a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapours.' — Hamlet,  Act  II.  Sc.  ii. 

1016,  1017.  Sad amid  the  social  band .  .  .  inattentive.     Cp.  Burns: — 

'  Yestreen  when  to  the  stentit  string 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lightit  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing — 

I  sat  but  neither  heard  nor  saw.' — Mary  Morison. 

1017,  1018.  From  the  tongue  TJi  imfi  nishcd period  falls.  Cp.  Horace: — 

'  Cur  facunda  parum  decoro 

Inter  verba  cadit  lingua  silentio  ? ' — Car,  IV.  i. 
1034.  the  chambers  of  the  fleecy  east.     Blake  (b.  1757,  <£  1827)  has— 

'  The  chambers  of  the  East, 
The  chambers  of  the  sun,  that  now 

From  ancient  melody  has  ceast.' 

In  Winter,  1.  15,  Thomson  speaks  of  'the  lucid  chambers  of  the  South.' 
1036.  Leads  on  the  gentle  hours.     An  echo  of  Milton — 

'  The  hours  in  dance 
Led  on  the  eternal  spring." 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  267,  268. 
1060-1072.  Cp.  Horace: — 

*  Nocturnis  ego  somniis 

Jam  captam  teneo,  jam  volucrem  sequor 
Te  per  gramina  Martii 

Campi,  te  per  aquas,  dura,  volubiles.' 

Car.  I,  i.  11.  37-40- 

1069.  In  the  early  text — '  Wild  as  a  Bacchanal  she  spreads  her  arms.' 
1082.  the  yello^v-tingeing  plague.     Jealousy. 
1113.  gentler  stars.     A  happier  fortune. 

1115.  tie  of  human  laws.     The  marriage  laws  of  the  country. 

1116.  Unnattiral  oft.     The  reference  is  to  the  'tie  '  of  the  preceding 
line.     The  poet  alludes  to  '  marriages  of  convenience,'  made  for  the  sake 
of  wealth,  or  rank. 

1 1 22.  Preventing.  Anticipating:  the  word  is  taken  in  its  literal 
meaning. 


NOTES,  993-1122.  269 

SUMMER. 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

Encouraged  by  the  success  of  Winter,  which,  published  in  March, 
1726,  was  in  its  second  edition  by  the  middle  of  June  following, 
Thomson  enthusiastically  set  about  the  composition  of  Summer,  and 
had  indeed  made  a  good  start  with  his  new  subject  when  the  proofs  of 
the  second  edition  of  Winter  were  passing  through  his  hands.  The 
second  of  the  Seasons  seems  to  have  been  entirely  written  in  London, 
and  to  have  been  the  work  of  the  summer  and  autumn  months  of  1726. 
The  poet  was  then  maintaining  himself  by  teaching  in  the  Academy 
of  a  Mr.  Watts,  in  Little  Tower  Street.  Writing  to  Aaron  Hill,  from 
Oldman's  Coffee  House,  on  the  24th  of  May,  '  I  go,'  he  says,  '  on 
Saturday  next,  to  reside  at  Mr.  Watts'  Academy  in  Little  Tower  Street, 
in  quality  of  tutor  to  a  young  gentleman  there.'  And  on  the  2Oth  of 
October  following  he  begs  Hill, '  if  your  business  will  allow  me  one  line,' 
to  direct  the  one  line  to  him  <  at  the  Academy  in  Little  Tower  Street.' 
During  the  composition  of  Summer  he  was  gradually  losing  that  feeling 
of  loneliness  which  threatened  to  chill  his  youthful  ambition  in  England 
before  Winter  brought  friends  around  him,  and  to  which  he  refers  with 
some  bitterness  in  a  letter,  written  i  ith  August,  1726,  to  his  countryman 
and  fellow-adventurer  in  England,  David  Malloch.  '  Let  me,  however,' 
he  says,  in  criticism  of  some  verses  of  Malloch's,  '"mention  that  compre- 
hensive compound  epithet,  all-shunned,  as  a  beauty  I  have  had  too  good 
reason  to  relish.  Thank  Heaven  there  was  one  exception '  (meaning 
Malloch  X  His  principal  literary  friends  and  correspondents  of  the  year 
1726  were  Malloch  and  Hill.  Part  of  his  correspondence  with  them  has 
happily  been  preserved,  and  from  it  we  have  interesting  glimpses  of  the 
progress  of  the  poem.  '  Shall  I  languish  out  a  whole  summer  in  the 
same  city  with  you,'  he  asks  Hill,  in  a  letter  of  nth  June,  '  and  not 
once  be  re-inspired  with  your  company.  Such  a  happiness  would  much 
brighten  my  description  of  that  Season — from  which,  to  fill  out  this 
letter,  I  venture  to  transcribe  the  following  lines.'  (The  lines  referred  to 
are  from  506  to  515.)  Two  days  thereafter  he  writes  to  Malloch,  with 
whom  in  the  early  part  of  his  career  he  was  in  the  habit  of  exchanging 
verses—-4  If  my  beginning  of  Summer  please  you,  I  am  sure  it  is  good.  I 


270  THE  SEASONS. —  SUMMER. 

have  writ  more,  which  I'll  send  you  in  due  time.'  He  had,  it  would 
appear,  already  drawn  out  the  plan  of  his  poem,  according  to  which  it 
was  his  design  to  describe  the  various  phenomena  of  Summer  as  these 
follow  each  other  in  the  order  of  nature  within  the  limits  of  one  typical 
day.  By  the  2nd  of  August  he  is  able  to  inform  Malloch  '  that  he  has 
now  raised  the  sun  to  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  touched  lightly  on  the  drooping 
of  flowers  in  the  forenoon  heat,  given  a  group  of  natural  images,  made 
an  incursion  into  the  insect  kingdom,  and  rounded  off  that  part  of  his 
subject  with  some  suitable  reflections.'  On  the  i  ith  of  August  he  again 
communicates  with  Malloch,  who  had  apparently  suggested  to  him  a 
change  of  plan — probably  because  he  found  Thomson's  plan  for 
Summer  resemble  too  closely  his  own  plan  for  a  poem  on  a  similar 
subject  upon  which  he  was  then  engaged.  The  letter  is  pretty  long,  and 
of  particular  interest  in  several  ways  :  it  contains  some  simple  but 
extremely  generous  criticism  of  Malloch's  submitted  verses,  and  the 
following  remonstrance — 'Why  did  you  not  object  against  my  method 
with  regard  to  Summer  when  I  first  gave  you  an  account  of  it  ?  I  told 
you  then  expressly  that  I  resolved  to  contract  the  Season  into  a  day :  the 
uniform  appearances  of  nature  in  Summer  easily  allow  of  it.  But,  not 
to  dispute  which  of  the  schemes  is  most  preferable,  I  am  so  far  advanced, 
having  writ  three  parts  of  four,  that  I  cannot  without  the  most  painful 
labour  alter  mine.  Let  me  tell  you  besides  that  we  entirely  agree  from 
the  noonday  retreat  to  the  evening.  I  have  already  written  of  shade  and 
gloom,  and  woodland  spirits,  &c.  exactly  as  you  hint,  more  than  a 
week  ago.  .  .  I  design  towards  the  end  of  my  poem  to  take  one  short 
glance  of  cornfields  ripe  for  the  sickle  as  the  limit  of  my  performance.' 
Later  in  the  year,  probably  in  October — though  the  date  is  not  given — 
he  sends  to  Malloch  another  parcel  of  Summer  verses,  accompanied  by  a 
letter  from  which  we  learn  that  the  parcel  contains  the  panegyric  on 
England  and  the  English  (commencing  at  line  1442),  and  that '  what  re- 
mains of  my  poem  is  a  description  of  thunder  and  the  evening.  Thunder 
I  have  writ,  and  am  just  now  agreeably  engaged  with  the  evening.' 

The  poem  upon  which  Malloch  was  at  work  in  the  country — at 
Twyford,  on  the  Hampshire  Downs,  a  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Montrose,  in 
whose  family  he  was  tutor — while  Thomson  was  busy  in  London  with 
Summer,  was  afterwards  published  with  the  title  (which  a  later  and 
more  important  poet  has  appropriated)  of  The  Excursion.  It  is  in 
blank  verse,  consists  of  two  cantos,  and  runs  altogether  to  somewhere 


NOTES— INTRODUCTOR  Y.  271 

about  one  thousand  lines.  The  second  canto  is  astronomical.  The 
first,  so  far  as  it  goes,  though  it  comprises  a  period  of  two  days,  reads  like 
a  dwarfed  and  fainter  version  of  Summer.  It  describes  the  face  of  nature 
under  the  various  lights  of  dawn,  sunrise,  noon,  evening,  and  night.  It 
includes  a  general  prospect  of  the  globe,  more  particularly  a  geographical 
survey  of  the  deserts  of  Tartary  and  the  midlands,  or  rather  Mediterranean 
shores,  of  Europe  ;  and  ends  with  a  display  of  earthquake  and  volcanic 
fireworks.  While  writing  their  poems  the  young  Scotsmen  kept  up 
an  active  correspondence  of  mutual  criticism  and  encouragement. 

Summer  was  published  by  John  Millan,  a  bookseller  at  Charing  Cross, 
some  time  in  the  first  half  of  1727.  In  the  same  year  Thomson  wrote 
Verses  to  the  Memory  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  published  in  June ;  and 
Britannia,  which,  however,  was  not  published  till  January,  1/29.  A 
third  edition  of  Summer,  '  with  additions  V  was  issued  in  1730,  the  price 
is.  6d.  a  copy  :  the  poem  then  comprised  1205  lines;  and  this  was  still 
the  extent  of  the  poem  in  the  edition  of  The  Seasons  issued  in  1738.  In 
the  final  edition  published  in  the  author's  lifetime — that  of  1746 — the 
poem  was  enlarged  to  1805  lines.  The  principal  additions  to  the  text 
of  1738  were  the  passage  racily  descriptive  of  the  washing  and  shearing 
of  sheep ;  the  lines  in  memory  of  Miss  Stanley ;  much  of  that  long 
digression  in  which  the  poet  expatiates  on  the  phenomena  of  tropical 
summer ;  and  the  view  of  the  Thames  Valley.  From  its  first  appearance 
in  1727  to  the  publication  of  the  settled  text  in  1746  the  poem  underwent 
at  the  hand  of  its  author  so  many  alterations  that  at  last  it  looked  almost 
like  a  new  production.  The  minuter  verbal  changes  were  innumerable, 
ideas  were  expanded,  transpositions  made,  new  matter  thrown  in,  old 
matter  struck  out,  and,  if  greater  clearness  of  expression  was  secured  by 
these  processes,  it  was  sometimes  at  the  expense  of  force  and  picturesque- 
ness  of  effect.  The  whole  poem,  in  short,  was  stirred  about,  without 
any  very  sensible  gain  of  coherence  among  its  parts. 

Thomson's  original  intention  was  to  dedicate  Summer  to  Lord  Binning, 
who  had  engaged  him  in  the  summer  of  1725  as  a  tutor  to  his  son  ;  but 
his  lordship  generously  waived  the  honour,  advising  the  author  to 
bestow  it  upon  some  one  who  could  better  advance  his  interests  ;  and  the 
poet  accordingly  fixed  upon  the  Right  Honourable  Mr.  Dodington,  then 
a  lord  of  the  Treasury,  himself  a  dabbler  in  verse,  and  known  to  be 
ambitious  of  enacting  the  part  of  a  Maecenas.  To  Dodington,  who  has 
1  One  of  the  additions  was  the  haymaking  scene,  11.  352-370. 


272  THE  SEASONS,— SUMMER. 

appropriately  been  called  the  last  of  the  Patrons,  the  poem  was  in- 
scribed at  first  in  a  prose  address,  which  was,  in  the  third  and  subsequent 
editions,  displaced  by  the  tributary  lines  incorporated  with  the  text  near 
the  commencement  of  the  poem.  The  prose  dedication  is  chiefly 
remarkable  for  the  warmth  and  frankness  of  its  professions.  There  is 
good  reason  to  doubt  their  sincerity,  and  in  truth  Dodington  little 
deserved  them.  '  What  reader, 'says  the  extravagant  poet,  'need  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  trans- 
mitted to  future  times  as  the  British  Maecenas  !  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  considerable  of  those  exalted  qualities  that 
dignify  your  character,  must  be  particularly  pleasing  to  me,  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 
this  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.' 

The  Argument  of  the  enlarged  poem  as  given  in  the  edition  of  1746 
is  as  follows : — '  The  subject  proposed.  Invocation.  Address  to  Mr. 
Dodington.  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  progress  of  the  poem  is  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  summer's  day.  The  dawn.  Sun  rising.  Hymn  to  the  sun. 
Forenoon.  Summer  insects  described.  Haymaking.  Sheep-shearing. 
Noon-day.  A  woodland  retreat.  Group  of  hefdTand  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.  Bathing. 


NOTES,  I,  2.  273 

The  hour  of  walking.  Transition  to  the  prospect  of  a  rich  well- 
cultivated  country;  which  introduces  a  panegyric  on  Great  Britain. 
Sunset.  Evening.  Night.  Summer  meteors.  A  comet.  The  whole 
concluding  with  the  praise  of  Philosophy.' 

The  most  poetical  passages  of  Summer  are  the  descriptions  of  dawn 
and  sunrise  ;  the  dogs  wakened  by  the  wasp ;  the  field  of  hay-makers ; 
noontide  ;  the  horse  stung  by  the  gadfly  ;  the  sheep-shearing  scene  ;  the 
solitary  bather ;  and  the  transition  from  evening  to  the  darkness  of 
summer  night.  The  long  digression  to  the  imagined  fervours  and 
phenomena  of  tropical  summer  contains  many  magnificent  lines,  but  one 
is  glad  when  it  is  ended,  and  the  poet  returns  from  his  wide  geographical 
wanderings  in  torrid  tracts  to  the  June  aspects  and  associations  of  tem- 
perate climes.  The  tale  of  young  Celadon  and  his  Amelia  is  somewhat 
conventionally  treated,  but  is  effective  in  its  way,  and  marked  by  a 
restraint  of  pathos  almost  classical.  The  episode  of  Damon  and  Musidora, 
which  has  been  generally  regarded  as  a  characteristic  example  of 
Thomson's  bad  taste  in  the  treatment  of  the  passion  of  love,  is  presented 
with  much  of  the  warmth  of  colouring  and  breadth  of  handling  which  we 
find  in  pagan  poetry  and  the  works  of  the  old  masters.  It  has  been 
much  altered  from  the  original  draught :  Damon,  as  he  appears  in  the 
early  editions,  professes  insensibility  to  female  charms,  and,  instead  of 
Musidora  alone,  three l  nymphs  of  different  types  of  loveliness  are 
represented  as  bathing  in  the  pool . 

Thomson's  Summer,  Gay's  Fables,  Malloch's  Ballad  of  William  and 
Margaret,  and  Spence's  Essay  on  the  Odyssey  were  the  chief  publications 
in  London  of  the  year  1727.  It  was  in  his  Essay  on  the  Odyssey  that 
Spence  made  favourable  allusion  to  the  new  poet,  the  author  of  Winter, 
published  just  the  year  before. 


Lines  i,  2.  The  first  edition  opened  less  melodiously,  and  less  pic- 
turesquely : 

'  From  southern  climes,  where  unremitting  day 
Burns  overhead,  illustrious  Summer  comes.' 

1  In  Millar's  edition  of  the  Seasons,  published  in  1738,  W.  Kent's  illustration  of 
Summer  represents  Time  sitting  aloft  with  his  chin  in  his  hand  and  his  scythe  across 
his  knee,  looking  at  the  arrival  of  Summer  in  his  place  in  the  Zodiac.  Below  are 
four  nymphs  bathing  in  a  pool,  or  reclining  on  its  brink,  while  a  swain,  with  his  hand 
on  a  cumbrous  quarto,  ventures  to  take  a  half-length  look  from  behind  a  small  tree. 

T 


274  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

3.  and  felt  through  Nature  s  depth.  The  words  disturb  the  figure,  by 
submitting  a  feeling  for  a  person.  Cp.  the  first  line  of  Spring. 

12.  haunted  stream.  Haunted  by  nymphs  or  naiads,  or  by  fairies, 
or  by  legendary  associations.  Cp.  Horace's  fabulosiis  Hydaspes.  Cp. 
also  Milton's  lines — 

(a)  '  Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream ' ; 

L"  Allegro,  11.  129,  130; 

and,  in  regard  to  the  general  meaning  of  11.  9-13— 
(b}  '  When  the  sun  begins  to  fling 

His  flaring  beams,  me,  goddess,  bring 
To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 
And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 
Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak, 
Where  the  rude  axe  with  heaved  stroke 
Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt 
Or  fright  them  from  their  hallowed  haunt. 
There,  in  close  covert,  by  some  brook, 
Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 
Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye.' 

//  Penseroso,  11.  131-141. 

14.  the  glories  of  the  circling  year  ;  i.  e.  the  grandest  phenomena  of 
the  whole  year,  viz.  the  glories  of  Summer. 

15.  Come,  Inspiration  !     '  I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  hint  about 
personizing  of  Inspiration  ;  it  strikes  me.' — Letter  to  Malloch,  nth  Aug., 
1726. 

15,  1 6.  from  thy  hermit  seat,  By  mortal  seldom  found.  Inspiration 
here  means  the  muse  of  poetry.  Burns  has — 

'  The  muse  nae  poet  ever  fand  her 
Till  by  himseF  he  learnt  to  wander 
Adown  some  trotting  burn's  meander 

And  no'  think  lang '  (i.  e.  not  become  weary}. 

17,  1 8.  raptured  glance  Shot  on  surrounding  heaven.  Cp.  Shake- 
speare— 

'  The  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven.' 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act  V.  sc.  i. 

21-31.  First  appeared  in  the  second  edition.,  taking  the  place  of  the 
prose  dedication. 

21.  my  youthful  muse  s  early  friend.  When  Thomson  wrote  these 
words  it  was  hardly  possible  for  him  to  have  known  Dodington  for  more 


NOTES,  3-21.  275 

than  a  year.  The  whole  passage  which  they  introduce,  down  to  1.  31,  is 
charged  with  the  grossest  flattery.  If  the  lines  were  meant  ironically  they 
would  fit  perfectly.  Dodington  throughout  the  whole  of  his  career — 
however  Thomson  may  have  been  anticipating  it  in  1726-7 — had  neither 
the  'genius  and  wisdom,'  nor  '  the  gay  social  sense  chastised  by  decency,' 
nor  the  '  unblemished  honour/  nor  the  '  active  zeal  for  Britain's  glory, 
liberty,  and  man,'  with  which,  in  addition  to  '  all  the  human  graces,'  the 
poet  accredits  him.  Thomson  was  either  desperately  determined  on  a 
patron,  or,  which  is  more  likely,  singularly  charitable  in  his  estimate  of 
character. — George  Bubb,  who  afterwards  (in  his  29th  year)  took  the 
surname  of  Dodington,  and  ultimately  (in  his  7°th)  became  Lord  Mel- 
combe,  was  born  in  the  year  1691.  He  was  the  son  of  Jeremias  Bubb 
who  has  been  variously  designated  an  apothecary  and  an  Irish  adventurer; 
was  educated  at  Oxford,  and,  through  the  influence  of  his  mother's 
family,  began  his  political  life  in  1715  as  the  representative  of  the 
borough  of  Winchelsea.  In  1720,  by  the  death  of  his  maternal  uncle,  he 
fell  heir  to  the  fine  estate  of  East  bury,  in  Dorsetshire.  It  was  on  this 
occasion  that  he  changed  his  name.  He  was  member  for  Bridgewater 
from  1722  to  1754.  In  1724  he  became  a  lord  of  the  Treasury,  and  was 
holding  the  office  when  Thomson  first  knew  him,  in  1726  or  1727,  and 
dedicated  to  him  his  poem  of  Summer  on  its  publication  in  the  latter  of 
these  years.  In  politics  he  was  a  place-hunter,  shifting  from  side  to 
side  with  undisguised  meanness.  As  he  commanded  five  or  six  votes  in. 
the  House  of  Commons  he  could  generally  make  interest  for  himself  with 
parties  by  the  offer  of  his  influence.  His  worthiest  action  as  a  politician 
was  his  defence  of  the  unfortunate  Admiral  Byng.  In  1761,  under  Lord 
Bute's  administration,  he  received  at  last  the  title  for  which  he  had  so 
long  shuffled  and  shifted.  He  died  the  year  after.  He  was  a  good 
scholar,  had  a  reputation  for  wit,  wrote  passable  verses,  and  posed  as  a 
patron  of  letters.  He  has  been  called  the  last  of '  the  patrons.'  Young, 
Thomson,  Fielding,  Glover,  and  Lyttelton  all  made  court  to  him.  He 
was  vain,  pompous,  affected,  and  unscrupulous ;  fond  of  surrounding 
himself  with  showy  splendour,  and  of  arraying  his  large  person  in 
embroidery  and  brocade  ;  coarse  in  the  execution  of  his  rehearsed  jokes, 
and  in  the  display  of  his  premeditated  wit ;  and  by  no  means  restrained, 
even  in  the  society  of  ladies,  by  any  very  refined  sense  of  decency.  His 
Diary  gives  a  full  disclosure  of  his. vanity  and  selfishness.  Two  years, 
after  his  death,  Foote  figured  him  in  the  burlesque  drama,  The  Patron, 
as  Sir  Thomas  Lofty. 

After  the  dedication  of  Summer  to  Dodington,  Thomson  was  an 
occasional  guest  at  Eastbury,  and,  as  his  correspondence  reveals,  was 
apparently  for  some  years  on  intimate  terms  with  his  patron,  and  highly 

T  2 


276  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

satisfied  with  the  intimacy.  His  published  letters  to  Dodington  were 
written  in  1 730  and  1 731,  during  his  visit  to  the  Continent.  He  says  in  one 
of  them  :  '  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  [Italy],  nor  do  I  feel  the  least  presage  that  she  will.' 
(Dated  '  Nov.  28th,  1731.')  Thomson  spent  part  of  the  autumn  of 
1735  at  Eastbury,  and  was  still  on  the  most  friendly  footing  with  his 
patron  of  the  year  1727. 

32-42.  There  is  probably  a  reference  here  to  the  two  texts  of 
Scripture:  (i)  'Let  there  be  lights  in  the  firmament  of  the  heaven  to 
divide  the  day  from  the  night,  and  let  them  be  for  signs,  and  for 
seasons,  and  for  days  and  years'  (Gen.  i.  14)  ;  and  (2)  '  While  the  earth 
remaineth,  seedtime  and  harvest,  and  cold  and  heat,  and  summer 
and  winter,  and  day  and  night  shall  not  cease '  (Gen.  viii.  22). 

43,  44.  the  alternate  Twins  are  fired. .  .  Cancer  reddens.  Thomson's 
plan  for  Summer  is  thus  stated  in  a  letter  to  Malloch  :  '  I  resolve(d) 
to  contract  the  season  into  a  day  :  the  uniform  appearances  of  nature  in 
summer  easily  allow  of  it.'  (Aug.  nth,  1726.)  The  typical  day  is  a 
day  in  Midsummer.  The  sun  is  at  the  northern  tropic  (of  Cancer)  on  the 
22nd  of  June.  (See  Notes,  Spring,  11.  26,  27.)  « Alternate '  is  for  '  both,' 

*  the  one  and  the  other '  ;  it  is,  of  course,  redundant,  the  idea  of  '  two  ' 
being  in  the  word  '  twins.'     The  sun  is  in  the  sign  Gemini  from  2ist  May 
till  the  solstice. 

46.  observant.     The  idea  here  is  that  of  a  sentinel  set  to  watch  and 
give  warning.     Cp. — but  note  also  the  difference — 
'  Ere  the  blabbing  eastern  scout, 
The  nice  Morn  on  the  Indian  steep, 
From  her  cabined  loop-hole  peep, 
And  to  the  tell-tale  sun  descry 
Our  concealed  solemnity.' — Comus,  11.  138-142. 
48.  dappled.      Prof.  Skeat   gives   the  following  interesting  note  on 
this  word  :  '  Dapple,  a  spot  on  an  animal  (Scand.).    Icel.  depill,  a  spot, 
dot.  .  . .  The  original  sense  is  "  a  little  pool,"  from  Norweg.  dapi,  a  pool. 
Allied  to  our  "  dub,"  and  to  "  deep"  and  "  dip."  '     In  the  first  edition 

*  streaky '  was  used. 

52-56.  The  landscape  here  depicted  in  the  twilight  of  a  calm  summer 
morning  is  the  creation  of  genuine  art,  utterly  faithful  in  its  copy  of  the 
natural  scene.     Cp.  the  lines  of  the  Marquis  of  Montrose— 
*  The  misty  mount,  the  smoking  lake, 
The  rock's  resounding  echo, 


NOTES,  32-96.  277 

The  whistling  winds,  the  woods  that  shake 
Shall  all  with  me  sing  hey- ho, ,'  &c. 

An  Excellent  New  Ballad,  Pt.  IT.  st.  12. 

57,  58.  the  fearful  hare  Limps  awkward.  This  also  is  part  of  a 
summer  morning  scene.  The  Scottish  word  '  hirple  '  well  expresses  the 
awkward  limping  here  noted.  See  Burns — 

'  The  rising  sun  ower  Galston  muir 
Wi'  glorious  light  was  glintin', 
The  hare  was  hirplin'  down  the  fur, 
The  laverocks — they  were  chantinV 

Holy  Fair. 

65,  66.  from  the  crowded  fold  in  order  drives  His  flock.  The  touch 
of  minute  fidelity  in  the  phrase  '  in  order '  is  apt  to  be  overlooked. 
Cowper  gives  the  same  idea — an  idea  that  suggests  the  repose  of 
pastoral  life — due  prominence : 

*  The  sheepfold  here 

Pours  out  its  fleecy  tenants  o'er  the  glebe. 
And  first,  progressive  as  a  stream  they  seek 
The  middle  field ;  but,  scattered  by  degrees 
Each  to  his  choice,  soon  whiten  all  the  land.' 

The  Task,  Bk.  I.  11.  282-6. 

67-80.  Thomson's  knowledge  of  the  beauties  and  benefits  of  early 
rising  had  little  influence  on  his  practice,  at  least  after  he  left  Scotland. 
His  favourite  '  hour '  for  '  meditation  '  and  '  song '  was  the  midnight  and 
not  the  morning  hour.  (Contrast  this  passage  with  11.  204-6  of 
Winter.) 

72.  losing  half  \  i.  e.  twelve  of  the  four-and-twenty  hours  of  each  day  ! 
A  liberal  proportion. 

81-96.  This  description  of  sunrise  may  be  compared  with  Malloch's: 
the  quotation  will  serve  as  a  specimen  of  Malloch's  style : 
'But  see,  the  flushed  horizon  flames  intense 
With  vivid  red,  in  rich  profusion  streamed 
O'er  heaven's  pure  arch.     At  once  the  clouds  assume 
Their  gayest  liveries  ;   these  with  silvery  beams 
Fringed  lovely,  splendid  those  with  liquid  gold  : 
And  speak  their  sovereign's  state.     He  comes,  behold  ! 
Fountain  of  light  and  colour,  warmth  and  life! 
The  king  of  glory  !    Round  his  head  divine, 
Diffusive  showers  of  radiance  circling  flow, 
As  o'er  the  Indian  wave  up-rising  fair 
He  looks  abroad  on  nature,  and  invests, 
Where'er  his  universal  eye  surveys,. 


278  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

Her  ample  bosom,  earth,  air,  sea  and  sky, 

In  one  bright  robe,  with  heavenly  tinctures  gay.' 

The  Excursion,  Canto  I. 

These  lines  are  cold  and  common  place  beside  Thomson's,  which  yet  they 
resemble  in  certain  phrases  and  tricks  of  style.  Very  much  the  same 
features  of  sunrise  are  noted,  but  Malloch's  representation  wants  the  breadth 
and  colouring  of  Thomson's.  It  should  be  remembered  that  Thomson 
was  at  work  upon  Summer  while  Malloch  was  busy  with  The  Excursion, 
and  that  they  submitted  their  verses  in  MS.  to  each  other  from  time 
to  time  in  the  course  of  composition,  for  mutual  encouragement  and 
criticism. 

82.  Rejoicing  in  the  east.  A  recollection  of  the  nineteenth  Psalm: 
'  In  them  [the  heavens]  hath  he  set  a  tabernacle  for  the  sun,  which  is  as 
a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man 
to  run  a  race.'  (Verses  4,  5.) 

88.  the  shining  day.     '  Full  lowns  the  shynand  day.'— Hardyknute. 
This  (supposed)  '  fragment  of  an  old  heroic  ballad '  was  published  in 
1724  in  Ramsay's  Tea-Table  Miscellany,  where  Thomson  may  have  seen 
it.     His  romantic  views  of  nature  are  certainly  those  of  the  old  Scots 
ballads. 

89,  90.  wandering  streams  High-gleaming  from  afar.     The  scene  is 
apparently  Cheviot  side. 

91.  Of  all  material  beings  first  and  best.     Light,  however,  is  not  a 
material  substance,  but  a  mode  of  motion.     In  Thomson's  day  it  was 
regarded  as  matter  by '  natural  philosophers '  who,  because  of  its  extreme 
rarity,  ranked  it  as  one  of  the  '  imponderables.'     Cp.  Milton — 
'Hail,  holy  Light!    offspring  of  heaven  firstborn.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  III. 

94.  Unessential  gloom.  Hiding  the  existence  of  objects  within  it. 
97-103.  'Tis  by  thy  secret  strong  attractive  force,  &c.  The  attraction 
of  gravitation,  the  discovery  of  Newton,  by  which  the  solar  system 
exists.  See  for  a  glowing  poetical  eulogium  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  the 
Verses  which  Thomson  inscribed  to  his  memory  (published  in  June, 
1727).  Natural  Philosophy  was  a  favourite  study  of  Thomson's. 
He  had  contracted  a  liking  for  it  at  Edinburgh  University,  and  it 
remained  to  the  end  of  his  life  a  subject  of  great  interest  to  him.  In  the 
verses  to  the  memory  of  Newton,  he  asks,  apostrophising  '  the  Sons 
of  Light ' — 

'  Have  ye  not  listened  while  he  bound  the  Suns 
And  Planets  to  their  spheres? 


Our  solar  round 


NOTES,  82-115.  279 

First  gazing  through,  he,  by  the  blended  power 
Of 'gravitation  and  projection,  saw 
The  whole  in  silent  harmony  revolve. 

The  heavens  are  all  his  own  ;  from  the  wild  rule 

Of  whirling  vortices  and  circling  spheres 

To  their  first  great  simplicity  restored.' 

TOO.  utmost  Saturn.  This  planet  was  thought  to  be  the  outermost 
member  of  the  solar  system  in  Thomson's  day.  Since  then  two  additional 
planets  of  greater  distance  from  the  sun  have  been  discovered— Uranus  in 
1781,  and  Neptune  in  1846.  Neptune  takes  more  than  five  times  the 
number  of  years  required  by  Saturn  to  complete  one  revolution  round 
the  sun. 

101.  Mercury  is  the  nearest  planet  to  the  sun,  and  the  smallest,  the 
Planetoids  excepted.  It  is  seldom  distinctly  visible  to  the  unaided  eye, 
partly  because  of  its  small  size,  and  partly  from  the  circumstance — to 
which  Thomson  here  refers — that  it  is  never  above  the  horizon  more  than 
two  hours  after  sunset  or  the  same  time  before  sunrise.  (For  a  detailed 
poetical  description  of  the  planets  as  popularly  known  in  Thomson's 
time,  see  Malloch's  Excursion,  Canto  II.) 

104.  Informer  of  the  planetary  train.  The  sun.  '  Inform'  is  used 
in  its  poetical  sense  of '  animate.'  The  idea  is  repeated  in  the  next  line 
— 'quickening,'  i.e.  'animating.'  Cp.  'the  quick  and  the  dead.'  See 
also  1.  109,  '  inhaling  spirit.' 

1 06.  brute  .  .  .  mass.     Dead  matter. 

107.  the  green  abodes  of  life.     The  idea  is  fanciful.     Saturn,  at  least, 
was  believed  in  Thomson's  day  to  be  incapable  of  supporting  life,  as  we 
understand  it,  through  excessive  cold  :  Malloch  describes  it  as — 

'An  endless  desert,  where  extreme  of  cold 
Eternal  sits,  as  in  his  native  seat, 
On  wintry  hills  of  never-thawing  ice.' 

Excursion,  Canto  II. 

109,  1 10.  from  the  unfettered  mind  .  .  .  down  to  the  daily  race.  From 
angelic  beings,  or  even  archangels,  to  ephemeral  insects. 

112-135.  These  lines  are  a  splendid  improvement  upon  the  first  text. 
Thomson's  imagination  rises  here  with  commanding  force  and  ease  '  to 
the  highth  of  his  great  argument.' 

11.3.  Parent  of  Seasons.  See  1.  2 — '  child  of  the  sun.'  The  ante- 
cedent of '  who  '  is  '  the  vegetable  world '  in  the  preceding  line. 

114.  thy  throne.     The  orb  or  sphere  of  the  sun — as  distinct  from  the 
personified  Power  of  Influence  which  lodges  in  it. 

115.  the  bright  ecliptic  road.     The  sun's  apparent  path  round  the 


280  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

earth ;  more  correctly,  the  great  circle  which  the  earth's  centre  describes 
among  the  fixed  stars  in  its  yearly  revolution  round  the  sun.  It  is  the 
middle  line  of  the  zodiacal  belt,  bright  with  constellations.  '  Ecliptic,' 
because  it  is  the  line  in  which  eclipses  occur.  Gr.  (Kteiireiv,  to  leave  out. 
117,  1 18.  nations  circled  gay  with  ....  tribes  of  foodful  earth.  The 
various  human  communities  surrounded  with  their  farms  and  cultivated 
fields. 

119,  1 20.  This  is  not  idolatry  of  the  sun;  but  a  poetical  way  of 
expressing  the  hope  of  having  fine  weather  to  ripen  the  crops,  or  thank- 
fulness for  having  had  it.  Harvest-home  is  thus,  in  Milton's  words, 
a  '  praising  of  bounteous  Pan.' 

121-123.  The  imagery  is  classical.     Cp.,  e.  g.,  Horace — 
'Jam  Cytherea  chores  ducit  Venus  .... 

Junctaeque  Nymphis  Gratiae  decentes,'  &c. — Car.  i.  4. 
122.  rosy-fingered  Hours.     Said  of  the  morning  by  Homer — 
'  The  Lady  of  the  Light,  the  rosy-fingered  Morn.' 

Chapman's  Translation. 

1 24.  light-footed  Dews.     Referring  to  the  silence  with  which  dew  is 

formed.      '  Of  bloom  ethereal '  is  apparently  '  of  pearly,  or  crystalline, 

lustre.'     Malloch  has  '  the  silver-footed  dews  '  in  The  Hermit,  Canto  I. 

126-129.  The  same  idea  of  bounty  is  expressed  in  similar  words  in 

Spring,  11.  180-184. 

133-159.  To  attribute  to  the  influence  of  the  sun  the  formation  of 
the  various  minerals,  notably  of  the  precious  stones,  is  purely  fanciful. 
George  Stephenson,  indeed,  called  coal '  bottled  sunshine,'  but  Thomson 
makes  no  explicit  reference  to  coal.  (See  Par.  Lost.  III.  608-612.) 

1 S^- 1 39-  Iron  in  its  various  forms — tools,  weapons  of  war,  parts  of 
the  structure  of  buildings,  bridges,  ships,  &c. — is  here  chiefly  alluded  to. 
Metal  in  the  form  of  money,  as  wages,  the  price  of  commodities,  &c.  is 
probably  included. 

140.  imfregned  by  thee.     Milton  has  the  word — 

'  As  Jupiter 

On  Juno  smiles,  when  he  impregns  the  clouds 
That  shed  May  flowers.'— Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  499-501, 

142.  Diamond.     Another  form  of  '  adamant.'    Gr.  a,  priv.,  Sa/zdetv, 
to  tame.     From  its  hardness. 

143.  collected  light,  compact.     Solidified  light.     See  below,  1.  149, 
where  sapphire  is  called  « solid  ether.'     For  the  idea,  cp.  Malloch — 

'  The  sparkling  gem 


From  thy  unfailing  source  of  splendour  draw(s).' 

Excursiont  II. 


NOTES,  117-212.  281 

145,  146.  Dares,  as  it  sparkles,  &c.  See  Winter — 'sparkling  gems 
and  radiant  eyes ' — 1.  642. 

147.  ruby.     From  its  red  colour.     Lat.  ruber,  red. 

149.  sapphire.     Persian,  saffir. 

150.  tinct.     Older  form  of  tint.'     Spenser  uses  '  tinct '  as  a  participle 
= '  tinged.'     Lat.  tinctus,  dyed.     '  Taint '  and  '  stain '  are  cognates. 

151.  amethyst.     Gr.  d,   priv.,  and  pfOvftv,  to  be  drunken.     As   an 
amulet  this  stone  was  supposed  to  prevent  intoxication. 

152.  topaz.    Gr.  roirafrs ;  from   its   brightness.     Allied  probably  to 
the  Sanskrit  tap,  to  shine  ;  whence  '  taper.' 

154.  gives  it.     Presents  or  exposes  it.     The  meaning  is — '  in  the  first 
freshness  of  the  spring  season.' 

155.  emerald.     Old  Fr,  esmeraude;  Gr.  ffpapaySos,  emerald.     'Your 
hint  of  the  sapphire,  emerald,  ruby  strike  my  imagination  ....  and 
shall  not  be  neglected.'— Letter  to  Malloch,  2  Aug.  1726. 

156.  thick.  In  numerous  flashes.     Opal.  Gr.  6nd\\ios,  opal. 
159.  As  the  site  varies.     As  you  keep  turning  it  in  your  hand. 

161.  Assumes  a  mimic  life.     Inanimate  nature — the  stream,  the  pre- 
cipice, the  desert,  ruins,  and  the  deep — seem  to  grow  animate,  and  to 
feel  the  joy  of  life. 

162,  163.  In  brighter  mazes  .  .  .  Plays.   In  some  of  the  earlier  editions 
(that  of  1738  for  example) — '  In  brisker  measures  .  .  .  frisks.' 

165,  166.  The  desert  joys  Wildly  through  all  his  melancholy  bounds. 
This  description  of  the  effect  of  sunshine  upon  the  desert  is  a  magni- 
ficent stroke  of  the  imagination. 

176.  Light  Himself ,  in  uncreated  light .  .  .  dwells.     Cp.  Milton — 

'  God  is  Light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity — dwelt  then  in  thee, 
Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate ! ' 

Par.  Lost,  III.  3-6. 
184.  spheres.    Meaning  'orbits.' 
185-190.  Cp.  Milton — 

'  Nor  think,  though  men  were  none, 
That  heaven  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise. 

Par.  Lost,  IV.  675-676. 
195.  to  translate.     To  describe  in  verse. 

206.  coolness  to  the  shade  retires.  '  A  calm  retreat,  where  breathing 
Coolness  has  her  seat.' — Malloch. 

210.  darts.     '  Rains  '  in  the  first  edition. 

212.  Who  can  unpitying  see  the  flowery  race,  &c.  There  is  a  touch 
here  of  the  tenderness  of  Burns  for  the  daisy. 


282  THE  SEASONS.— SUMMER. 

216.  the  lofty  folloiver  of  the  sun.  The  sunflower.  Dr.  A.  T. 
Thomson  has  a  note  on  the  poetical  fiction  of  the  succeeding  lines  :  — 
'  The  plant  neither  turns  its  flower  to  the  sun,  nor  can  it  close  its  petals 
in  the  manner  described.  ...  If  we  examine  a  bed  of  sunflowers  at 
any  period  of  the  day  we  shall  find  them  looking  in  every  direction.' 

220.  the  swain  retreats.  The  shepherd  (of  1.  63)  returns.  It  is  noon. 
Burns  has  the  same  use  of  retreats  ' — 

'*  The  miry  beasts  retreating  frae  the  pleugh.' 

Cotters  Saturday  Night. 

223.  cottage  then  expecting  food.     Milk  for  the  cottage  household. 

224,  225.  the  daw,  the  rook,  and  magpie.     See  note,  Spring,  1.  609. 
228-236.     The  whole  scene  here  depicted,  one  of  idyllic  truth  and 

beauty,  finely  suggests  the  lazy  noontide  of  a  long  summer  day.     The 
position  of  the  village  is  charmingly  imagined. 

232.  vacant  greyhotmd.     In  the  first  text  '  employless.' 

237.  noisy  summer-race.     Suggested  by  the  wasp.     Flies  and  ephe- 
mera. 

238.  Live  in  her  lay.     They  live  also  in  the  lay  of  Gray — 

'  Hark !  how  through  the  peopled  air 
The  busy  murmur  glows ! 
The  insect  youth  are  on  the  wing 

Eager  to 

.     float  amid  the  liquid  noon.' — Ode  on  Spring. 

The  different  kinds  referred  to  include  in  Thomson's  description  the 
dragon-fly,  may-fly,  day-fly,  house-fly,  &c. 

269.  spider.   Shortened  from  'spinther,'  to  '  spither,'  and  then  '  spider.' 
From  '  spin.' 

270.  mixture  abhorred  I    The  mixture  of  cunning  and  ferocity. 
276.  with  rapid  glide.     The  noun  'glide'  is  now  seldom  used. 
289-317.  This  passage,  slightly  altered,  was  transferred  from  Spring 

to  its  present  place  as  a  part  of  Summer. 

293.  the  living  cloud.  A  fanciful  idea  :  it  is  not  now  believed  that 
pestilence  arises  from  living  insects,  which  exist  in  the  '  reek  of  rotten 
fens.' 

305.  floating  verdure.     The  green  scum. 

318-341.  A  specimen  of  Thomson's  'preaching'  style — in  which 
he  seldom  indulges.  It  reads  like  a  page  from  Young. 

343.  convolved.  A  favourite  word  of  Thomson's.  See  Spring, 
1.  839. 

348.  A  season* s glitter  !    Following  this,  in  the  first  edition,  came— 

'In  soft-circling  robes, 
Which  the  hard  hand  of  industry  has  wrought, 


NOTES,  216-389.  283 

The  human  insects  glow  ;   by  Huhger  fed, 
And  cheered  by  toiling  Thirst,  they  roll  about,'  &c. 
• — meaning  that  they  are  maintained  by  the  toil  of  starving  workers.     Cp. 
Goldsmith — 

'  The  robe  that  wraps  his  limbs  in  silken  sloth 
Has  robbed  the  neighbouring  fields  of  half  their  growth.' 

Deserted  Village. 
See  also  Burns — 

'The  simple  rustic  hind 
Whose  toil  upholds  the  glittering  show.' — A  Winter  Night. 

350,  351.  Oblivion  ....  strikes  them  from  the  book  of  life ;  i.  e.  from 
the  memory  of  men. 

352-432.  These  descriptions,  of  haymaking  and  of  sheep-shearing,  are 
in  Thomson's  happiest  style.  They  did  not  appear  in  the  first  edition 
of  Summer.  They  were  as  felicitous  afterthoughts  as  the  angling  scene 
in  Spring.  The  former  appeared  before,  the  latter  after,  the  edition 
of  1738. 

355.  Blown  by  prevailing  suns.  The  participle  is  here  used  in  a 
peculiar  way.  We  say  '  Roses  blow/  but  never  '  the  sun  blows  roses.' — 
'  Maid '  in  this  line,  along  with  '  youth '  two  lines  above,  stands  in 
apposition  to  '  village,'  i.  e.  '  the  village  community/  of  1.  352. 

361.  the  tedded  grain.  '  Grain  '  has  here  the  peculiar  meaning  of 
'  seeded  grass.'  To  '  ted  '  is  to  spread  mown  grass,  to  turn  and  toss  it 
for  drying.  From  Icelandic  tedja,  to  spread  manure ;  tad,  manure. 
In  Lowland  Scottish  '  to  taith.' 

363.  breathing  harvest.  The  hay-crop,  exhaling  its  fragrant  moisture 
in  process  of  drying. 

365.  the  green-appearing  ground.  After  the  hay  is  made  it  is  raked 
into  heaps,  and  by  means  of  cords  or  light  sledges  drawn  into  still 
larger  heaps,  and  hay-ricking,  or  the  piling  of  the  hay  into  haycocks, 
or  hay-colls,  commences. 

367.  thick.     Numerous — its  common  meaning  with  Thomson. 

369.  The  cause  is  surely  here  put  for  the  effect.  It  may  mean  dis- 
turbing or  enlivening  the  air. 

382.  This  line  beautifully  realizes  the  scene — quick  exertion  of  their 
legs  and  slow  progress  of  their  '  woolly  sides '  through  the  deep  water. 

386.  sordid  stream.  Muddied  water  of  the  deep  pool,  whither  the 
trout  used  to  come  to  play — hence,  in  preceding  line,  'lively  haunt.' 
Sordid  is,  of  course,  used  in  its  primitive  sense.  Not  only  is  much  of 
Thomson's  diction  Latin,  but  he  employs  the  Latin  words  in  their  original 
meaning. 

389.  swelling  treasures.     Their  wool, '  swelling '  as  it  dries  in  the  sun. 


284  THE  SEASONS.— SUMMER. 

390.  aroitnd  the  hills.  The  scene  is  in  Teviotdale,  most  pastoral  of 
Scottish  counties. 

395.  Wattled  pen.  Enclosure  made  of  hurdles.  Milton  has  '  hurdled 
cotes.'  From  A.-S.  watel,  a  hurdle,  something  woven  of  pliant  twigs  and 
rods.  Allied  to  Lat.  vitilis,  flexible. 

398.  Women  make  up  the  packs  of  wool. 

407.  vagrant.  So  named  in  anticipation  of  his  wandering  propensity. 
Hence  the  need  of  the  '  cipher.' 

410,411.  the  sturdy  boy  holds  by  the  twisted  horns,  &c.  A  much 
admired  picture. 

415.  What  softness  in  its  melancholy  face.  Blake  too  has  noted  the 
'  soft  face  '  of  the  sheep. 

420.  to  pay  his  annual  care.     His  rent  for  his  farm. 

423,  424.  A  simple  scene  !  yet  hence  Britannia  sees  Her  solid  grandetir 
rise.  Cp.  Burns — 

'  From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs.' 

Cotters  Saturday  Night. 

Wool  had  long  been  the  staple  article  of  trade  in  England.  One 
hundred  years  ago  the  native-grown  wool  supplied  almost  all  that  was 
needed  for  the  home  manufacture  of  woollen  cloth.  The  Woolsack,  the 
seat  of  the  Lord  Chancellor  in  the  House  of  Lords  since  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  is  a  memorial  of  the  times  when  wool  was  the  chief  source  of 
the  national  wealth. — See  Spring,  1.  75. 

428,  429.  her  dreadfiil  thunder  hence  Rides  o'er  the  waves.     Her 
men-of-war.     Cp.  Campbell — 

'  With  thunder  from  her  native  oak 
She  quells  the  floods  below.' 

Ye  Mariners  of  England. 

429.  now,  ev'n  now.      Written  after   1738;     probably  the   war   of 
Great  Britain  against  France  in  connection  with  the  Austrian  succession 
is  referred  to.     It  began  in  1741. 

431.  {Britannia)  rules  the  circling  deep.  About  the  time  he  wrote 
this  line  he  composed  (1740)— for  the  Masque  of  Alfred— the  famous 
national  song,  '  Britannia,  rule  the  waves  ! '  On  internal  evidence  the 
song  is  Thomson's.  Malloch,  in  an  edition  of  his  works  published  in 
J759>  retained,  in  his  'enlargement'  of  Alfred  in  that  edition,  a  song 
'  part'  of  which,  he  allows,  was  written  by  Thomson.  This  could  only 
have  been  the  song  of '  Rule,  Britannia.'  The  other  part  was  written 
(in  1751)  by  Lord  Bolingbroke — as  a  footnote  informs  us. 

435.  a  dazzling  deluge.     Of  hot  sunshine. 

443.  the  cheerful  sound.  In  all  editions,  down  to  1738,  '  the  sandy 
sound'  (of  sharpening  scythe). 


NOTES,  390-563-  285 

447.  After  this  line  came,  in  the  first  edition — 

'  The  desert  singes ;  and  the  stubborn  rock, 
Split  to  the  centre,  sweats  at  every  pore.' 

In  a  later  edition,  and  retained  in  1738,  '  singes  '  was  altered  to '  reddens.' 
Ultimately  the  two  lines  were  struck  out. 

460,  461.  beneath  the  whole  collected  shade  .  . .  Or  in  the  gelid  caverns. 

'  O  qui  me  gelidis  in  vallibus  Haemi 
Sistat,  et  ingenti  ramorum  protegat  umbra  ! ' 

Virgil,  Georgic  II.  487,488. 

471.  Ashes  .  .  .  resounding  o'er  the  steep.  Through  which  the  wind 
is  blowing. 

475.  Laves.  This  pause  is  not  uncommon  in  Thomson's  blank 
verse ;  e.  g. 

Of  him  the  shepherd  in  the  peaceful  dale 
Chants. — Britannia,  11.  136,  137. 
Tennyson  uses  it  with  fine  effect. 

481-484.  This  variety  of  the  brook's  course  has  been  inimitably 
described  by  Burns  in  Halloween — 

'Whyles  owre  a  linn  the  burnie  plays 

As  through  the  glen  it  wimpl't ; 
Whyles  round  a  rocky  scaur  it  strays, 

Whyles  in  a  wiel  it  dimpl't ; 
Whyles  glittered  to  the  nightly  rays 

Wi'  bickerin'  dancin'  dazzle; 
Whyles  cookit  underneath  the  braes 

Below  the  spreading  hazel.' 

493-497.  A  very  similar  scene  has  been  charmingly  rendered  (partly 
in  prose)  by  Heine  in  The  Tour  in  the  Harz  (1824).  The  metrical  part 
begins — 

'Konig  ist  der  Hirtenknabe.' 

The  features  of  the  scene  and  situation  are  in  both  poets  the  same — 
down  to  the  wallet  of  bread  and  cheese.  For  1.  497  the  later  editions 
read — 

'  There,  listening  every  noise,  his  watchful  dog.' 
506-515.  This  passage  was  composed  so  early  as  the  beginning  of 
June,  1726.     On  the   nth  of  that  month  Thomson  transcribed  it  in  a 
letter  to  Aaron  Hill. 

516-563.  This  passage  of  forty-eight  lines,  almost  as  they  stand,  was 
ready  before  the  nth  August,  1726.  In  a  letter  of  that  date  to  Malloch, 
Thomson  thus  refers  to  them  :  '  I  have  already  written  of  shade  and 
gloom,  and  woodland  spirits,  &c.,  exactly  as  you  hint  more  than  a  week 
ago.' 


286  THE  SEASONS.— SUMMER. 

518.  forming  .  .  .  a  woodland  quire.  Quire,  for  choir,  here  signifies 
the  place  frequented  by  song-birds,  not  the  song-birds  themselves.  So 
Shakespeare — 

'Yellow  leaves,  or  none  or  few,  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare,  ruined  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang.' 

Sonnet  Ixxiii. 

526,  527.  to  save  the  fall  of  Virtue,  &c.    Cp.  Milton's  Comus — 
'  If  virtue  feeble  were 

Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her.' — 11.  1022,  1023. 
528,  529.  In  waking  whispers  and  repeated  dreams  To  hint  pure 
thought.     Cp.  Milton — 

'  A  thousand  liveried  angels  lackey  her  [the  soul], 
Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt, 
And  in  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision 
Tell  her  of  things  that  no  gross  ear  can  hear,'  &c. 

Comus,  11.  455-8. 

531.   To  prompt  the  poet.     The  same  idea  occurs  in  Burns's  Vision, 
where  it  is  the  leading  feature  of  Duan  Second  : — 
'Some  fire  the  soldier  on  to  dare, 
Some  rouse  the  patriot  up  to  bare 

Corruption's  heart ; 
Some  teach  the  bard,  a  darling  care, 
The  tuneful  art. 

Of  these  am  I — Coila  my  name,'  &c. 

552-563-  This   passage   will    bear    comparison   with  the    exquisite 
harmony  and  solemn  imagery  of  Milton's  well-known  lines — 
'  Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep  ; 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold 
Both  day  and  night.     How  often  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air, 
Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other's  note, 
Singing  their  great  Creator  !     Oft  in  bands 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 
With  heavenly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds 
In  full  harmonic  number  joined,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  heaven.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  677-688. 
564.  And  art  thou,  Stanley,  of  that  sacred  hand?    On   this   line 


NOTES,  518-616.  287 

Thomson  has  the  following  footnote  : — 'A  young  lady  well  known  to 
the  author,  who  died  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  in  the  year  1738.' — Her 
epitaph,  in  Holyrood  Church,  Southampton,  informs  the  reader  that 
Elizabeth  Stanley,  daughter  of  George  and  Sarah  Stanley,  joined  to  the 
greatest  beauty,  modesty,  and  gentleness  of  female  nature  '  all  the  forti- 
tude, elevation,  and  vigour  of  mind  that  ever  exalted  the  most  heroical 
man.'  The  epitaph  includes  twenty-four  lines  of  verse  written  by 
Thomson,  and  terminating  thus — 

'  Yes,  we  must  follow  soon,  will  glad  obey ; 

When  a  few  suns  have  rolled  their  cares  away, 

Tired  with  vain  life,  will  close  the  willing  eye  : 

'Tis  the  great  birthright  of  mankind  to  die  ! 

Blest  be  the  bark  that  wafts  us  to  the  shore 

Where  death-divided  friends  shall  part  no  more  ! 
To  join  thee  there,  here  with  thy  dust  repose, 

Ts  all  the  hope  thy  hapless  mother  knows.' 

The  mother  of  Miss  Stanley  was  an  early  friend  of  Thomson.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  Sir  Hans  Sloane,  who,  in  the  year  (1727)  of  the  pub- 
lication of  Summer,  succeeded  Sir  Isaac  Newton  in  the  presidentship  of 
the  Royal  Society,  and  who  is  now  chiefly  known  for  his  noble  bequest 
of  books  and  MSS.  which  proved  the  nucleus  of  the  British  Museum. — 
This  address  to  the  shade  of  Miss  Stanley  was  not  ready  for  the  edition 
of  1738. 

582.  kills  not  the  buds  of  virtue.  '  In  Eden  every  bud  is  blown.' 
— David  Gray. 

592-606.  The  original  lines,  nine  in  number,  of  which  these  fifteen 
are  an  expansion,  described  the  waterfall  with  more  force  and  felicity  of 
language,  if  with  less  fluency— 

'  In  one  big  glut,  as  sinks  the  shelving  ground, 

The  impetuous  torrent,  tumbling  down  the  steep, 

Thunders,  and  shakes  the  astonished  country  round. 

Now  a  blue  watery  sheet ;   anon,  dispersed, 

A  hoary  mist ;  then,  gathered  in  again, 

A  darted  stream  aslant  the  hollow  rock, 

This  way  and  that  tormented,  dashing  thick 

From  steep  to  steep,  with  wild  infracted  course, 

And  restless  roaring  to  the  humble  vale.' 

606.  Five  lines,  afterwards  dropped,  introduced  in  the  first  edition  the 
passage  beginning  here. 

616.  Mournfully  hoarse.  Thomson  imports  the  grief  into  the  note  of 
the  stock-dove.  It  sounds  equally  mournful  when  the  bird  is  well 
pleased. 


288  THE  SEASONS.— SUMMER. 

628.  Woodbine.  Honeysuckle,  and  so  in  the  original.  The  work- 
ing bee  is  neuter,  or  undeveloped  female.  The  only  male  bees  are  the 
drones. 

629-1102.  These  lines,  474  in  number,  are  a, far  digression  from  the 
subject  proper — which  is  the  description  of  a  typical  summer  day,  such 
as  we  have  in  Britain.  The  poet  visits  in  imagination  the  various 
countries  of  historical  or  geographical  note  in  the  torrid  zone — Negro- 
land,  Bengal,  Mexico,  the  Sahara,  Abyssinia,  Nubia,  Egypt,  Southern 
India,  Siam,  Brazil,  Peru,  Morocco,  Arabia,  the  Cape,  &c.,  the  favourite 
region  being  Africa.  Their  flora  and  fauna,  physical  features,  peculia- 
rities of  climate,  &c.,  are  dwelt  upon  in  considerable  detail.  At  last  the 
vagrant  muse  (1.  1101)  is  happily  recalled  to  England.  In  this  long 
digression  there  are  many  magnificent  lines,  but  Thomson's  descriptive 
power  is  freshest  when  it  is  employed  on  scenes  of  which  he  has 
direct  experience.  Perhaps  the  most  effective  touch  is  at  11.  977-9 ; 
where,  after  describing  the  destruction  of  a  caravan  in  the  desert  by  the 
deadly  simoom,  he  suddenly  transports  us  to  either  extremity  of  the 
caravan  route,  to  the  towns  most  interested  in  the  fate  of  the  overdue 
caravan — 

'  In  Cairo's  crowded  streets 

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

It  may  be  noted  here  that  the  alterations  in  the  first  and  subsequent 
texts,  before  the  poem  at  last  settled  into  the  shape  in  which  we  now 
have  it — the  expansions,  additions,  distributions,  subtractions,  and 
substitutions — are  much  too  numerous  to  be  indicated,  and  it  would 
serve  no  very  useful  purpose  to  indicate  them  all.  These  alterations 
upon  the  original  text  increase  from  1.  629  onward  :  those  of  them  which 
are  thought  to  be  of  real  interest  will  be  noted. 

636,  637.  Rising  direct,  . .  .  chases  .  .  .  The  short-lived  twilight.  Cp. 
Coleridge's  description — 

'  At  one  stride  comes  the  dark.' — Ancient  Mariner. 

641.  the  general  breeze.  Thomson  has  a  footnote  on  this  expression  : — 
'  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,  according  to  the  diurnal  motion  of 
the  sun  from  east  to  west.' 

645.  double  seasons.  Thomson  has  the  following  note : — '  In  all 
climates  between  the  tropics,  the  sun,  as  he  passes  and  repasses  in  his 
annual  motion,  is  twice  a  year  vertical,  which  produces  this  effect.' 

652.  boundless  .  .  .  immensity  of  shade.  Cp.  Cowper's  '  boundless 
contiguity  of  shade'  (The  Task,  Bk.  II.  1.  2). 


NOTES,  628-678.  289 

663.  Pomona.     The  Roman  goddess  of  fruit-trees.      From  pomitm, 
fruit. — Citron,  a  species  of  fruit-tree  in  India  and  other  warm  countries, 
belonging  to  the  genus  citrus,  to  which  also  belong  the  orange,  lime, 
lemon,  &c.      The  rind  of  the  citron  is  more  valuable  than  the  pulp, 
having  a  delicious  flavour  and  fragrance.     A  cooling  beverage  is  made 
from  it. 

664.  the  lemon  and  the  piercing  lime.      From  the  Persian  limit,  a 
lemon,  or  lime,  or  citron.    A  cooling  beverage  is  made  from  these  fruits, 
which  is  administered  in  febrile  complaints,  and  is  an  agreeable  drink  in 
hot  weather.     The  lime  is  much  smaller  than  the  lemon,  and  extremely 
acid.     Both  are  natives  of  India  and  the  East.     The  Crusaders  are  said 
to  have  brought  the  lemon  into  Europe. 

665.  orange.     Persian  ndranj :  the  initial  letter  was  lost  in  Italian  ; 
in  French  orange,  as  if  from  or,  gold — from  the  colour ;   but  in  Spanish 
the  initial  is  preserved,  naranja,  an  orange. 

667.  tamarind.  Literally,  the  Indian  palm.  From  the  Arabic,  tamr, 
a  ripe  date,  and  Hind,  India.  It  is  a  leguminous  spreading  tree  30  or 
40  feet  high  ;  the  pods  are  brown,  full  of  seeds,  and  about  six  inches  long. 
The  pulp  in  which  the  seeds  lie  is  of  a  reddish  black,  sweet  and  acidul- 
ous. A  sherbet  is  made  from  it,  and  is  used  in  inflammatory  and 
feverish  disorders. 

669.  the  massy  locust.  The  reference  must,  from  the  use  of  'massy,' 
be  to  the  West  Indian  locust-tree,  which  grows  to  a  gigantic  height. 
All  trees  of  the  locust  order  are  leguminous. 

671.  the  Indian  fig.  The  banyan-tree,  remarkable  for  its  rooting 
branches,  which  become  stems,  capable  of  supporting  a  vast  extent  of 
shade.  Hundreds  of  stems  are  not  uncommon,  and  there  are  cases  where 
thousands  have  been  counted  up-bearing  the  branches  of  a  single  tree. 

674.  the  verdant  cedar.     The   cedar  is  an  evergreen,  with  a  dark 
shadow.     Gr.  tcedpos  ;  perhaps  allied  to  Heb.  kadar,  to  be  dark. 

675.  palmettos  lift  their  graceful  shade.     The  palmetto  is  the  dwarf 
or  cabbage  palm,  a  native  of  North  America,  found  farther  north  than 
any  other   species   of  palm.      It   rises  about   40   or   50   feet,    and   is 
crowned  with  a  tuft  of  large  palmated  leaves,  from  one  foot  to  five  feet 
in  length  and  having  a  long  foot-stalk. 

677,  678.  cocoas  milky  bowl.  The  juice  of  the  nut  was  variously  known 
as  milk  and  wine.  Cp.  Goldsmith's  '  palmy  wine.'  Cocoa  is  derived 
by  Professor  Skeat  from  Spanish  coco,  a  bugbear,  an  ugly  mask  to 
frighten  children  ;  hence  applied  to  the  cocoa-nut  on  account  of  the 
monkey-like  face  at  the  base  of  the  nut.  The  original  sense  of  coco  was 
skull,  head  ;  allied  to  Fr.  coque,  shell,  from  Lat.  concha,  a  marine  shell. 
Freshening  for  '  refreshing.' 

U 


290  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

679.  bounteous.     Not  'plentiful,'  but  'bliss-bestowing.'     Fr.    bonte, 
Lat.  bonitas,  goodness. 

680.  flacchus.  The  Greek  and  Roman  noisy  or  riotous  god  of  wine. 

68 1.  the  full  pomegranate-,    i.e.  filled  with  juice.      Literally,   the 
grained  or  seeded  apple,  or  fruit ;  from  Lat.  pomum,  fruit,  apple,  and 
granatum,  seeded — granum,  a   grain.     Thomson's   description   of  its 
'  slender  twigs '  is  accurate ;  one  writer  states  that  '  in  cultivation  it  is  a 
low  tree  with  t^viggy  branches.' 

682.  683.  creeping  through  the  woods,  the  gelid  race  Of  berries.  Thomson 
has  apparently  come  home  for  an  instant,  and  appears  to  refer  to  the 
wild  strawberry — the  only  '  creeping '  berry  that  is  ripe  in  summer.    He 
seems  to   forget — he  would  not  ignore — the  cultivated  strawberry,  of 
which  Dr.  Boteler  (as  quoted  by  Izaak  Walton)  said,  '  Doubtless  God 
could  have  made  a  better  berry,  but  doubtless  God  never  did.' 

685.  thou  best  anana.  The  pine-apple,  most  delicious  of  all  fruits. 
It  is  indigenous  to  tropical  America.  It  had  been  introduced  into  the 
gardens  of  the  wealthy  in  England  only  some  forty  or  fifty  years  when 
Thomson  thus  sang  its  praises.  The  Dutch  brought  it  to  Europe. 

688,  689.  The  sensuous  nature  of  Thomson  is  well  revealed  in  these 
lines. 

692.  savanna.  A  prairie,  or  meadow-plain ;  Spanish  sabana,  a 
sheet  for  a  bed  ;  from  Gr.  (Ta@avov,  a  linen  cloth. 

696,  697.  showers Exuberant  Spring.  Less  figuratively  'scatters 

a  luxuriant  verdure.' 

700.  .streaming  dews.  If  this  means — as,  taken  with  '  torrent  rains,' 
it  seems  to  mean — '  dews  falling  copiously,'  it  is  incorrect,  since  dew 
does  not  fall.  It  may,  however,  mean  'drops  of  dew  already  formed 
running  together  in  streams.' 

705.  fattening  seas.     Fertilising  waters.     The  Amazon  is  meant. 

707.  his  train.     The  tail  of  the  crocodile. 

710.  By  '  behemoth,'  Thomson  signifies  the  hippopotamus.  See 
Job,  chap.  xl.  vv.  15-24,  for  a  description  which  suggested  that  of  the 
text. 

717.  Niger's  .  .  .  stream.     The  explorer  of  the  Niger,  Mungo  Park, 
Thomson's  countryman,  was  not  yet  born  when  Thomson  wrote  this 
line. 

718.  the  Ganges  ....  sacred  wave.     The  river,  from  its  source  in 
'  the  cow's  mouth  '  to  its  union  with  the  bay,  is  regarded  by  the  natives 
of  Bengal,  and  indeed  of  India,  with  a  feeling  of  reverence.    They  make 
pilgrimages  from  far  and  near  to  worship  the  river,  and  bathe  in  its  holy 
waters. 

724.  Alluding  to  the  great  age  the  elephant  sometimes  attains. 


NOTES,  679-774.  291 

728.  mine his  steps.     The  wild  elephant  is  sometimes  taken 

in  the  way  these  words  suggest.     Holes  are  dug  in  the  track  the  animal 
is  known  to  frequent ;    they  are  lightly  covered  over  with  a  roof  of 
sticks  or  boards  concealed  under  a  natural  appearance  of  turf,  and  the 
elephant  tumbling  into  one  of  these  pits  is  soon  a  captive. 

729.  his    towery   grandeur.      Cp.   Milton's    reference   to   elephants 
'  endorsed  with  towers  of  archers '  in  Par.  Regained,  Bk.  III.  11.  329, 

330. 

742.  Montezumrfs  realm.  Mexico,  conquered  by  Cortes  early  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  A  peculiar  art  of  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Mexico  was 
the  weaving  of  feathers  into  a  kind  of  costly  cloth.  The  art  perished 
with  the  unhappy  natives.  See  Milton — 

'  In  spirit  perhaps  he  also  saw 
Rich  Mexico,  the  seat  of  Montezume, 
And  Cusco  in  Peru,  the  richer  seat 
Of  Atabalipa.'— Par.  Lost,  Bk.  XI.  11.  406-409. 
744.  Philomel.     The  nightingale. 

746.  sober-stated.  '  In  russet  brown  bedight.' — Castle  of  Indolence, 
Canto  II.  st.  xxxiii. 

750.  vale  of  Sennar.     This  region,  situated  in  the  south  of  Nubia, 
extends  on  both  sides  of  the  Bahr-el-Azrek  (Blue  Nile). 

751,  752.  the  secret  bounds  Of  jealous  Abyssinia  boldly  pierce.    When 
these  words  were  penned,  the  future  explorer  of  Abyssinia,  James  Bruce, 
was  still  a  young  boy  in  his  home  in  Stirlingshire,  or  at  school  at 
Harrow.     It  was  the  Portuguese  Jesuit  missionaries,  who,  in  the  six- 
teenth   and   seventeenth   centuries,  introduced    Popery  into  Abyssinia. 
But  Christianity  had  been  introduced  as  early  as  the  fourth  century. — 
'  Jealous,'  as  having  guarded  for  centuries  the  supposed  source  of  the 
Nile.     But  see  Par.  Lost,  IV.  280-284  ;  and  Rasselas,  chap.  i. 

753,  758.  A  reflection  on  the  Portuguese  traders  and  the  Jesuit  mis- 
sionaries. 

759.  like  the  harmless  bee.     Cowper  employs  the  same  simile : — 
'  He  travels  and  expatiates,  as  the  bee 
From  flower  to  flower,  so  he  from  land  to  land,'  &c. 

The  Task,  Bk.  IV.  11.  107,  108. 

764.  more  than  Alpine  mountains.  '  Abyssinia,'  says  Prof.  Hughes, 
*  consists  of  an  alternation  of  plateaus  and  high  mountain-chains  .... 
the  external  features  of  the  country  are  those  of  an  Alpine  region.' 

767.  sun-redoubling  valley.  A  valley  that  by  the  reflection  of  the 
sun's  rays  from  its  sides  doubles  the  heat  of  the  sun.  An  awkward  com- 
pound. 

773,  774.  draw  Ethereal  soul;  i.  e.  inhale  pure  life-giving  air. 
U2 


292  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

778.  '  The  rivers  bring  down  some  grains  of  gold,  which  gives  room 
to  suspect  the  mountains  are  full  of  it.' — M.  Legrand. 

795.  upper  seas.  Rain-clouds — '  the  big  stores  of  steaming  oceans ' 
in  1.  794.  Cp.  the  Scriptural  phrase — '  the  waters  above  the  firmament.' 

Soi,  802.  the  whole  precipitated  mass,  &c.  See  Winter,  11.  154,  155, 
for  almost  the  same  language : — 

'  Hurls  the  whole  precipitated  air 
Down  in  a  torrent.' 

806.  From  his  two  springs.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that 
the  problem  of  the  source  of  the  Nile  was  still  far  from  solution  in  the 
time  of  Thomson,  though  here  he  seems  to  regard  it  as  at  last  definitely 
settled.  Go/am :  a  district  south  of  Lake  Dernbea  in  Abyssinia,  lying 
between  the  parallels  10°  and  11°  N.  Lat. 

806,  807.  From  his  two  springs Pure-ivellingout.     In  1735 — 

some  time  before  these  words  were  written — Johnson  had  published  in 
London  his  translation  from  the  French  of  '  A  Voyage  to  Abyssinia,  by 
Father  Jerome  Lobo,  a  Portuguese  Jesuit,  with  a  Continuation  by  Mr. 
(sic}  Legrand,'  which  Thomson  seems  to  have  read.  In  the  '  Continua- 
tion' we  find :  '  Father  Peter  Pays  [Paez],  a  Portuguese  Jesuit,  was  the 
first  European  who  had  a  sight  of  the  two  springs  which  give  rise  to 
this  celebrated  stream.  As  I  was  looking  round  about  me,'  he  says, 
'  with  great  attention,  I  discovered  two  round  springs,  one  of  which 
might  be  about  2  feet  in  diameter.  The  sight  filled  me  with  a  pleasure 
which  I  know  not  how  to  express,  when  I  considered  that  it  was  what 
Cyrus,  Cambyses,  Alexander,  and  Julius  Caesar  had  so  ardently  and  so 
much  in  vain  desired  to  behold.'  This  discovery  was  in  '  Goiama,'  and 
the  date  was  2ist  April,  1613.  It  is  now  1891,  and  there  is  still  some 
doubt  whether  the  head  of  the  Nile  be  yet  discovered. 

808.  fair  Dambea.  The  lake  is  about  60  miles  long,  and  has  a  mean 
breadth  of  about  25  miles.  It  occupies  the  hollow  of  a  very  fertile 
plateau  some  6000  feet  above  sea-level.  Its  beauty  is  much  enhanced 
by  several  islands.  The  Blue  Nile  passes  through  the  south  end  of  it. 

820,  821.  he  pours  his  urn,  &c.  A  skilfully  managed  cadence.  Refer- 
ence is  made  to  the  cataracts  of  the  Nile,  and  the  annual  inundation  of 
Egypt- 

822.  Niger.  It  was  not  till  1796  that  anything  definite  was  known 
of  this  river.  Park  explored  it. 

826.  '  Falling'  on  the  Coromandel  coast  are  the  Mahanadi,  the  God- 
averi,  the  Krishna,  and  the  Cauveri,  and  numerous  other  rivers  of  less 
size.     On  the  western,  or  Malabar  coast  of  southern  India,  there  are 
no  rivers  of  note ;  unless  the  Nerbudda  and  the  Tapti  are  meant. 

827.  Menanis  orient  stream.     Orient,  as  being  still  farther  east  than 


NOTES,  778-855.  293 

the  rivers  of  Hindostan.  Thomson  gives  the  following  note:  'The 
river  that  runs  through  Siam  ;  on  whose  banks  a  vast  multitude  of 
those  insects  called  fire-flies  make  a  beautiful  appearance  in  the  night.' 

829.  Imhis1  smiling  banks,  &c.  This  description  hardly  answers  the 
modern  idea  of  the  Indus.  In  the  lower  half  of  its  long  course  it  flows 
through  a  narrow  and  arid  basin,  with  a  decreasing  volume  of  waters. 
But  Thomson  probably  refers  to  the  valley  of  Cashmere,  '  with  its  roses 
the  brightest  that  earth  ever  gave  '  (Moore.) 

831.  pour  unt oiling  harvest.     A  rich  deposit  of  mud  from  which, 
with  little  labour  on  the  part  of  the  agriculturist,  abundant  crops  of 
millet,  rice,  &c.  are  produced. 

832.  thy  world,  Columbus.    America,  discovered  on  the  I2th  October, 
1492.     Christopher  Columbus,  the  greatest  of  navigators,  was  born  in 
Genoa,  some  say  in  1436,  others  in  1446.     He  was  in  the  service  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella   of  Spain  when  he  made  the  discovery.     His 
expectation  was  to  find  a  new  route  to  India  by  sailing  westward.     The 
islands  of  the  new  world  upon  which  he  was  blown  were  the  Bahamas, 
which  he  believed  to  be — and  named — the  western  isles  of  the  Indies. 
He  died  in  great  poverty  at  Valladolid,  in  May,  1506,  to  the  eternal 
disgrace  of  the  ungrateful  king  Ferdinand.     The  continent  was  named 
by  the  Germans  after  Amerigo  Vespucci  whose  account  of  the   new 
world  was  the  first  to  be  published  and  become  popular.     Vespucci  was 
a  native  of  Florence,  born  there   in  1451.     He  first  visited  the  new 
world  seven  years  after  its  discovery.    It  is  right  to  say  that  his  name  was 
given  to  the  new  continent  without  his  wish,  and  even  to  his  surprise. 

834.  The  Orinoco.  In  the  wet  season,  as  described  by  Dr.  A.  Russel 
Wallace,  its  waters  unite  with  those  of  the  Amazon,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  submerged  areas,  where  the  basins  unite,  are  forced  to  betake 
themselves  for  safety  to  the  upper  branches  of  the  flood-invaded  forests. 

840.  The  mighty  Orellana.  The  Amazon.  Properly  named  from 
its  first  navigator  Francisco  de  Orellana,  who  taking  part  in  the  -great 
expedition  of  Gonzalo  Pizarro,  deserted  his  leader,  and  descended 
to  the  ocean  in  a  brigantine.  The  Amazon  is  the  largest  of  rivers,  and 
occupies  an  area  as  large  as  Europe. 

843.  sea-like  Plata.  It  is  a  broad  fresh-water  estuary,  rather  than  a 
river,  formed  by  the  union  of  the  Parana  and  the  Uruguay.  • 

854.  blameless  Pan.     Simple  shepherd-life.     Pan  was  the  Greek  god 
of  flocks  and  shepherds. 

855.  Christian  crimes.     Persecuting   proselytism   is   not  necessarily 
referred  to.     The  satire  lies  in  the  contrast  which  the  profession  of 
Christian  principles  so  often  presents  to  the  conduct  of  the  individual 
who  professes  them. 


294  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

859.  '  So  great  is  the  volume  of  water  which  it  [the  Amazon]  brings 
down,  that  its  freshness  is  perceptible  at  a  distance  of  more  than  500 
miles  from  the  coast '  (Prof.  W.  Hughes).  '  The  immense  and  turbid 
flood  which  the  Rio  de  la  Plata  pours  into  the  Atlantic  is  perceptible  at 
a  distance  of  more  than  a  hundred  miles  to  seaward,  and  forms  a 
powerful  current  amidst  the  waters  of  the  ocean.' — Ibid. 

863.  Ceres  void  of  pain.  Crops  got  without  the  trouble  of  cultivating 
the  fields. 

869.  fatal  treasures.     As  being  the  object  of  covetousness,  and  the 
occasion  of  strife  and  bloodshed. 

870.  \hid"\  Deep  in  the  bowels  of  the  pitying  earth.     Hidden  deep 
underground    as    if   to    prevent    strife  about    their  possession.      Cp. 
Milton— 

'By  him  first 

Men  also,  and  by  his  suggestion  taught, 
Ransacked  the  centre,  and  with  impious  hands 
Rifled  the  bowels  of  their  mother  earth 
For  treasures  better  hid.' — Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I.  11.  684-688. 
"87 1.  Golconda.     Potosi.     The  former  is  a  few  miles  from  Hyderabad 
in   the  Nizam's  dominions,  and  is  proverbially  famous  for  diamonds. 
They  are  not,  however,  got  from  mines  at  Golconda,but  are  brought  thither 
to  be  cut  and  polished. — Potosi,  in  Bolivia,  is  the  richest  mining  centre 
for  silver  in  South  America.    There  are  thousands  of  mines  in  the  top  of 
the  silver  mountain,  and  hundreds  of  millions  of  pounds  sterling  have 
been  taken  out  of  them. 

872.  the  gentlest  children  of  the  sun.      The  native  Peruvians,   a 
peaceful  and  inoffensive  race  of  people,  who  fell  an  easy  prey  to  the 
Spaniards  under  the  Pizarros.     They  worshipped  the  sun,  and  called 
themselves  his  children. 
890-893.  Cp.  Goldsmith— 

'  All  the  gentler  morals,  such  as  play 
Through  life's  more  cultured  walks,  and  charm  the  way, 
These,  far  dispersed,  on  timorous  pinions  fly 
To  sport  and  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky.' — The  Traveller. 
898-938.  This  passage,  before  its  expansion  in  the  later  editions,  con- 
sisted of  only  some  twenty  lines  in  the  first  edition.     It  began — 
*  Here  the  green  serpent  gathers  up  his  train 
In  orbs  immense,  then  darting  out  anew 
Progressive  rattles  through  the  withered  brake,'  &c. 
905.  all  other  thirst,  i.  e.  thirsty  animals. 

^  908.  small  close-lurking  minister  of  fate.     The  cerastes  or  horned 
viper  is  probably  meant.    It  is  exceedingly  venomous. 


NOTES,  859-956.  295 

916.  tiger  darting  fierce.  '  Tiger  '  is  derived  from  Old  Persian  tighri, 
an  arrow.  The  river  Tigris, .  from  the  same  root,  is  named  from  its 
swiftness. 

921.  hytzna.     From  Gr.  vaiva,  literally  a  '  sow-like  '  animal. 
923.  Mauritania.     The  old  name  for  the  extreme  north-west  of  Africa, 
corresponding  with  the  modern  Morocco  and  Algiers.     From  Mauri, 
the  Moors.    It  is  to  Mauretania  that  Horace  refers  as  '  Jubae  tellus  .... 
leonum  arida  nutrix  '  (Car.  I.  22). 

923,  924.  the  tufted  isles  ....  amidthe  Libyan  wild.  Oases  adorned 
with  clumps  of  palm.  Libya,  a  district  of  north  Africa,  west  of  Egypt. 
(See  Liberty,  11.  247-251.) 

925-938.  This  passage  stood  in  the  first  text — 
'  In  dire  divan  around  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  altogether  joined  from  darksome  caves, 
Where  o'er  gnawed  bones  they  slumbered  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.' 
939.  the  first  of  joys,  i.  e.  the  best. 

939-949.  Cp.  Cowper's  description  of  a  similar  situation,  in  Verses 
supposed  to  be  written  by  Alexander  Selkirk — 

'  I  am  out  of  humanity's  reach,'  &c. 
949.  the  wonted  roar  is  tip.     A  recollection  of  Comus,  1.  549 — • 

'  The  wonted  roar  was  up  amidst  the  woods.' 

952.  stooping  Rome,  i.  e.  declining.  The  expression  is  repeated  in 
Liberty,  at  1.  460  of  Part  III — where  will  be  found  a  graphic  sketch  of 
the  causes  that  led  to  the  decline  of  the  Republic,  and  the  course  of  that 
decline. 

954.  Cato  . . .  through  Numidian  wilds.  Numidia  lay  between  Maure- 
tania and  Carthage.  It  was  at  Utica  in  Numidia,  about  twenty-seven 
Roman  miles  north-west  of  Carthage,  that  Cato  the  younger  fell  by  his 
own  hand,  B.  c.  46,  at  the  age  of  forty-nine,  rather  than  submit  to 
Caesar.  The  contest  between  Caesar  and  the  Pompeian  party,  to  which 
Cato  belonged,  and  the  resultant  tragedy  of  the  death  of  Cato,  are  the 
subject  of  Addison's  stately  drama. 

955'  95^.  Campania,  a  fertile,  salubrious,  and  lovely  district  of  Italy, 
lying  along  the  Mediterranean  immediately  to  the  south-east  of  Latium  ; 


296  THE  SEASONS.  —  SUMMER. 

once  a  favourite  summer  retreat.  The  first  inhabitants  were  variously 
called  Ausones  and  Osci.  But  Ausonia  was  often  applied  to  the  whole 
of  Italy. 

959-1051.  This  long  passage  of  nearly  100  lines  on  different  subjects 
was  interjected  after  1738.  It  has  no  place  in  the  edition  of  that  year — 
though  a  line  here  and  there  may  be  found,  but  in  a  different  connection, 
in  the  first  edition  of  1727. 

964.  A  suffocating  wind.     The  simoom. 

977-979.  '  A  beautiful  instance  of  the  modifying  and  investive  power 
of  imagination  may  be  seen  ....  in  Thomson's  description  of  the  streets 
of  Cairo,  expecting  the  arrival  of  the  caravan  which  had  perished  in 
the  storm.' — Wordsworth  (quoted  in  Prof.  Knight's  Life  of  Wordsworth, 
vol.  ii,  Appendix,  p.  324). 

984.  Typhon ;  1.  986.  Ecnephia.  '  Names  of  particular  storms  or 
hurricanes,  known  only  between  the  tropics.' — Note  by  Thomson.  Pliny 
mentions  cwttyias,  a  storm  that  breaks  out  of  a  cloud ;  Gr.  ere,  out,  and 
vt<pos,  cloud.  On  '  the  old  word  typhon  (not  uncommon  in  old  authors)' 
Prof.  Skeat  has  a  curious  note.  He  derives  it,  of  course,  from  'rvfytav, 
better  TV&WS,  a  whirlwind,'  and  remarks  on  the  '  close  accidental 
coincidence '  (of  typhon  and  typhoon^  '  in  sense  and  form  as  being  very 
remarkable.'  Typhoon  he  describes  as  modern, — a  Chinese  word, 
meaning  '  a  great  wind  ' ;  from  ta,  great,  and  fang  or  fting,  wind. 
'  Tyfoon  would  be  better.' 

987.  cloudy  speck.  '  Called  by  sailors  the  ox-eye,  being  in  appearance 
at  first  no  bigger.' — Note  by  Thomson.  Cp.  '  a  little  cloud  out  of  the  sea, 
like  a  man's  hand  '  ( I  Kings  xviii.  44). 

998.  Art  is  too  slow.     Seamanship  ;  or  the  furling  of  the  sails. 

1001.  the  daring  Gama.  '  Vasco  da  Gama,  the  first  who  sailed  round 
Africa  by  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  the  East  Indies.' — Thomsons 
ATote. — Dom  Vasco  da  Gama  was  of  a  good  Portuguese  family.  WTith  a 
small  fleet  of  four  vessels,  manned  by  160  men,  he  set  sail  from  Lisbon 
in  July,  1497,  reached  Table  Bay  (owing  to  stormy  weather)  so  late  as 
November,  encountered  terrific  tempests  in  doubling  the  southern 
extremity  of  Africa,  and  at  last— after  quelling  a  mutiny  among  his 
terrified  crew,  and  enduring  unspeakable  hardships — safely  crossed 
the  Indian  Ocean  to  Calicut  in  India,  where  he  arrived  on  the  2oth  May, 
1498.  He  lived  to  enjoy  the  fame  of  this  great  feat  twenty  seven  years. 
Courage  and  constancy  were  his  most  conspicuous  moral  qualities.  He 
is  one  of  the  heroes  of  The  Lusiad  ;  and  indeed  the  most  striking  part  of 
the  great  epic  of  Camoens  (b.  1524,  d.  1579)  is  the  passage  descriptive  of 
the  giant  Adamastor  appearing  to  Gama  as  the  Demon  of  the  Storm,  in 
the  vain  hope  of  turning  him  from  his  enterprise  of  doubling  the  Cape., 


NOTES,  959-I057-  297 

1010.  The  Lusitanian  Prince.  'Don  Henry,  third  son  to  John  the 
First,  King  of  Portugal.  His  strong  genius  to  the  discovery  of  new 
countries  was  the  chief  source  of  all  the  modern  improvements  in 
navigation.' — Note  by  Thomson.  This  prince  is  known  as  Enrique  the 
Navigator.  The  good  results  of  his  encouragement  to  navigation  and 
colonisation  appeared  chiefly  in  the  reigns  of  Joam  II,  and  Manoel.  It 
was  in  Manoel's  reign  that  da  Gama  discovered  the  new  sea-route  to  the 
East  Indies. 

1015.  shark.     Perhaps  from  Lat.  carcharus,  a  species  of  dog-fish  ;  Gr. 
icapxapos,  rough,  hard.     '  To  shirk  '  =  to  act  as  a  shark,  to  prowl  about 
in  a  slinking  manner. 

1016.  steaming  crowds.     The  unhappy  victims  of  the  inhuman  traffic 
in  slaves,  called  -  that  cruel  trade  '  a  few  lines  below. 

1020.  Guinea.  On  the  West  Coast  of  Africa.  A  brave  sailor,  Sir 
John  Hawkins,  has  the  unenviable  distinction  of  having  commenced  the 
deportation  of  negroes  from  Guinea  to  supply  labour  for  the  plantations 
of  our  American  colonies. 

1023-1025.  A  revolting  scene,  described  in  words  too  realistic.  Heine 
has  treated  the  same  theme,  suo  more,  in  The  Slave  Ship. 

1028.  Cp.  '  looks  out  the  joyous  spring'  (Winter,  1.  16). 

1040,  1041.  Carthagena.  Vernon.  Under  Walpole's  administration, 
but  against  his  judgment,  an  expedition  was  sent  against  the  Spanish 
possessions  in  South  America.  Admiral  Vernon  was  in  command.  He 
captured  Portobello  in  1739,  but  was  baffled  in  his  attack  upon 
Carthagena  by  the  disease  of  his  men.  Those  unhealthy  shores  of  South 
America  had  already  proved  fatal  to  Admiral  Hosier,  whose  misfortunes 
as  told  in  Glover's  Ballad  of  Hosier's  Ghost  (written  on  receipt  of 
the  news  of  the  capture  of  Portobello  by  Vernon)  touched  the  public 
heart  into  a  long-withheld  sympathy.  Thomson,  in  Britannia  (11.  34-40), 
had  attempted  anonymously  to  excite  this  sympathy  in  1727. 

1049,  1050.  on  each  other  fixed  .  .  .the  blank  assistants.  There  is 
careless  composition  here,  and  some  obscurity  of  meaning  besides. 
Probably  '  the  blank  assistants  '  signifies  the  survivors  who  assisted  in 
burying  the  bodies  of  their  dead  comrades ;  and  '  on  each  other  fixed ' 
seems  to  mean> '  with  eyes  fixed  on  each  other.' 

1054.  Nemesis.  The  goddess  of  vengeance.  As  a  common  noun, 
the  Greek  vtfteais  signifies  distribution,  allotment,  and  hence  retribution  ; 
from  vkyt.uV)  to  distribute. 

1057.  locust-armies  putrefying.  'These  are  the  causes  supposed  to 
be  the  first  origin  of  the  Plague,  in  Dr.  Mead's  eloquent  book  on  that 
subject.' — Note  by  Thomson.  The  '  book '  when  first  published,  in  1720, 
was  a  mere  pamphlet. 


298  THE  SEASONS.  — SUMMER. 

1070.  uncouth  verdure.  Unaccustomed,  strange.  From  A.-Sax.  ww-, 
not ;  ciith,  known. 

1078.  its  cautious  hinge,  &c.  See  Defoe's  History  of  the  Great 
Plague. 

1070-1088.  Instead  of  these  lines,  the  original  text  (down  to  1738) 
had  the  following  : — 

'  And  ranged  at  open  noon  by  beasts  of  prey 
And  birds  of  bloody  beak.     The  sullen  doer 
No  visit  knows,  nor  hears  the  wailing  voice 
Of  fervent  want.     Even  soul- attracted  friends 
And  relatives,  endeared  for  many  a  year, 
Savaged  by  war,  forget  the  social  tie, 
The  close  engagement  of  the  kindred  heart, 
And,  sick,  in  solitude  successive  die 
Untended  and  unmourned.     While,  to  complete,'  &c. 
1090,  1091.    The  grim  guards  ....  a  better  death.     The  reference 
is  to  the  cordon  sanitaire. — Better  to  be  struck  or  shot  down  than  to 
die  of  the  plague. 

1092-1102.  The  first  draught  of  these  lines  formed  part  of  a  long 
passage,  which,  in  the  earlier  editions,  began  at  1.  1620  of  the  settled 
text. 

1096.  the  pillared  fame.  But  the  fact  is  that  flames  do  not  shoot 
from  volcanoes.  The  reflection  of  the  red  molten  lava  on  the  clouds  of 
steam  thrown  up  during  an  eruption  produces  the  illusion. 

1102.  Here  ends  the  long  digression  to  tropical  scenes  and  torrid 
summers.  In  the  next  line  the  poet  is  back  in  England. 

1105-1116.  A  poetical,  not  a  scientific,  exposition  of  the  cause  or 
conditions  of  a  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning.  But  Franklin's  discovery 
of  the  nature  of  lightning  was  not  made  till  after  Thomson's  death, 
namely,  in  1752.  It  was  then  demonstrated  that  lightning  and  electri- 
city are  identical. — It  may  be  noted  that  Malloch's  explanation  of  the 
phenomenon  of  a  thunderstorm  is  the  same  as  Thomson's :  he  too 
speaks  of— 

'Sulphureous  steam  and  nitrous,  late  exhaled 
From  mine  or  unctuous  soil,'  &c. — The  Excursion,  Canto  I. 
1141-1143.  The  very  sound  of  these  lines  suggests  what  they  describe. 
1149.  Here  in  the  earlier  editions  was  introduced  a  description  of  a 
shepherd  killed  by  lightning : — 

'  [It]  strikes  the  shepherd  as  he  shuddering  sits 
Presaging  ruin  'mid  the  rocky  clift. 
His  inmost  marrow  feels  the  gliding  flame ; 
He  dies;   and,  like  a  statue  grimed  with  age, 


NOTES,  1070-1209.  299 

His  live  dejected  posture  still  remains, 
His  russet  singed,  and  rent  his  hanging  hat ; 
While,  whining  at  his  feet,  his  half-stunned  dog, 
Importunately  kind  and  fearful  pats 
On  his  insensate  master  for  relief.' 

A  striking  picture,  but  in  bad  taste.  It  was  withdrawn — chiefly  perhaps 
because  the  theme  was  handled  in  the  story  of  Celadon  and  Amelia 
(see  below,  11.  1214-1222). 

1151,  1152.  Fuller  and  more  effective  in  the  first  text : — 
*  A  leaning  shattered  trunk  stands  scathed  to  heaven 

The  talk  of  future  ages.' 
There  is  tragedy  here. 

1153.  harmless  look.  Said  of  naiads  by  Shakespeare  (The  Tempest  >  the 
masque  scene). 

1156-1168.  This  wild  passage,  somewhat  bombastic,  was  substi- 
tuted for  the  following  less  furious  but  more  forcible  lines  of  the  first 
edition : — 

'  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,  unpierced  by  day  before. 
Scarred  is  the  mountain's  brow ;  and  from  the  cliff 
Tumbles  the  smitten  rock.     The  desert  shakes, 
And  gleams,  and  grumbles  through  his  deepest  dens.' 
1 1 68.   Thule.     The  Orkney  and  Shetland  Islands.     The  area  of  the 
thunderstorm  is  thus  Wales  and  all  Scotland. 

1170.  not  always  on  the  guilty  head.  The  vulgar  creed  even  yet 
needs  this  correction. 

1171-1222.  The  episode  of  Celadon  and  Amelia,  gracefully  and 
affectingly  described,  and  giving  relief  to  the  main  subject,  as  figures 
relieve  a  landscape,  was  possibly  suggested  by  Pope's  letter  to  Lady 
Mary  Montagu,  containing  the  tragic  story  of  two  lovers  killed  by 
lightning.  The  letter  is  of  date  Sept.  ist,  1717.  Part  of  Pope's  cor- 
respondence was  published  so  early  as  1726  ;  the  'authorised'  edition 
came  out  in  1737. 

1 1 74.  Cp.  Milton's  description  of  Adam  and  Eve  in  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV. 
11.  296,  299. 

1178.  informed.  Finer  in  the  original  edition — 'alarmed.'  See 
Spring,  11.  250-254. 

1 208,  1 209.  the  secret  shaft  That  wastes  at  midnight.  '  The  terror  by 
night/  '  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day.' — Psalm  xci.  5. 


300  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

1215,  1216.  In  the  first  edition — 

' In  a  heap 

Of  pallid  ashes  fell  the  beauteous  maid.' 

1257-1268.  This  passage  followed  the  episode  of  Damon  and  Musi- 
dora  in  the  edition  of  1738;  and  the  passage  beginning  at  1.  1269 
of  the  settled  text  was  joined  to  that  ending  at  1.  1256  by  the  words — 

'  'Twas  then  beneath  a  secret  waving  shade  '  ; 
replaced,  to  suit  the  connection,  by — 

'Close  in  the  covert  of  a  hazel  copse.' 

1269-1370.  The  story  of  Damon  and  Musidora  first  appeared  in 
the  edition  of  1730,  and  was  retained  in  the  edition  of  1 738  ;  but  the  first 
version  has  been  so  altered  as  to  form  in  the  final  text  an  episode  almost 
entirely  different.  In  the  first  version  Damon  is  represented  as  professing 
insensibility  to  the  influence  of  female  beauty.  His  profession  is  put  to 
the  test  by  his  chance  discovery  of  three  nymphs  bathing.  They  are 
Sacharissa,  Amoret,  and  Musidora.  The  beauty  of  Musidora  makes  im- 
pression upon  his  obdurate  heart :  smitten  by  her  charms,  he  falls  deeply 
in  love  with  her.  Both  versions  have  been  objected  to  on  the  score  of 
taste,  more  especially  Musidora' s  frank  avowal  of  her  affection  for  Damon. 
The  first  version  was  doubtless  suggested  by  the  well-known  Decision  of 
Paris  in  classical  story,— perhaps  also  by  a  passage  (11.  12-20  of  Act  I. 
sc.  2)  in  Allan  Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd. 

1271.  After  this  line  in  the  first  draught  came  the  following  passage  : — 
'  Thoughtful  and  fixed  in  philosophic  muse, — 
Damon,  who  still  amid  the  savage  woods 
And  lonely  lawns  the  force  of  beauty  scorned, 
Firm,  and  to  false  philosophy  devote. 
The  brook  ran  babbling  by,  and,  sighing  weak, 
The  breeze  among  the  bending  willows  played, 
"When  Saccharissa  to  the  cool  retreat 
With  Amoret  and  Musidora  stole.' 

Then  followed — 'Warm  in  their  cheek'  &c.,  at  1.  1290.  After  1.  1292 
came  the  description  of  the  three  nymphs,— in  which  Saccharissa  is 
likened  to  Juno,  Musidora  to  Minerva,  and  Amoret  to  Venus,— extend- 
ing to  1.  1303.  Line  1304  began,  '  Nor  Paris  panted  stronger,'  &c.,  and 
the  text  ran  on,  with  some  necessary  changes,  very  much  as  we  have 
it  to  1.  1332. 

1 275,  1 276.  falsely  he  Of  Mtisidoras  crttelty.    As  Roger  complained  of 

Jenny's  cruelty  in  Allan  Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd  (Act  I.  sc.  i) — a 

pastoral  comedy  (published  in  1725)  which  Thomson  must  have  known. 

1347.  Me  statue  that  enchants  the  world.     The  Venus  de  Medici,  in 

the  Imperial  Gallery  at  Florence. 


NOTES,  1215-1408.  301 

1371-1437.  All  this  was  written  after  1738,  probably  in  1744.  (See 
a  reference  to  time  at  11.  1427-1428.) 

1373-1376.  Described  with  a  more  exalted  figure,  and  richer  melody 
of  expression,  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence  : — 

'  Gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
For  ever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky.' 

Canto  I,  st.  vi,  11.  3,  4. 
1383.  pathetic — for  'sympathetic.' 

1387.  the  vulgar  never  had  a  glimpse.  The  love  of  natural  scenery,  of 
the  beauty  of  this  fair  world,  was  a  passion  with  Thomson.  It  is  a  feel- 
ing not  so  generally  diffused  as  one  is  apt  to  imagine.  Cowper,  indeed, 
in  the  penultimate  passage  of  The  Winter  Evening,  declares  that — 

'  The  love  of  Nature's  works 
Is  an  ingredient  in  the  compound  man, 
Infused  at  the  creation  of  the  kind,' 

and  that  none  are  'without  some  relish,' — that  all  retain,  even  in  the 
depth  of  cities,  an  '  inborn  inextinguishable  thirst  of  rural  scenes.'  He 
allows,  however,  that  the  feeling  requires  to  be  educated,  and  that '  minds 
that  have  been  formed  and  tutored'  discern  and  taste  the  beauty  of 
Nature  'with  a  relish  more  exact.'  Thomson's  highest  honour  is  that  he 
has  taught  '  the  vulgar '  to  see  both  beauty  and  a  spirit  of  divine  benevo- 
lence in  the  arrangement  of  their  dwelling-place,  the  earth.  He  has  not 
only  opened  our  eyes  to  the  beauty  of  our  natural  surroundings,  but  set 
the  soul  of  man  in  a  freer  filial  relation  to  its  Maker.  The  gifts 
of  Nature  express  the  fatherhood  of  God :  this  is  his  religious  creed, 
and  this  is  what  he  means  by  following  Nature  up  to  Nature's  God. 
1391.  Supply  'which,'  as  a  connective,  after  '  Virtue.' 

1393.  portico  of  -woods.     Reference  is  here  made  to  the  place,  the 
Painted  Porch  (2rod  noiitiXr)),  or  Colonnade,  in  ancient  Athens  where 
Zeno — some  three  centuries  before  the  Christian  era — taught  his  peculiar 
philosophy  (Stoicism). 

1394.  Nature's  vast  Lyceum.     A  Gymnasium  outside  the  walls  of 
ancient  Athens,  and  just  above  the  llissus,  where  Aristotle  (b.  384  B.  c.) 
walked  and  taught  his  disciples  (the  Peripatetics),  bore  the  name  of 
the  Lyceum  (TO    AvKfiov}  from   its  neighbourhood  to  the  Temple  of 
Apollo  Lyceus — 'Apollo  the  Light-Giver.'      (For  a  poetical  descrip- 
tion of  the  Schools  of  ancient  Athens,  see  Paradise  Regained,  Book  IV, 
11.  240-253.    Note  that  Milton  places  the  Lyceum  within  the  city  walls.) 

1401.  Amanda.     Miss  Young.     See  note,  Spring,  1.  482. 
1403.  All  is  the  same  with  thee.     Any  path  will  be  delightful  in  your 
company. 

1408.   Thy  hill,  delightful  S June.   ' "  Shene  "  :  the  old  name  of  Rich- 


302  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER. 

mond,  signifying  in  Saxon,  shining  or  splendour? — Note  by  Thomson. 
Thomson,  when  he  was  in  easy  enough  circumstances  to  own  a  country 
residence, — some  time  in  1736, — fixed  upon  Richmond,  and  settled  in  a 
neat  garden-house  in  Kew- foot-lane,  which  looked  down  on  the  Thames, 
and  gave  a  wide  view  of  landscape  besides.  Amanda's  sister,  Mrs. 
Robertson,  was  a  near  neighbour  of  the  poet  at  Richmond. 

1410.  huge  Augusta.     London.     See  note,  Spring,  1.  107. 

1411.  sister-hills.     Highgate  and  Hampstead. 

1412.  Harrow-on-the-Hill,    twelve   miles   north-west   from   London. 
When   Thomson  wrote  'lofty  Harrow'  (1744?)  he  had   not   seen   a 
Scottish   hill   for  about   twenty   years.      Harrow   stands    on   a   small 
eminence. 

1413.  Windsor  is  about  twenty-three  miles  up  the  river  from  London. 
It  has  been  a  royal  residence  since  the  time  of  the  Conqueror.     The 
Castle  stands  on  a  plateau  of  natural  chalk. 

1419.  Harringtons   retreat.      Petersham,   which  gives  the  title  of 
Viscount  to  the  Earls  of  Harrington. 

1420.  Hani's  embowering  walks.      A  seat  of  the  Earls   of  Dysart. 
Ham  House,  near  Twickenham,  was  built  for  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales, 
son  of  James  I.     It  is  almost  gloomy  with  elms. 

1423.  John  Gay;  born  1688,  died  1732.     Author  of  The  Shepherd's 
Week  (in  six  Pastorals,  or  Days),   Trivia,  The  Beggar's  Opera,  the 
ballad  of  Black -eyed  Susan,  and  Fables.     Gay  had  an  easy,  graceful, 
witty  style,  and  a  genuine  lyrical  vein.     For  the  last  four  or  five  years  of 
his  life  he  was  an  inmate  in  the  house  of  his  patrons  and  friends,  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Queensberry,  and  at  Ham. 

1424.  polished  Cornbury.     Son  of  the  Earl  of  Clarendon,  and  the 
author  of  some  dramas  written  with  more  refinement  of  taste  and  style 
than  vigour  of  imagination. 

1426,  1427.  the  muses  haunt  In  Twickenham's  bowers.  Pope,  with 
whom  Thomson  was  on  friendly  and  intimate  terms — indeed  Thomson 
was  of  such  a  nature  as  to  have  no  enemies — lived,  as  everybody  knows, 
at  Twickenham,  his  residence  from  1718  till  his  death,  twenty-six  years 
after.  See  Winter,  1.  550,  for  another  friendly  reference  to  Pope : 
'  Twickenham  '  is  there  described  as  '  the  Muses'  hill.'  It  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that  Pope  was  the  greatest  English  poet  of  his  time — none  of  his 
contemporaries  denied  it.  When  Thomson  made  this  complimentary 
and  '  right  friendly'  allusion  to  Pope,  the  latter  was  'in  his  last  sickness' : 
he  died  in  May,  1744. 

1428.  The  healing  god.  ^sculapius  was  the  god  of  the  medical  art ; 
Hygiea,  the  goddess  of  health.  Health,  of  course,  is  meant. 

royal  Hampton's  pile.    The  village  of  Hampton  is  some  twelve  miles 


ATOTES,  1410-1579.  303 

from  London,  on  the  Middlesex  side  of  the  Thames.  The  Palace  was 
built  by  Wolsey  for  himself.  Henry  VIII  seized  it ;  and  it  was,  from 
time  to  time  after  that,  a  royal  residence  till  the  reign  of  William  III. 
That  king  added  to  the  building ;  and  laid  out  the  gardens  (some  45 
acres  in  area)  in  terraces,  flower  plots,  and  arcades,  according  to  the 
Dutch  taste  in  such  matters.  They  are  still  very  much  as  he  left  them. 
1429.  Clermonfs  terraced  height,  and  Esher's  groves.  Claremont  is 
a  country-seat  at  Esher  in  Surrey,  about  fourteen  or  fifteen  miles 
south-west  from  London;  around  it  winds  'the  silent  Mole'  on  its 
way  to  the  Thames.  It  was  the  residence  of  the  Rt.  Hon.  Henry  Pelham, 
who  was  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  from  1721  to  1743.  Garth  has  a 
poem  on  Clairmont. 

1434.  Achaia.   Hesperia.    The  former,  '  the  coast-land  '  (on  the  north 
side)  of  the  Peloponnesus,  was  a  narrow  strip  of  country  lying  to  the 
north  of  Arcadia,  and  sloping  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea.    Thomson 
probably  means  any  beautiful  and  secluded  part  of  Greece.    Hesperia, 
literally,  '  the  western  land,'  the   Greek  name   for   Italy ;   it  was  the 
Roman  name  for  Spain.     Thomson  probably  refers  to  the  gardens  that 
were  watched  by  the  Hesperides. 

1435,  1436.  vale  of  bliss  .  .  .   On  which  the  power  of  cultivation  lies. 
Cp.  Wordsworth's  well-known  description  of  '  Yarrow  vale' : — 

'  And  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 
Of  cultivated  nature.' 

1442,  1443.  the  Queen  of  Arts .  .  .  Liberty.  This  view  of  Liberty  is 
dwelt  upon  and  amplified  at  great  length  in  the  Poem  on  Liberty,  Part  V, 
1.  374  to  the  end.  '  Liberty  abroad  walks '  is  an  awkward  inversion. 

1449.  with  golden  waves.     Yellow  corn-fields  are  meant. 

1470.  the  listed  plain.  The  battle-field  enclosed  for  combats.  From 
'  lists,'  ground  '  roped  in  '  (licia,  barriers  ;  licium,  a  girdle)  for  tourna- 
ments. 

1471-1478.  Cp.  Goldsmith's  tribute  of  praise  to  the  manhood  of 
England  in  The  Traveller,  commencing — 

'  Stern  o'er  each  bosom  reason  holds  her  state.' 

1479-1579.  This  long  passage  of  101  lines,  containing  a  list  of 
England's  worthies,  was  a  gradual  growth  in  the  successive  editions.  The 
first  edition  (of  1727)  included  only  More,  Bacon,  Barrow,  Tillotson, 
Boyle,  Locke,  Newton,  Shakespeare,  and  Milton.  In  the  edition  of  1738 
we  find  the  list  enlarged  with  the  additional  names  of  Walsingham, 
Drake,  Raleigh,  Hampden,  Philip  Sidney,  Russell,  and  Ashley  (Lord 
Shaftesbury)  ;  while  the  names  of  Tillotson  and  Barrow  are  with- 
drawn. After  1738  were  added  Alfred,  '  thy  Edwards  and  thy  Henrys,' 
Algernon  Sidney  ('  the  British  Cassius '),  Spenser,  and  Chaucer.  It  is 


304  THE  SEASONS.  —  SUMMER. 

noticeable  that  neither  patriot  nor  poet  of  Scotland  has  the  justice 
of  a  place  on  the  roll.  It  is  entirely  English,  although  Thomson,  by  a 
figure,  is  supposed  to  be  reading  the  roll  to  Britannia.  The  omission 
of  Scottish  names  is  the  more  remarkable  as,  when  he  sent  a  copy  in 
MS.  of  the  first  draught  of  his  panegyric  to  his  countryman  Malloch  in  the 
autumn  of  1726,  he  took  occasion  to  say  in  an  accompanying  letter,  *  The 
English  people  are  not  a  little  vain  of  themselves  and  their  country. 
Britannia  too  includes  our  native  country  Scotland?  Yet  he  did  not  admit 
a  single  Scottish  name.  It  was  both  tardy  and  meagre  justice  to  Scotland 
to  allow  her  in  Autumn  (II.  893-948),  a  'bead-roll '  of  fame  for  herself 
— of  only  three  names,  Wallace  ;  John,  Duke  of  Argyle ;  and  Duncan 
Forbes,  of  Culloden.  (But  see  note  on  11.  877-948  of  Autumn.) 

1479.  Alfred,  surnamed  the  Great ;  born  849,  died  901.  He  cleared 
his  country  of  the  Danes ;  built  the  first  English  navy  ;  made  wise  laws 
for  the  administration  of  justice — establishing,  it  is  said,  trial  by  jury ;  and, 
besides  encouraging  husbandry,  and  the  peaceful  arts  of  life,  translated 
useful  Latin  books  into  Anglo-Saxon  for  the  good  of  his  subjects, 
and  practised  original  authorship  as  well,  for  the  same  noble  purpose. 

1484.  Not  all  the  Edwards,  and  not  all  the  Henrys.  Among  the 
non-heroic  Edwards  and  Henrys,  who  yet  were  'dear  to  fame,'  should 
be  remembered  the  sixth  Edward  ;  and  the  sixth  Henry,  the  founder  of 
Eton  College — whom  'grateful  science  still  adores.'  Of  the  warlike 
Edwards,  Edward  III  was  the  conqueror  of  France ;  of  the  warlike 
Henrys,  Henry  V. 

1486.  the  terror  of  thy  arms.  At  Cressy,  in  1346  ;  and  at  Agincourt, 
in  1415. 

1488.  Sir  Thomas  More;  born  1480,  martyred  1535.  He  was  Lord 
Chancellor,  after  Wolsey,  in  1529.  The  'brutal  tyrant'  was,  of  course, 
Henry  VIII,  whose  divorce  of  Queen  Catharine  More  refused  to  sanction. 

1490.  ttsefttl  rage.      The  useful  result  of  Henry's  passion   was   the 
rupture  with  Rome,  and  the  downfall  of  Popery  in  the  State. 

1491 ,  J  492.  For  Cato,  see  note  supra,  1.  954.    Aristides,  surnamed  '  the 
just,'  the  most  upright  and  public- spirited  of  all  the  sons  of  ancient 
Athens.      He   fought   at    Marathon,   Salamis,   and   Platcea.      Utterly 
unselfish  he  died  in  poverty,  B.  c.  468.     Cincinnatus,  a  hero  of  the  times 
of  the  old  Roman  Republic.     He  lived  on  his  farm,  which  he  tilled  with 
his  own  hand.     When  the  State  was  in  danger  he  was  named  Dictator 
(B.  C.  458) ;  accepted  the  office ;  saved  the  Republic  ;  and,  after  a  brief 
tenure  of  the  Dictatorship,  of  sixteen  days,  quietly  returned  to  his  farm, 
and  resumed  his  former  mode  of  life. 

1494.  Walsingham.  Born  1536  ;  Secretary  of  State  to  Elizabeth. 
His  '  wisdom '  was  diplomatic  duplicity. 


NOTES,  1479-1558.  305 

1495.  Sir  Francis  Drake  ;  circumnavigated  the  globe,  1577-9  »  was 
vice-admiral,  under  Lord  Howard,  when  the  Armada  was  defeated  ; 
died  in  his  ship  during  an  expedition  to  the  West  Indies  against  the 
Spaniards,  1595.  One  of  the  boldest  and  bravest  of  'the  Sea  Dogs  '  of 
Devonshire. 

1498.  Elizabeth's. 

1499.  Raleigh.     Also  of  Devonshire  ;    born  in   1552,  the  junior  of 
Drake  by  some  thirteen  years.     Worthy  of  all  that  is  said  of  him  in  the 
text. 

1502.  '  The  coward  reign'  was  that  of  James  I ;  the  'vanquished  foe' 
(1.  1504)  was  Spain.  It  was  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the  Spanish 
Court  that  James  I  commissioned  the  execution  of  Raleigh. 

1507.  The  reference  is  to  The  History  of  the  WTorld,  which  Raleigh 
composed  during  his  long  captivity  in  the  Tower. 
1509,  1510.  Elizabeth's  and  James's  respectively. 
1511.  Sir  Philip  Sidney;    born  1554,  died  of  a  wound  received  at 
Zutphen  in  1586;  brave  and  chivalrous,  and  universally  beloved  and 
admired.     He  wrote  poems  in  praise  of  '  Stella,'  Arcadia,  and  A  De^ 
fence  of  Poesie. 

1514.  John  Hampden  ;  the  first  to  resist  the  iniquitous  tax  of  Ship- 
money  ;  fought  in  the  civil  war  against  Charles  I ;  and  died  of  a  wound 
received  in  the  skirmish  of  Chalgrove  Field,  1643. 

1522,  1523.  let  me  strew  the  grave  Where  Russel  lies.  An  echo  of 
Milton's  line — 

'  To  strew  the  laureate  hearse  where  Lycid  lies.' 

Lycidas,  1.  151. 

This  is  Lord  William  Russell :  born  1639  >  accused  of  taking  a  share  in 
the  plot  to  assassinate  Charles  II  at  the  Rye  House ;  executed  1683. 
Cp.  Campbell's  lines  : — 

'Yours  are  Hampden's,  Russell's  glory, 
Sidney's  matchless  shade  is  yours.' 

Men  of  England. 

1528.  the  British  Cassitis.     Algernon  Sidney. 

J535-  Bacon  ;  born  1561,  died  1627  ;  Lord  Chancellor  in  1618  ; 
author  of  the  Novum  Organum.  Compared  in  this  eulogium  to  Plato, 
Aristotle,  and  Cicero,  for  his  speculative  ability,  powers  of  close,  clear, 
and  sustained  reasoning,  and  lucid  and  eloquent  style. 

^  1551.  Antony  Ashley  Cooper,  third  Earl  of  Shaftesbury ;  born  1671, 
died  1713  ;  the  friend  of  Pope  ;  author  of  Characteristics. 

1556.  Robert  Boyle  ;  son  of  the  Earl  of  Cork;  born  1626;  wrote  on 
natural  philosophy,  and  helped  to  form  the  Royal  Society. 

1558.  John   Locke;    born    1632,   died   1704;    wrote  Essay  on  the 

X 


3o6  THE  SEASONS.— SUMMER. 

Human  Understanding ;  the  founder  of  the  English  School  of  Philo- 
sophy. 

1560.  Sir  Isaac  Newton;  born  1642,  died  1728  ;  discovered  the  law 
of  gravitation.     See  Note  on  Spring,  line  207. 
1566.  wild  Shakespeare.     Cp.  Milton's  lines : — 
'  Sweetest  Shakespeare,  fancy's  child, 
Warble(s)  his  native  wood-notes  wild.' 

U  Allegro,  11.  133,  134. 

1568.  in  thy  Milton  met.     Cp.  the  lines  of  Dryden : — 

'Three  poets  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn  ; 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpass'd, 
The  next  in  majesty,  in  both  the  last; 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go, — 
To  make  the  third  she  joined  the  former  two.' 

1569.  universal  as   his  theme.     Paradise  Lost  is  a  misnomer;  the 
scope  of  the  poem  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
or   even   the   Earth,  or  even  the  Universe  ;   but  includes  the  Eternal 
Heavens  or  Empyrean,  Chaos,  and  Hell — in  short,  all  Space.     Gray,  in 
the  Progress  of  Poesy,  describes  Milton  as  '  passing  the  flaming  bounds 
of  space  and  time.' 

1573.  Spenser,  fancy's  pleasing  son.  The  author  of  the  Faery 
Queene  is  sometimes  called  'the  poet  of  the  poets,'— with  great 
apparent  truth. 

1577.  Chaucer;  died  in  1400;  said  to  be  Spenser's  'ancient  master' 
in  the  line  above,  because  of  such  chivalrous  and  romantic  tales  in  the 
famous  Canterbury  collection  as  the  Knight's,  the  Squire's,  &c.  Chaucer 
is  the  prince  of  story-tellers;  and  the  most  agreeable  and  effective, 
because  the  least  obtrusive,  of  moralists.  His  satire,  at  the  severest,  is 
the  satire  of  simple  exposure.  Notice  that  Thomson  speaks  disparagingly 
of  his  '  language  ' :  it  was  reserved  to  a  later  age  to  discover  the  melody 
and  inimitable  felicity  of  Chaucer's  diction.  '  Manners-painting'  is  an 
unhappy  compound,  which  Burns  adopted  in  his  Vision — '  I  taught  thy 
manners-painting  strains.' 

1588.  rose-bud  moist  with  morning  dew. 

'  Her  lips  like  roses  wat  wi'  dew.' — Burns. 

1592-1594.  What  Byron  has  called  'the  mind,  the  music  of  the  face.' 

1595-1601.     This  apostrophe  is  followed  by  no  direct  statement ;  it  is 
entirely  exclamatory.     Cp.  the  opening  stanza  of  Gray's  Ode  on  Eton 
College.     Compare  this  description  of  Great  Britain  with  Gaunt's  im- 
passioned outburst  in  the  Second  Act  of  King  Richard  II,  beginning : — 
*  This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  sceptred  isle,'  &c. ; 


NOTES,  1560-1619.  307 

and  concluding : — 

'England,  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea, 
Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 

Of  watery  Neptune 

That  England,  that  was  wont  to  conquer  others ! ' 
1602-1613.  With  a  similar  prayer  Burns  concludes  the  Cottar's  Satur- 
day Night : — 

'Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 
Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content ! 
And  oh,  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 
From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile ! 
Then — howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent — 
A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-loved  isle. 
O  Thou !   who  poured  the  patriotic  tide 
That  streamed  through  Wallace's  undaunted  heart  .... 
Oh  never,  never  Scotia's  realm  desert, 
But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot-bard 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard  ! ' 
1616.   That  first  paternal  virtue,  Public  Zeal    See  Liberty,  Part  V  : — 
'By  those  three  virtues  be  the  frame  sustained 
Of  British  Freedom  : — INDEPENDENT  LIFE  ; 
INTEGRITY  IN  OFFICE;  and,  o'er  all 
Supreme,  A  PASSION  FOR  THE  COMMONWEAL.' — 11.120-123. 
And  again  at  1.  222  : — 

'Be  not  the  noblest  passion  past  unsung     .     .     . 
DEVOTION  TO  THE  PUBLIC.' 

1619.  After  this  line,  in  the  edition  of  1738,  came  a  series  of  passages, 
amounting  in  all  to  85  lines,  which  have  been  partly  dropped,  and  partly 
transferred  to  an  earlier  part  of  the  poem,  and  there,  with  many  changes 
and  additions,  incorporated  with  it.  The  dropped  passages  include  a 
description  of  a  tropical  forest  on  fire,  with  some  telling  lines  : — 
'  Touched  by  the  torch  of  noon,  the  gummy  bark, 

Smouldering,  begins  to  roll  the  dusky  wreath '  ; 

and,  notably,  a  realistic  account  of  an  unknown  African  city  supposed 
to  have  been  overwhelmed  by  a  sand-storm  : — 

'Hence  late  exposed  (if  distant  fame  say  true) 
A  smothered  city  from  the  sandy  wave 
Emergent  rose,'  &c. 

The  incorporated  parts  include  glimpses  of  the  '  rolling  Niger,'  the  '  huge 
leaning  elephant,'  'spicy  Abyssinian  vales,'  &c. 
t  X2 


308  THE  SEASONS. — SUMMER, 

1626.  Amphitrite.  In  Homer,  Amphitrite  is  merely  another  name  for 
the  sea.  She  was,  with  the  later  poets,  the  Goddess  of  the  Sea,  the  wife 
of  Poseidon  (Neptune),  originally  a  Nereid. 

1630-1646.  The  long  summer  day  is  now  ended ;  and  the  poet  appro- 
priately enough,  but  rather  abruptly,  indulges  in  some  reflections  on  the 
different  feelings  which  a  sense  of  the  passage  of  time  excites  in  different 
breasts.  Mankind  are  divided  into  three  classes — the  dreaming  or 
inactive,  the  selfish,  and  the  benevolently  active. 

1654.  the  face  of  things.  The  expression  recurs  in  Thomson.  See 
Winter,  line  57.  It  occurs  in  Milton,  where  he  speaks  of  the  moon 
'  with  pleasing  light  shadowy  '  setting  off  '  the  face  of  things.' — Par. 
Lost,  Bk.  V.  11.42,43. 

1657.  the  quail  clamours  for  his  running  mate.     Clearly  Thomson 
means  the  corn-crake,  or  land-rail.     The  bird  is  named  from  its  cry — 
both  quail  (from  quack}  and  crake,  or  rail.  The  crake  is  seldom  seen  on 
the  wing,  but  runs  with  great  rapidity.     Cp.  Burns's  line — 
'  Mourn,  clamorous  craik,  at  close  o'  day  ! ' 

Elegy  on  Capt.  Matthew  Henderson. 

The  description  of  summer  gloaming  ended  here  in  the  edition  of  1738. 
The  next  six  lines  are  an  unhappy  addition  :  the  poet  has  already 
described  <  the  face  of  things '  as  '  closed  '  by  the  deepening  darkness ; 
now  he  introduces — what  must  have  been  invisible — 'the  whitening 
shower '  of  thistle-down. 

1660.  Amusive.  The  word  recurs  in  The  Seasons.  It  means  'in  a 
way  that  amuses  the  observer.' 

1662.  Her  lowest  sons.     The  birds— such  as  linnets. 
1664,  1665.  Cp.  Burns  : — 

'The  shepherd  steeks  his  faulding  slap 
And  o'er  the  moorlands  whistles  shrill.' 

Meeniis  ee. 

1660.   Unknowing  what  thejoy-mixt  anguish  means.  See  Spring  1.  251 . 
1 68 1.  A  passage  beginning  here  in  the  first  edition  was  transferred  to 
Autumn,  11.  1151-1164. 

1683.  The  glow-worm.  Rare  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  but  common 
in  some  parts  of  England.  The  female  insect  emits  the  stronger  light. 

1686.  Stygian.  Darkest.  From  Styx,  the  principal  river  in  the 
infernal  world. 

1692.  one  swimming  scene.  What  Gray,  in  the  Elegy,  calls  'the 
glimmering  landscape.' 

1698.  After  this  line  (but  at  an  interval)  came,  in  the  first  edition, 
a  passage  on  the  Aurora  Borealis 1. 

1  It  was  reconstructed  and  transferred  to  Autumn,  11.  1108-1137. 


A UTUMN. — INTR OD UCTOR  Y  NOTE.  309 

1702-1729.  Added  after  1738. 

1730.  Philosophy.     Natural  philosophy,  or  science,  is  meant. 

1735.  soothe  the  parted  soul.  Cp.  Addison's  Vision  of  Mirza — 
'  Heavenly  airs  that  are  played  to  the  departed  souls  of  good  men 
upon  their  first  arrival  in  Paradise,  to  wear  out  the  impressions  of  the 
last  agonies.' 

1758.  Cp.  the  Bard's  appeal  in  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  Canto  II, 

St.  51  :~ 

'  Had  unambitious  mortals  minded  nought  .     . 

Rude  nature's  state  had  been  our  state  to-day,'  &c. 
Cp.  also  the  earlier  stanzas  of  the  same  canto  :— 

*  Earth  was  till  then  a  boundless  forest  wild ; 
Naught  to  be  seen  but  savage  wood,  and  skies,'  &c. 

St.  14. 

1 789.  This  is  mental  Philosophy,  or  Psychology.  The '  ideal  kingdom ' 
is  the  world  of  mind,  or  ideas. 


AUTUMN. 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

Autumn  was  the  last  of  The  Seasons  in  the  order  of  composition, — 
following  Spring  at  an  interval  of  two  years.  The  Hymn  was  written 
at  the  same  time,  and  the  completion  of  the  series  was  made  the  occasion 
of  a  collected  edition.  The  first  edition  of  The  Seasons  accordingly  made 
its  appearance  in  London  in  1730,  in  a  handsome  quarto,  for  which  most 
of  the  leading  men  of  the  day  were  subscribers.  Dodington,  to  whom 
Summer  had  been  dedicated,  subscribed  for  twenty  copies.  It  was  a 
famous  year  for  Thomson.  He  was  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  and  at 
a  time  of  life  when  he  could  most  keenly  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  being 
popular.  The  same  year  Sophonisba  was  produced  at  Drury  Lane  ;  and, 
though  rather  patronised  than  popular  at  the  theatre,  it  ran  to  a  fourth 
edition  at  the  printer's  before  the  close  of  the  year.  Summer  too,  as  a 
separate  poem,  entered  its  third  edition  ;  and  a  second  edition  of  Autumn, 
a  slim  octavo  of  62  pp.,  published  at  one  shilling1,  made  its  appearance 

1  With  an  engraving,  '  representing  [one  of]  the  marble  statues  in  the  garden  of 
Versailles,'  is.  6d. 


310  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

before  the  year  was  out.     The  publisher  was  '  J.  Millan,   bookseller, 
near  Whitehall.' 

Part  of  Autumn,  if  not  the  whole  of  it,  seems  to  have  been  written  at 
Dodington's  country  seat  at  Eastbury,  among  the  downs  of  Dorsetshire. 
Thomson  was  there  in  the  autumn  of  1729.  Writing  to  his  friend 
Malloch  from  Eastbury,  on  the  aoth  September,  he  says  ;  '  I  wish  for  a 
walk  with  you  upon  the  serene  downs  to  talk  of  a  thousand  things  .  .  . 
I  have  been  in  dead  solitude  here  for  some  days  by  past.  Mr.  D[oding- 
ton]  went  to  London  to  wait  upon  the  king ;  now  he 's  returned.  Poor 
Stubbs  [a  poetaster  and  clergyman]  kept  me  alive  :  he  toils  here  in  two 
parishes  for  £40  a  year ! '  The  solitude  he  speaks  of  was  not  unem- 
ployed. If  he  was  not  actually  writing  the  poem,  his  mind  at  least  was 
full  of  the  subject.  The  poem  itself  will  witness  : — 

'  I  court 
The  inspiring  breeze,  and  meditate  the  book 

Of  nature  ever  open 

And  as  I  steal  along  the  sunny  wall 

Where  Autumn  basks  with  fruit  empurpled  deep 

My  vacant  theme  still  urges  in  my  thought,'  &c. 

11.  668-674. 

Autumn,  unlike  the  other  Seasons,  was  published  without  a  prose 
dedication.  It  was,  however,  inscribed  in  fourteen  lines  of  verse  incor- 
porated with  the  poem  (11.  9-22)  to  '  the  Rt.  Hon.  Arthur  Onslow,  Esq., 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons.'  It  was  to  the  same  gentleman  that 
Young,  some  twelve  years  later,  dedicated  the  first  book  of  his  Night 
Thoughts.  (See  Note,  1.  9,  infra.} 

Like  that  of  the  other  Seasons,  the  text  of  Autumn  underwent  numerous 
alterations  in  the  later  editions.  To  it  were  transferred  several  passages 
which  had  originally  appeared  in  more  or  less  different  form  in  Summer. 
These  were  the  eulogium  on  the  'Caledonian  Sons'  of  Britannia,  begin- 
ning at  1.  876 ;  the  description  of  the  Northern  Lights  and  of  the  effect 
of  the  phenomenon  upon  superstitious  minds,  beginning  at  1.  1108  ;  and 
the  picture  of  the  horseman  perishing  in  the  morass  to  which  in  the 
darkness  of  night  he  has  been  allured  by  the  will-o'-the  wisp  (11.  1150- 
1164).  Several  verbal  changes  were  made  at  the  suggestion  of  Pope, 
and  an  occasional  line  or  two  of  his  composition  received  into  the 
text.  And  three  important  additions  of  original  matter  were  made  to 
the  poem  subsequently  to  the  edition  of  1738, — viz.  the  introduction  of 


INTRODUCTOR  Y  NOTE.  3 1 1 

the  '  doctor  of  tremendous  paunch '  into  the  symposium  of  foxhunters, 
the  vision  of  the  infant  rivers  in  their  subterranean  beds,  and  the  compli- 
ment to  Pitt  and  Cobham  at  Stowe.  Altogether,  the  poem  was  enlarged 
from  1275  lines  in  1730,  the  year  of  its  publication,  to  1372  lines  in  the 
edition  of  1 746 — the  last  to  receive  the  benefit  of  the  author's  revision. 

The  Argument,  as  amended  for  the  later  editions,  is  as  follows  : — 

'  The  subject  proposed.  Addressed  to  Mr.  Onslow.  A  prospect  of 
the  fields  ready  for  harvest.  Reflections  in  praise  of  Industry,  raised  by 
that  view.  Reaping.  A  Tale  relative  to  it.  A  harvest  storm.  Shoot- 
ing and  hunting — their  barbarity.  A  ludicrous  account  of  fox-hunting. 
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.  Birds  of  the  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  that 
country.  A  prospect  of  the  discoloured  fading  woods.  After  a  gentle 
dusky  day,  moonlight.  Autumnal  meteors.  Morning l ;  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.' 

Perhaps  the  best,  or  at  least  the  best  known,  passages  of  Autumn  are 
the  beautiful  pastoral  story  of  Lavinia — which  possibly  owes  part  of  its 
popularity  to  its  suggestion  of  the  Bible  romance  of  Ruth  ;  and  the 
richly  humorous  account  of  the  festivities  of  foxhunting.  But  there  is 
pathos  as  well  as  humour  in  the  poem,  and  the  '  poverty '  of '  the  triumph 
o'er  the  timid  hare '  is  very  touchingly  accentuated.  Numerous  lovely 
glimpses  of  autumnal  nature  are  scattered  through  the  poem.  Chief 
among  these  are  the  prospect  of  the  harvest  fields,  near  the  commence- 
ment ;  the  orchard,  at  line  624  ;  the  moonlighted  world,  at  line  1096 ; 
and  the  last  fine  day  of  the  season,  at  line  1 207.  The  grandest  effort  of 
the  poet's  imagination  in  the  whole  poem  is  his  vision  of  the  '  rivers 
in  their  infant  beds  ' — a  description  which  was  not  ready  for  the  edition 
of  1738.  The  vision  carries  him,  in  one  of  those  wide  geographical 
ranges  which  he  so  much  enjoyed,  right  round  the  globe. 

Autumn,  in  its  place  in  the  collected  Seasons,  was  by  far  the  most 

i  A  revelation  of  the  morning — strangely  omitted  from  the  Argument — is  the  de- 
struction of  the  bees  overnight,  by  the  fumes  of  sulphur,  for  the  purpose  of  securing 
their  honey. 


312  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

important  publication  of  its  year.  Indeed  there  was  no  other  literary 
work  of  any  particular  note,  in  either  prose  or  verse,  published  in  London 
in  1730. 

The  poem  of  Autumn  reveals  to  close  observation  a  remarkable 
struggle  going  on  in  the  mind  of  Thomson  between  Nature  and  Art. 
These  terms,  it  is  true,  stand  very  much  in  need  of  definition,  but  the 
distinction  of  the  one  from  the  other  is  made  sufficiently  apparent  by  the 
contrast  which  the  author  of  the  Seasons  offers  to  Pope.  Autumn,  the 
last  of  the  Seasons  in  the  order  of  composition,  shows  traces  of  the 
influence  of  the  Artificial  School,  of  which  Pope  was  acknowledged 
president,  upon  the  genius  of  Thomson.  The  Scottish  post  had  now 
been  domiciled  in  England  for  five  years,  had  lived  all  that  time  in 
a  literary  atmosphere,  and  latterly  had  been  admitted  to  the  society  and 
friendship  of  Pope.  When  he  came  a  stranger  to  London  in  1725  the 
Artificial  School  was  paramount ;  his  first  poem,  Winter,  was  written 
before  he  really  felt  the  influence  of  that  School, — and  exhibited,  on 
that  very  account,  an  independency  of  thought  and  style,  which  vital 
contact  with  the  influences  of  the  Artificial  School  afterwards  undoubt- 
edly modified.  The  proof  is  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence.  It  was  impos- 
sible that  Thomson  should  give  up  his  passion  for  Nature  ;  but  it  was 
very  possible,  and  a  very  certainty,  that  his  relations  to  Nature  as  a 
poet  should  admit  of  modification.  There  was  much  room  for  amend- 
ment on  his  part  in  minor  matters  of  expression  :  even  his  feelings  might 
profitably  be  tamed  a  little.  He  had  strength  enough  and  to  spare, 
but  he  lacked  repose,  and  he  was  deficient  in  taste.  In  1730,  when 
Autumn  appeared,  he  had  already  begun  to  think  that  Nature,  whom 
he  loved  so  well,  might  be  more  capable  of  a  higher,  i.e.  a  more  refined, 
love  if  she  submitted  to  a  little  cultivation  and  trimming  at  the  hands 
of  Art.  And  so,  half  convinced  of  this  idea,  he  wrote  : — 
'All  is  the  gift  of  Industry  .... 
His  hardened  fingers  deck  the  gaudy  Spring.' 

11.  141,  146. 

There  is  a  significant  contrast  between  this  and  his  unsuspicious  faith  in 
the  loveliness  of  uncultivated  Nature — Nature  '  magnificently  rude ' — as 
implied  in  the  earlier  poem  of  Winter.  Again,  at  line  1059  ne  speaks 
of  'forsaking  the  unimpassioned  shades  of  nature,'  and  'drawing  the 
tragic  scene.'  The  influence  of  the  maxim  of  Pope  and  his  followers  is 
visible  in  the  expression  :  '  the  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man '  seems 


NOTES,  1-4.  3X3 

to  be  here  the  avowed  belief  of  Thomson.     To  all  appearance  the 
struggle   for  the   mastery  which  was  going  on  in  his  mind  between 
Nature  and  Art,  received  a  temporary  check,  in  which,  by  the  time 
the  end  of  the  poem  was  reached,  the  advantage  lay  with  Nature  : — 
'  Oh  Nature  all-sufficient !    over  all ! 
Enrich  me  with  the  knowledge  of  thy  works ! 

From  thee  begin, 

Dwell  all  on  thee,  with  thee  conclude  my  song ; 
And  let  me  never  never  stray  from  thee  ! ' 


1-3.  The  emblem  of  Autumn  with  which  the  poem  commences,  while 
generally  representative  of  the  season,  is  wanting  in  both  point  and 
consistency.  The  expression  '  nodding  o'er  the  yellow  plain  '  disturbs 
the  figure,  by  presenting  a  view  of  ripe  corn-fields,  waving  in  the  wind, 
where  a  continuation  of  the  portrait  of  personified  Autumn  was  expected. 
With  the  portrait  itself  the  imagination  has  a  difficulty  in  disposing  of 
the  extremely  awkward  crown  of  the  sickle  and  the  wheaten  sheaf. 
Such  a  crown  is,  besides,  suggestive  rather  of  the  completed  than  of  the 
commencing  harvest.  That  the  latter  idea  is  mainly  intended  is  to  be 
inferred  from  the  scene  of '  the  nodding  yellow  plain,'  and  the  advancing 
figure  of  Autumn  '  coming  jovial  on.'  Spenser's  conception  of  Autumn 
is  at  once  more  distinct  and  more  appropriate  to  the  first  appearance  of 
the  harvest  season  : — 

'Upon  his  head  a  wreath,  that  was  enrold, 
With  ears  of  corn  of  every  sort,  he  bore ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  sickle  he  did  holde, 
To  reape.  the  ripened  fruits  the  which  the  earth  had  yold.' 
The  Faery  Queene,  Bk.  VII,  Canto  VII,  st.  xxx. 

The  sickle  is  no  longer  in  actual  use  among  the  insignia  of  Autumn  : 
the  reaping  machine  has  almost  universally  displaced  it  in  our  country. 

3.  jovial.     The  word  expresses  the  merriment  of  the  old  harvest  field. 

3,  4.  the  Doric  reed  once  more,  Well  pleased,  I  tune.  In  plain  prose — 
'  I  proceed  for  the  fourth  time  to  write  a  poem  on  the  congenial  subject 
of  nature  and  country  life.'  Though  the  season  of  Autumn  is  generally 
regarded  as  coming  third  in  the  order  of  nature,  yet  the  poem  of  Autumn 
came  last  in  the  order  of  composition. — The  Doric  dialect  was  one  of  the 
three  great  branches  of  the  ancient  Greek  tongue,  and  was  characterised 
by  broad  and  rough  sounds,  from  which  ^Eolic  and  Ionic  (including 
Attic)  were  comparatively  free.  It  was  the  speech  of  a  pastoral  or 


314  THE  SEASONS.  —  AUTUMN. 

rustic  people,  originally  inhabiting  the  mountains  of  Thessaly. — The 
reed,  of  course,  is  the  shepherd's  pipe. 

4-8.  Winter  is  here  regarded  as  leading  the  procession  of  the  Seasons, 
and  as  being,  with  Spring  and  Summer,  mainly  a  period  of  preparation 
for  Autumn — the  consummation  or  crown  of  the  year.  '  Thou  crownest 
the  year  with  thy  goodness  ...  the  valkys  are  covered  over  with  corn.' 
Psalm  Ixv. 

5.  Nitrous.  'Laden  with  fertilizing  salts.'  Not  merely,  nor  mainly, 
'  keen,  piercing,  and  pulverising.'  Thomson  refers,  more  poetically  than 
scientifically,  to  some  imaginary  ingredient  which  the  frost  imparts  to  the 
soil.  See  his  reference  to  this  active  ingredient  in  operation  upon  the  air, 
in  Winter,  11.  693-696  : — 

'Through  the  blue  serene, 
For  sight  too  fine,  the  ethereal  nitre  flies, 
Killing  infectious  damps,  and  the  spent  air 
Storing  afresh  with  elemental  life.' 
He  describes  it  in  operation  upon  the  soil  in  the  same  poem : — 

'  The  frost- concocted  glebe 
Draws  in  abundant  vegetable  soul, 
And  gathers  vigour  for  the  coming  year ' ; 

and  at  11.  714-720,  ventures  upon  a  description  of  its  substance  : — 
'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?' 

5,  6.  \Whate1  er~\  the  various-blossomed  Spring  Put  in  white  promise 
forth.  See  Spring  for  the  anticipation  of  this  idea  : — 

'  One  white-empurpled  shower 
Of  mingled  blossoms ;   where  the  raptured  eye 
Hurries  from  joy  to  joy,  and,  hid  beneath 
The  fair  profusion,  yellow  Autumn  spies? 

11.  110-113. 

7.  Concocted  strong.     '  Were  secretly  maturing  with  their  heat.' 

8.  swell  my  glorious  theme.     In  plain  prose — *  The  results  of  this 
course  of  preparation  afford  me  a  magnificent  subject.'     The  season  of 
Autumn  was   Thomson's  (as    it  was  also  Burns's)  favourite  time  for 
poetical  composition : — 

'  When  Autumn's  yellow  lustre  gilds  the  world 
And  tempts  the  sickled  swain  into  the  field, 

through  the  tepid  gleams 
Deep  musing,  then  he  best  exerts  his  song.' 

Autumn,  11.  1322-1326. 


NOTES,  4-15.  315 

See  also  a  letter  by  Thomson  to  Lyttelton :  '  I  think  that  season  of  the 
year  [Autumn]  the  most  pleasing  and  the  most  poetical.  The  spirits 
are  not  then  dissipated  with  the  gaiety  of  Spring  and  the  glaring  light 
of  Summer,  but  composed  into  a  serious  and  tempered  joy.  The  year  is 
perfect.'  (i4th  July,  1743.)  In  the  Hymn  on  the  Seasons  he  refers  to 
'  inspiring  Autumn '  (1.  96). 

9.  Onslow.  Autumn  was  the  only  poem  of  the  series  which  had  no 
prose  dedication.  It  was  inscribed,  in  the  fourteen  lines  of  verse  com- 
mencing at  1.  9,  to  the  Rt.  Hon.  Arthur  Onslow,  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  This  gentleman,  born  in  1691,  represented  the  burgh  of 
Guildford,  in  Surrey,  from  1719  to  1726.  In  the  latter  year  he  became 
member  for  the  county,  and  honourably  maintained  this  connection  with 
Surrey  throughout  the  reign  of  the  second  George.  In  1727  he  was  chosen 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons  by  a  large  majority  of  votes,  and  con- 
tinued to  fill  the  Chair  and  guide  the  debates  of  Parliament,  with  dignity 
and  impartiality,  for  the  long  period  of  thirty-four  years.  Thomson's 
compliment  is  by  no  means  overcharged.  Onslow's  integrity  was  almost 
proverbial.  Being  significantly  reminded  on  one  occasion  that  it  was 
Walpole's  influence  that  placed  him  in  the  Chair  of  the  House,  he  replied 
that,  '  although  he  considered  himself  under  obligations  to  Sir  Robert 
Walpole,  yet  he  had  always  a  certain  feeling  about  him,  when  he 
occupied  the  Speaker's  Chair,  that  prevented  him  from  being  of  any 
party  whatever.'  He  retired  in  1761,  at  the  age  of  70,  on  a  well-earned 
pension  of  £3000  a  year  (which  his  son  also  was  allowed  to  enjoy  after 
him),  and  was  followed  into  his  retirement  with  the  good  wishes  of  both 
political  parties.  He  died  in  1768.  In  literary  history  he  is  known  to 
have  been  a  man  of  considerable  learning,  and  the  patron  of  Richardson 
and  Young,  and  several  others  of  less  note  than  these. 

The  muse.     The  poet — meaning,  of  course,  himself,  the  writer  of 
the  poem.     For  this  use  of  '  Muse'  see  Milton's  Lycidas  : — 
'  So  may  some  gentle  Muse 

With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  urn, 

And,  as  he  passes,  turn, 

And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud.' — 11.  19-22. 
ii.  the  public  voice.     Parliament. 

14.  Spread  on  thy  front.     '  Can  be  seen  in  your  very  countenance.' 

15.  listening  senates.    Cp.  Gray's  Elegy : — 

'  The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command     .     .     . 
Their  lot  forbade.' 

Thomson  repeats  the  phrase  in  Winter — in  a  passage  added,  after  1738, 
in  compliment  to  Lord  Chesterfield  : — 

'  O  let  me  hail  thee  on  some  glorious  day 


316  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

When  to  the  listening  senate  ardent  crowd 

Britannia's  sons  to  hear  her  pleaded  cause.' — 11.  679-681. 

1 6.  the  maze  of  eloquence.  Not  eloquence  that  bewilders  the  reason, 
but  that  astonishes  or  fills  the  mind  with  delight  and  wonder.  The 
same  phrase  also  occurs  in  the  compliment  to  Lord  Chesterfield  in 
Winter,  11.  6S8,  689. 

1 8.  pants  for  piMic  virtue.  '  Eagerly  longs  to  be  of  service  to  the 
state.'  '  For '  is  here  equivalent  to  '  for  the  performance  of  some 
action  of.'  In  his  Britannia,  published  in  i729>  ne  nad.  already  shown 
that  he  panted  '  for  public  virtue.' 

22.  mix  the  patriot's  with  the  poet's  flame.     Nobly  done,  ten  years 
later,  in  '  Britannia,  rule  the  Waves  ' — next  to  '  God  save  the  Queen ' 
the   most  popular  of  our  great  national  songs.     See   Summer,  Note, 

I.  431- 

23,  24.  the  bright  Virgin  .  .  .  And  Libra.     The  sun  enters  the  sign 
of  Virgo  in  the  Zodiac  on  2ist  August,  and  that  of  Libra  (the  Balance) 
on  2  ist  September.    The  latter  date  is  the  time  of  the  autumnal  equinox  ; 
the  year  is  then  said  to  be  '  weighed  in  equal  scales.'    See  Spring,  Note, 

II.  26,  27. 

25.  effulgence.     This  noun  is  in  the  nominative  case  absolute. 

26-28.  a  serener  blue happy  world.     This  is,  indeed,  an 

autumn  sky.  But  the  whole  passage  (11.  23-42)  is  charged  with  the 
spirit  of  autumn,  tranquil  or  '  tossing  in  a  flood  of  corn.'  It  is  difficult 
to  say  whether  art  or  imagination  most  predominates  in  the  description  ; 
not  one  essential  feature  of  the  autumnal  world  is  omitted,  and  the 
phrases  are  most  felicitous.  Thomson  is  here  in  his  most  characteristic 
style. 

35.  poise.  Old  Fr.  peiser,  to  weigh,  Lat.  pensum.  The  Old  French 
form  occurs  in  Langland's  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman  : — 

'The  pound  that  heo  peysede  a  quatrun  more  peisede 
Then  myn  auncel  [scales]  dude  when  I  weyede  treuthe.' 

Passus  Quintus. 
and  gives  the  breeze  to  blow.     Burns  has — 

'  And  wings  the  blast  to  blaw.' 

40.  For  c  heart-expanding '  Pope  is  said  to  have  proposed  the  far  less 
suggestive  '  heart-delighting.' 

42.  Unbounded,  tossing  in  a  flood  oj  corn.  A  felicitous  line,  which 
Thomson  had  the  courage  to  prefer  to  Pope's  proposed  emendation — 

'O'er  waving  golden  fields  of  ripened  corn.' 

43-150.  This  long  passage  of  over  one  hundred  lines,  descriptive  of 
the  origin,  development,  and  benefits  of  the  industrial  arts,  may  be 
regarded  as  an  anticipation  of  much  of  the  second  canto  of  The  Castle 


NOTES,  16-118.  317 

of  Indolence.  Cp.  especially  stanzas  xvii,  xix,  xx,  and,  of  the  Bard's 
'strain,' stanzas  li  and  Ix. 

54.  corruption.  Vice  which  breaks  and  weakens  the  energies,  by 
making  self  the  sole  object  of  its  activity. 

76.  to  raise  [His  feeble  force~\.  '  To  augment  his  own  natural  bodily 
strength  by  the  use  of  those  appliances  known  as  "  the  mechanical 
powers."  ' 

78.  the  vaulted  earth.     Probably  'the  vaults,  or  natural  cellars  of  the 
earth/  mines.     It  may  mean  '  the  bulging  crust  of  the  globe ' — as  it 
used  to  be  called  by  physiographers. 

79,  80.  The  references  here   are  to  the   smelting   of  iron,  and   the 
driving  of  mills  by  water-  and  wind-power. 

86.  flowing  lawn.  The  manufactures  from  cotton  have  superseded 
to  a  very  large  extent  the  linen  manufacture  of  Thomson's  day. 

88.   7'he  generous  glass.     The  reference  is  not  to  the  abundance  of 
the  wine,  or  the  liberality  with  which  it  was  poured,  nor  to  its  race,  but 
to  its  liberalizing  effect  upon  the  heart  and,  probably,  also  the  mind. 
Cp.  Judges  ix.  13 — 'wine,  which  cheereth  God  and  man.'     It  is  to  this 
effect  that  Burns  refers  in  the  lines  so  often  quoted  to  his  reproach  : — 
'Freedom  and  whisky  gang  thegither — 
Tak  aff  your  dram.' 

97.  a  ptiblic.  A  community,  or  commonwealth,  living  under  repre- 
sentative government. 

103.  oppression.  For  a  description  of  the  evils  of  oppression  see 
Liberty,  Ft.  I,  11.  123-315. 

1 06.  toiling  millions.     An  oft-quoted  phrase  in  our  own  day.     The 
imagery  is  from  the  hive  and  the  industry  of  bees. 

107,  108.  From   these   lines   one   may   infer   Thomson's   views   on 
political  questions.     See,  for  a  full  statement  of  his  political  views,  the 
concluding  portion  of  the  Fourth  Part  of  Liberty. 

114.  her  tower-encircled  head.  This  was  Pope's  suggestion.  Cp. 
Castle  of  Indolence,  Canto  II,  st.  li : — 

'  No  cities  e'er  their  towery  fronts  had  raised.' — 1.  6. 
1 1 6.  twining  woody  haunts.     '  Constructing  wattled  huts.' 
1 1 8.  Here  followed  in  the  text  of  1738,  and  earlier  texts,  these  six 
lines  : — 

''Twas  nought  but  labour,  the  whole  dusky  group 
Of  clustering  houses  and  of  mingling  men, 
Restless  design,  and  execution  stj^mg. 
In  every  street  the  sounding  hammer  plied 
His  massy  task  ;   while  the  corrosive  steel 
In  flying  touches  formed  the  fine  machine.' 


31 8  THE  SEASONS.-- AUTUMN. 

122.  gentle,  deep,  majestic,  king  of  floods.  Cp.  the  beautiful  description 
of  the  Thames  by  Denham  in  his  Cooper's  Hill : — 

'  Though  deep  yet  clear,  though  gentle  yet  not  dull ; 
Strong  without  rage,  without  o'erfl  owing  full.' 

125.  the  bellying  sheet.  The  sail.  In  nautical  language  the  sheet  is 
a  rope — fastened  to  the  corner  of  a  sail. 

1 30-3.  The  reference  is  to  ship-building  yards,  and  the  launching  of 
a  man-of-war.  '  Those  who  have  ever  witnessed  the  spectacle  of  the 
launching  of  a  ship-of-the-line,'  says  the  poet  Campbell  in  his  Specimens 
of  the  British  Poets,  '  will  perhaps  forgive  me  for  adding  this  to  the 
examples  of  the  sublime  objects  of  artificial  life.  Of  that  spectacle  I 
can  never  forget  the  impression,  and  of  having  witnessed  it  reflected 
from  the  faces  of  ten  thousand  spectators.  They  seem  yet  before  me. 
I  sympathise  with  their  deep  and  silent  expectation,  and  with  their 
final  burst  of  enthusiasm.  It  was  not  a  vulgar  joy  but  an  affecting 
national  solemnity.  When  the  vast  bulwark  sprang  from  her  cradle, 
the  calm  water  on  which  she  majestically  swung  round,  gave  the 
imagination  a  contrast  of  the  stormy  element  in  which  she  was  soon  to 
ride.  All  the  days  of  battle  and  nights  of  danger  which  she  had  to 
encounter,  all  the  ends  of  the  earth  which  she  had  to  visit,  and  all  that 
she  had  to  do  and  to  suffer  for  her  country,  rose  in  awful  presentiment 
before  the  mind ;  and  when  the  heart  gave  her  a  benediction,  it  was  like 
one  pronounced  on  a  living  being.' 

1 34.  By  '  the  pillared  dome  '  is  meant  an  Art  Gallery. 

J3^j  J37-  the  canvas  smooth,  With  glowing  life  protuberant.  The  objects 

depicted  seeming  to  start,  or  stand  out,  from  the  flat  canvas,  as  if  they 

were  real.     In  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  Part  II,  stanza  xiii,  Thomson 

has — '  touch  the  kindling  canvas  into  life.'    Cp.  Goldsmith's  Traveller  : — 

'  The  canvas  glowed,  beyond  ev'n  nature  warm.' 

138.  the  statue  seemed  to  breathe.  Cp.  Pope's  descriptions  of  'living 
sculpture '  in  The  Temple  of  Fame : — 

'  The  youths  hang  o'er  their  chariots,  as  they  run, 
The  fiery  steeds  seem  starting  from  the  stone.' — 11.  218,  219. 
And— 

« Gathering  his  flowing  robe,  he  seemed  to  stand 
In  act  to  speak.' — 11.  240,  241. 

140.  art,  imagination-flushed.  That  is,  <the  artist,  inspired  with 
some  noble  conception.' 

141-143.  In  his  praise  of  Industry  Thomson  seems  here  to  forget  his 
earlier  love  of  uncultivated  Nature.  In  1.  146  he  is  especially  severe 
in  characterizing  Spring  as  '  gaudy,'  and  as  requiring  the  '  hardened 
fingers  '  of  the  gardening  art  to  «  deck '  her  and  make  her  presentable. 


NOTES,  122-156.  319 

Had  his  love  of  the  rude  magnificence  of  Nature  given  place  to  a  love 
for  Nature  tamed  by  cultivation  and  trimmed  by  Art  ?  And  was  this 
the  result  of  his  five  years'  residence  in  England  surrounded  by  the 
influence  of  the  artificial  school  ?  That  his  taste  was  being  modified  by 
that  school  is  clearly  exemplified  by  the  style  and  form  of  The  Castle  of 
Indolence.  In  Winter  he  is  rough,  fresh  and  original,— a  poet  of 
nature's  making ;  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence  he  is  smooth,  harmonious, 
reposeful — still  a  true  poet  in  feeling  and  perception,  but  disciplined  by 
art  into  more  elaborate  form  and  a  more  studied  style  of  expression. 
There  is  homage  to  Pope  in  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  none  in  Winter. 
The  history  of  Thomson's  art  was  from  blank  verse  to  a  most  elaborate 
rhymed  measure ;  for  rhyme  he  had  at  first  little  but  contempt— those 
who  practised  it  were  '  rhyming  insects.'  Contrast  with  his  case  that 
of  Milton,  the  development  of  whose  art  of  expression  was  from  rhyme 
to  the  grander  harmonies  of  blank  verse,  and  to  whom  latterly  rhyme  was 
a  mere  'jingling  sound,'  '  a  troublesome  bondage,' '  the  invention  of  a  bar- 
barous age,'  'to  all  judicious  ears,  trivial  and  of  no  true  musical  delight.' 

149,  150.  Those  .  .  .  stores  That,  waving  round,  recall  me.  The 
corn-fields,  from  which  he  broke  away  (1.  42)  to  sing  the  praise  of 
Industry  and  settled  life. 

152.  unperceived.     Because  the  light  spreads  so  gradually. 

154-156.  each  by  the  lass  he  loves,  &c.  The  traditional  customs  of  the 
old  harvest-field,  handed  down  from  immemorial  autumns,  have  only 
recently  disappeared  before  the  general  introduction  of  the  mechanical 
reaper.  They  were,  of  course,  still  prevalent  on  Scottish  farms  in  the 
time  of  Burns.  The  latter  poet,  in  an  autobiographical  letter  to  Dr. 
Moore  (father  of  the  hero  of  Corunna)  of  date  August  and,  1787, 
describes  an  episode  in  the  history  of  his  own  life,  which  charmingly 
illustrates  the  practice  of  the  old  harvest-field  here  referred  to:  'You 
know,'  writes  Burns,  '  our  country  custom  of  coupling  a  man  and  woman 
together  as  partners  in  the  labours  of  harvest.  In  my  fifteenth  autumn, 
my  partner  was  a  bewitching  creature  a  year  younger  than  myself.  .  .  . 
She  was  a  bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie  lass.  ...  I  did  not  know  myself  why  I 
liked  so  much  to  loiter  behind  with  her,  when  returning  in  the  evening 
from  our  labours ;  why  the  tones  of  her  voice  made  my  heart-strings 
thrill  like  an  ^Eolian  harp,  and  particularly  why  my  pulse  beat  such  a 
furious  rantann  when  I  looked  and  fingered  over  her  little  hand  to  pick 
out  the  cruel  nettle-stings  and  thistles.'  See  also  Burns's  poetical 
version  of  the  incident —  . 

'  I  mind  it  weel  in  early  date, 
When  I  was  beardless,  young,  and  blate  [bashful], 


320  THE  SEASONS.— AUTUMN. 

When  first  amang  the  yellow  corn 

A  man  I  reckoned  was, 
And  wi'  the  lave1,  ilk2  merry  morn, 
Could  rank  my  rig3  and  lass.' 

To  the  Guidwife  of  Wauchope. 

158-160.  the  riiral  talk  &c.  Fly  harmless,  to  deceive  the  tedious 
time.  As  Bums  has  it,  in  the  poem  referred  to  above : — 

'  Wi'  claivers  and  haivers  [scandal  and  nonsense] 

Wearing  the  day  awaV 

Cp.  the  old  Scots  lament,  The  Flowers  of  the  Forest : — 
'  In  hairst  at  the  shearin' 
Nae  youngsters  are  jeerinV 

162.  builds  up  the  shocks.  Arranges,  or  sets  up  the  sheaves  into 
'  stocks' — as  they  are  called  in  Scotland.  'Shock,'  is  from  'Shake,'  a 
pile  of  sheaves  tossed  together.  'Sheaf  from  'shove,'  a  quantity  of 
corn-stalks  pushed,  or  put  together,  in  one  bundle. 

166.  Spike  after  spike.     Spica  (Lat.),  an  ear  of  corn. 

167,  168.    The  instructions  of  Boaz  to  his   reapers.     See  Book  of 
Ruth. 

1 76.  Gleaning,  with  many  another  custom  of  the  old  harvest-field,  has 
all  but  disappeared. 

177-310.  This  is  the  story  of  Ruth  and  Boa/. 

181-188.  In  the  1738  and  previous  editions,  this  passage  stood  thus : — 
'She,  with  her  widowed  mother,  feeble,  old, 
And  poor,  lived  in  a  cottage  lost  far  up 
Amid  the  windings  of  a  woody  vale, 
Safe  from  the  cruel  blasting  arts  of  man.' 

The  present  text  is  Pope's,  with  the  exception  of  the  last  line.     Pope 
had  proposed  for  it — 

'  From  the  base  pride  of  an  indignant  world,' 
which  Thomson  rejected  for  his  own. 

192,  193.  the  morning  rose  When  the  dew  wets  its  leaves.  The  same 
image  occurs  in  Summer,  1.  1588 — '  the  red  rosebud  moist  with  morn- 
ing dew.'  See  Note. 

203,  204.  their  best  attire,  Beyond  the  pomp  of  dress.  These  words 
were  not  inserted  till  after  1/38. 

207-216.  This  passage  is  all  but  wholly  Pope's  undoubted  improve- 
ment upon  the  original,  which  stood  so  late  as  1 738  as  follows  :  — 
'  Thoughtless  of  beauty,  she  was  Beauty's  self 
Recluse  among  the  woods,  if  city  dames 

1  lave,  others,  the  rest.  2  ilk,  each.  3  ridge  of  corn. 


NOTES,  158-338- 


321 


Will  deign  their  faith.     And  thus  she  went,  compelled 
By  strong  necessity,  with  as  serene 
And  pleased  a  look  as  patience  can  put  on.' 
215.  strong  necessity1  s  supreme  command.     C p.  Burns — 

'  Ye  ken,  ye  ken 
That  strong  Necessity  supreme  is 

'Mang  sons  o'  men.' 

220.  such  as  Arcadian  song,  &c.  'Arcadian'  is  here  equivalent  to 
'  pastoral.'  Such  '  songs  '  as  are  found  among  the  idyls  of  Theocritus 
are  referred  to — notably,  perhaps,  the  idyl  descriptive  of  the  visit  of 
Hercules  to  the  farms  of  Augeas  in  Elis. 

229.  He  saw  her  charming.  A  peculiar  idiom;  meaning,  of  course, 
'  that  she  was  charming.' 

233.  and  its  dread  laugh.  Sc.  '  would  be  incurred,'  should  '  his  heart 
own  a  gleaner  in  the  field.'  The  construction  is  unfinished. 

238,  239.  where  enlivening  sense  And  more,  &c.     Altered  from — 

'  And  harmonious  shaped, 

Where  sense  sincere  and  goodness  seem  to  dwell.' 
267.  O  heavens  !     Originally  '  O  yes  ! ' 
273.  sequestered.     Originally  '  unsmiling.' 
282.  It  ill  befits  thee,  oh  !  it  ill  befits.     Perilously  like— 

*  O  Sophonisba,  Sophonisba  O  !  ' 

288.  pittance.    Originally  (according  to  Ducange)  a  dole  of  the  value 
of  a  'picta,'  a  small  coin  of  the  Counts  of  Poitiers —in  Latin,  'Pictava.' 
290-293.  These  lines  were  substituted  after  1738  for — 

'  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.' 

300.  she  blushed  consent.     Cp.  Burns's  ballad  of  Bonnie  Jean — 

'  At  length  she  blushed  a  sweet  consent, 

And  love  was  aye  atween  them  twa.' 

301.  news.     Nom.  case  absolute. 
311.  I.  e.  by  spoiling  the  harvest. 

315.  soft-inclining  fields.     The  corn  bending  gently  to  the  breeze. 

322.  eddy  in.  The  verb  is  here  used  transitively  :  '  the  mountains 
draw  in  eddies  towards  them  the  wildly-raging  storm.' 

327,  328.  The  billowy  plain  fioats  wide,  &c.  In  the  first  text  '  boils.' 
Cornfields  swaying  in  the  wind.  They  cannot  evade  the  storm  by 
yielding  to  it — being  either  whirled  into  the  air,  or  threshed  out  by  the 
storm  where  they  stand. 

330-338.  This  graphic  description  of  the  devastating  power  of  what  is 
V 


322  THE  SEASONS.  —  AUTUMN. 

known  in  Scotland  as  '  the  Lammas  Flood,3  might  almost  pass  for  a 
paraphrase  of  these  lines  of  Virgil : — 

'  Saepe  etiam  immensum  caelo  venit  agmen  aquarum, 
Et  foedam  glomerant  tempestatem  imbribus  atris 
Collectae  ex  alto  nubes  ;  ruit  arduus  -aether, 
Et  pluvia  ingenti  sata  laeta  boumque  labores 
Diluit ;   implentur  fossae  et  cava  flumina  crescunt 
Cum  sonitu.' — Georgic  I,  11.  322-327. 

333.  The  mingling  tempest  weaves  its  gloom.  In  the  first  text 
'  glomerating.'  Cp.  Winter — 

'  The  weary  clouds 

Slow-meeting,  mingle  into  solid  gloom.' — 11.  202,  203. 
335.  sunk  and  flatted.     Beaten  down  by  wind  and  rain  ;  'laid,'  as  it 
is  called  in  Scotland  ;  '  lodged.' 

337,  338.  Red  from  the  hills  .  .  .  streams  Tumultuous  roar.  Cp. 
Burns — 

'Tumbling  brown  the  burn  comes  down 

And  roars  from  bank  to  brae.' 

340.  Herds  I/locks^  and  harvests,  &c.     In  short,  what  Thomson  calls 
'  the  mixed  ruin  of  its  banks  o'erspread '  in  Winter,  1.  95. 
347.  with  his  labours.     The  ruined  crops. 

350.  This  appeal,  on  the  tenant  farmer's  behalf,  is  to  the  '  laird,'  or 
landowner,  to  forego,  in  the  circumstances,  or  at  least  to  make  reduction 
of,  the  year's  rent.  (See  Somerville's  The  Chace,  Bk.  II,  11.  51-64.) 

360.  the  sportsman's  joy.     Cp.  Burns — 

'  The  sportsman's  joy,  the  murdering  cry, 
The  fluttering  gory  pinion.' 

August  Song  to  Peggy. 

361.  the   winded  horn.     '  Winded  '='  blown ';    from    'wind,'   Lat. 
ventus;  no  connection  with  'wind,'  'to  turn  round  or  twist,'  though 
'wound'  is  sometimes  used — oddly  enough — for  past  tense  and  past 
participle. 

362.  the  rural  game.     Field  sports.     The  subject  had  been  treated  by 
Gay  in  his  Rural  Sports  (two  Cantos,  written  in  rhyming  pentameter 
couplets),  published  in  1713.     Somerville  also  wrote  on  this  theme — 
The  Chace  (in   four  books  of  blank  verse),  published  in  1735  ;    and 
Field  Sports,  published  in  1 742. 

363.  the  spaniel.      Named  from   Spain,  from  which  country  it  was 
brought  to   England.     The   variety   of  '  hound '  here  referred  to   is, 
of  course,  the  pointer,  or   setter.     When  he  scents  the  game  he  stops 
so  suddenly,  and  remains  so  immovable,  that  even  the  forefoot,  already 
raised,  continues  suspended  in  the  air. 


NOTES,  333-400.  323 

364,  365.  with  open  nose  .  .  .  draws  full.  Here  'draws'  signifies,  of 
course,  '  inhales.' 

366,  367.  the  latent  prey  .  .  .  the  circling  covey.  Sc.  partridges.  The 
word  '  covey '  is  the  old  French  covee,  a  brood  of  partridges,  from  cover 
(couver  in  modern  French)  to  sit,  or  hatch.  Cp.  Lat.  ctibare,  to  lie,  or 
sit  down. 

370.  This  method  of  taking  partridges,  or  quails,  is  now  generally 
abandoned  by  sportsmen,  though  still  practised  by  poachers.     It  will  be 
remembered  that  Will  Wimble's  ingenious  accomplishments  included  an 
improvement  of  the  quail-pipe,  by  means  of  which  quails  were  lured 
more  effectually  into  the  nets.    (See  Addison's  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
papers  in  The  Spectator.)     See  also  Gay's  Fables  : — 
'  The  ranging  dog  the  stubble  tries, 
And  searches  every  breeze  that  flies; 
The  scent  grows  warm :    with  cautious  fear 
He  creeps,  and  points  the  covey  near. 
The  men,  in  silence,  far  behind, 
Conscious  of  game,  the  net  unbind.' 

The  Setting-dog  and  the  Partridge. 

372-378.  Compare  with  this  description  of  the  shooting  of  partridges, 
Pope's  lines  on  the  pheasant,  in  Windsor  Forest : — 

*  See !   from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  springs 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings. 
Short  is  his  joy:   he  feels  the  fiery  wound, 
Flutters  in  blood,  and  panting  beats  the  ground. 
Ah  !   what  avail  his  glossy  varying  dyes,'  &c. 

11.  111-118  (published  1713). 

379.  These  are  not  subjects  for  the  peaceful  muse.  Thomson's 
sympathy,  like  that  of  Cowper,  Burns,  and  Wordsworth,  is  with 
the  hunted  creature.  (See  Spring,  Note,  1.  391,  where  his  tenderness 
for  the  harmless  brute  creation  is  noted  as  a  leading  feature  of  both  his 
character  and  his  poetry.) 

385,  386.  This  rage  of  'pleasure,  &c.  Construe — '  this  rage  of  pleasure 
which  awakes  the  restless  youth,  impatient,  with  the  gleaming  morn.' 
The  love  of  sport  makes  him  an  early  riser. 

390-400.  Cp.  Burns's  Lines  on  Scaring  some  Water-fowl  in  Loch 
Turit  :— 

'  The  eagle,  from  the  cliffy  brow, 
Marking  you  his  prey  below, 
In  his  breast  no  pity  dwells, 
Strong  necessity  compels.' 
Y  2 


324  THE  SEASONS. — AUTUMN. 

But  man,  to  whom  alone  is  given 
A  ray  direct  from  pitying  heaven, 
Glories  in  his  heart  humane — 
And  creatures  for  his  pleasure  slain,'  &c. 
395.  the  beamings  of  the  gentle  days.     August  and  September. 

402.  Scared  from  the  corn.     Originally  '  shook  from  the  corn.' 

403.  the  rushy  fen.     Where  the  hare  sometimes  makes  her  c  seat '  or 
'  form '; '  in  the  moist  marsh,  'mong  beds  of  rushes  hid,'  says  Somerville  in 
The  Chace  ;  also  noted  by  Burns  in  his  Lines  on  Seeing  a  Wounded 
Hare  Limp  by  Me  : — 

'  Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest, 
No  more  of  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed, 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 
The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest.' 

404.  stubble  chapt.     The  ends  of  the  shorn,  or  cut,  corn  stalks.    Akin 
to  Gr.  KOIITW,  I  cut. 

406.  Of  the  same  friendly  hue  the  withered  fern.     Cp.  Somerville — 

'  The  withered  grass  that  clings 
Around  her  head,  of  the  same  russet  hue, 
Almost  deceived  my  sight,  had  not  her  eyes 
With  life  full-beaming  her  vain  wiles  betrayed.' 

The  Chace,  Bk.  II. 

467.  fallow  ground  laid  open.  This  kind  of  ploughing  is  called 
'  stirring  the  land/  '  Fallow  '  is  from  A.-S.featu,  pale  red  ;  Lat.  pallidus ; 
Cp.  '  fallow  deer.' 

414.  The  scented  dew.    Beagles,  or  harriers  (the  name  is  derived  from 
'  hare '),  hunt  the  hare,  relying  on  their  scent ;    coursing  is  by  grey- 
hounds— formerly  used   to   hunt   the   deer — and    these   rely   on   their 
sight. 

415.  her  early  labyrinth.     Cp.  Somerville — 

'  What  artful  labyrinths  perplex  their  way ! 
Ah  !   there  she  flies  ! ' 
and 

'  The  puzzling  pack  unravel  wile  by  wile, 

Maze  within  maze.' — The  Chace,  Bk.  II. 
417-419.    'As  now  in  louder  peals  the  loaded  winds 

Bring  in  the  gathering  storm,  her  fears  prevail, 
And  o'er  the  plain,  and  o'er  the  mountain's  ridge 
Away  she  flies.' — The  Chace,  Bk.  II. 

It  is  very  evident  that  Somerville  had  made  himself  acquainted  with 
Thomson's  lines  on  the  hare  hunt  before  he  wrote  his  own  account  of 
the  sport,  which  occupies  the  first  half  of  Book  II  of  The  Chace.  He 


NOTES,  395-444-  325 

has  copied  Thomson's  language,  but  not  his  denunciation  and  detesta- 
tion of  the  '  barbarous  game.'  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  after  relating 
with  the  relish  of  a  true  sportsman  the  incidents  of  the  chase  from  the 
1  meet '  to  the  '  death,'  Somerville  winds  up,  innocent  of  the  faintest 
trace  of  pathos,  with  the  words — '  Thus  the  poor  hare,  a  puny,  dastard 
animal !  but  versed  in  subtle  wiles,  diverts  the  youthful  train.'  Thomson 
furnishes  the  contrast.  Cowper  is  no  less,  but  rather  more,  explicit — 

'  Detested  sport ! 

That  owes  its  pleasures  to  another's  pain ; 
That  feeds  upon  the  sobs  and  dying  shrieks 
Of  harmless  nature,   dumb,  but  yet  endued 
With  eloquence  that  agonies  inspire, 
Of  silent  tears  and  heart-distending  sighs  ! 
Vain  tears,  alas !    and  sighs  that  never  find 
A  corresponding  tone  in  jovial  souls ! 
Well — one  at  least  is  safe.     One  sheltered  hare 
Has  never  heard  the  sanguinary  yell 
Of  cruel  man,  exulting  in  her  woes,'  &c. 

The  Task,  Bk.  Ill  (The  Garden). 

426-457.  Thomson's  stag-hunt  was  evidently  inspired  by  Denham's, 
whose  description  will  be  found  near  the  end  of  Cooper's  Hill  (pub- 
lished in  1642) :  there  are  not  a  few  points  of  resemblance. 

427.  the  branching  monarch.  The  stag,  or  male  of  the  red  deer,  is 
distinguished  (among  other  ways)  from  the  buck,  or  male  of  the  fallow 
deer,  by  its  round  branching  antlers  :  those  of  the  buck  are  broad  and 
palmated.  Neither  the  hind,  nor  the  doe,  has  horns.  The  horns  of  the 
stag  continue  to  branch  till  the  animal  is  about  six  years  old,  when  it  is 
called  a  hart ;  the  branches,  or  tines,  may  then  number  ten  or  twelve, 
and,  though  there  is  seldom,  if  ever,  an  increase  after  that,  they  become 
thicker,  stronger,  and  more  deeply  furrowed  with  age. 

439.  The  inhuman  rout.  Of  men,  horses,  and  hounds.  Thomson's 
sympathy  with  the  stag  is  implied  in  the  use  of  the  adjective.  Before 
the  staghound — a  courageous  and  powerful  animal,  in  scent  almost  the 
match  of  the  bloodhound,  and  nearly  equal  to  the  foxhound  in  fleetness 
— deer  long  used  to  be  hunted  with  greyhounds.  We  read  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  witnessing  the  sport  of  '  sixteen  bucks,  all  having  fair  law 
(i.  e.  a  fair  start  of  so  many  yards),  being  pulled  down  with  grey- 
hounds.' 

441-444.  See  Denham — 

'Thence  to  the  coverts,  and  the  conscious  groves, 
The  scenes  of  his  past  triumphs,  and  his  loves  ; 
Sadly  surveying,  where  he  ranged  alone 


326  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

Prince  of  the  soil,  and  all  the  herd  his  own ; 

And,  like  a  bold  knight -errant,  did  proclaim 

Combat  to  all,  and  bore  away  the  dame ; 

And  taught  the  woods  to  echo  to  the  stream 

His  dreadful  challenge,  and  his  clashing  beam '  (horn]. 

Coopers  Hill. 
445,^446.  So  Denham — 

'Then  to  the  stream,  when  neither  friends,  nor  force, 
Nor  speed,  nor  art  avail,  he  shapes  his  course ; 
Thinks  not  their  rage  so  desp'rate  as  t'essay 
An  element  more  merciless  than  they. 
But  fearless  they  pursue,  nor  can  the  flood 
Quench  their  dire  thirst  :  alas !   they  thirst  for  blood.' 

Cooper's  Hill. 
447,  448.  So  Denham — 

'  Then  tries  his  friends ;   among  the  baser  herd, 
Where  he  so  lately  was  obeyed  and  feared, 
His  safety  seeks :   the  herd,  unkindly  wise, 
Or  chases  him  from  thence,  or  from  him  flies.' 

Cooper's  Hill. 

451.  fainting.     '  Wrenching '  in  the  original. 

452.  stands  at  bay.     Literally,  '  at  the  baying  of  the  hounds.'     From 
the  French  abois  ;  etre  aux  abois,  to  be  at  bay. 

454.  The  big  round  tears  run  down  his  dappled  face.     Cp.  Shake- 
speare— 

*  A  poor  sequestered  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt 
Did  come  to  languish ;   and,  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heaved  forth  such  groans 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  eoat 
Almost  to  bursting;   and  the  big  round  tears 
Coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase.' — As  You  Like  //,  Act  II,  Sc.  i. 
458-463.  See  a  detailed  description  of  a  lion-hunt  in  '  the  magnificent 
manner  of  the  Great  Mogul  and  other  Tartarian  princes/  in  the  Second 
Book  of  Somerville's  Chace. 

469.  lighten.     Glance  like  lightning. 

470-490.  Thomson's  sympathy  does  not  cover  the  fox.     See  Spring, 
Note,  1.  391. 

477.  the  shaking  wilderness.     The  quagmire  (from  '  quake  '),  or  bog. 
483.  snatch  the  mountains  by  their  ivoody  tops.     At  first  '  snatch  the 
mountains  by  their  tops.' 


NOTES,  445-503-  327 

485.  swallowing  up  the  space.  '  He  seems  in  running  to  devour  the 
way. ' — Shakespeare. 

490,  491.  He  is  still  a  villain,  and  vermin;  and  his  uncomplaining 
and  heroic  death  wins  from  Thomson  neither  respect,  admiration, 
nor  sympathy.  To  be  '  in  at  the  death '  is  a  great  boast  among  fox- 
hunters. 

494.  ghostly  halls  of  grey  renown.    The  very  size  of  those  halls  in  old 
country  mansion-houses  makes  them  dim,  and  therefore  ghostly-looking  ; 
and  their  many  ancient  associations  and  traditions  concur  to  produce  the 
same  effect. 

495.  woodland  honours.     The  trophies  of  the  chase. 

497.  drear  walls,  with  antic  figures  fierce.  A  line  that  impresses  the 
imagination.  The  dim  and  ghostly  walls  of  1.  494  have  now  the 
additional  horror  of  old  paintings,  representing  truculent  warriors  and 
hunters — ancient  members  of  the  family.  '  Antic '  is  for  '  antique.' 

499.  Hard-drinking — harder  than  the  exertion  of  the  chase  itself. 

500.  Not  in  the  1738,  or  any  previous  edition.      The  Centaurs,  or 
Bull-stickers,  of  ancient  Thessaly,  were  savage  monsters,  half  man  and 
half  horse,  whose  time  was  spent  in  hunting  and  fighting.     Perhaps 
Thomson  refers  here  to  their  battle  with  the  Lapithae. 

502-569.  This  scene  could  be  ill  spared  from  the  poetical  works  of 
Thomson.  To  the  student  of  his  poetry  only  it  reveals  him  in  a  new 
light  as  the  possessor  of  a  rich  and  genial  vein  of  humour,  which 
deepens  as  the  foxhunters  proceed  from  dining  to  drinking.  Thomson 
himself  has  called  the  whole  scene  '  a  ludicrous  account '  ;  and,  while 
the  subject  itself  presents  phases  of  a  humorous  nature,  it  must  be 
allowed  that  the  humour  lies  chiefly  in  the  style  in  which  the  subject  is 
handled.  Some  critics  (such  as  Heron)  have  objected  to  the  entire 
passage  as  an  unworthy  production  of  a  sedate  and  serious  genius ;  but 
it  is  as  genuine  as  any  other  passage  characteristic  of  his  prevailing 
mood — it  is  no  less  his  than  are  the  verses  which  display  his  views  of 
nature,  his  philosophy,  his  pathos — and,  while  it  enriches  the  poem 
with  an  unexpected  variety  of  pleasantry,  it  enables  us  to  form  a  fuller 
and  more  perfect  conception  of  the  character  of  the  author.  Thomson's 
hearty  relish  of  fun  and  humour  in  his  youth,  and  no  inconsiderable 
part  of  his  correspondence,  fragmentary  though  it  be,  are  sufficient  to 
prepare  one  for  some  exhibition  of  humour  in  his  poetry,  and,  if  the 
exhibition  comes  rather  unexpectedly  at  last,  it  is  only  because  he 
has  refused  to  indulge  a  vein  which  he  undoubtedly  possessed. 

502.  See  Scott's  Rob  Roy,  chap,  v,  last  paragraph. 

503.  the  strong  table  groans.     Tables  have  usually  groaned  on  festive 
occasions,  since  this  was  written  ;  especially  those  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


328  THE  SEASONS.— AUTUMN. 

504.  sirloin  stretched  immense  [from  side  to  side}.   This  exaggeration, 
with  that  of  the  groaning  table,  &c.,  is  a  feature  of  Thomson's  humorous 
style — if,  indeed,  exaggeration  be  not  a  necessary  feature  of  all  humorous 
expression.     Cp.  Burns's  Address  to  a  Haggis  : — 

'The  groaning  trencher  there  ye  fill, 
Your  hurdies  like  a  distant  hill ; 
Your  pin  wad  help  to  mend  a  mill 
In  time  o'  need.' 

505,  506.  with  desperate  knife,  &c.     Cp.  Burns,  as  above — 

'  His  knife  see  rustic  Labour  dight 
An'  cut  you  up  wi'  ready  sleight,'  &c. 

510.  If  stomach  keen  can  intervals  allow.  A  parodied  echo  of  Milton. 
It  reads  like  a  line  from  Phillips's  Splendid  Shilling. 

513.  Produce  the  mighty  bowl.     See  Rob  Roy,  chap.  vi. 

516.  Maia.     The  month  of  May — a  Latinised  form. 

519.  brown  October.  Ale,  or  strong  beer,  home-brewed  (therefore 
'honest,'!.  521)  in  October.  The  great  brewing  seasons  are  twice  a 
year,  in  March  and  October.  Thomson's  own  cellar  at  Richmond  was 
well  stocked  with  both  wines  and  ales — as  may  be  learned  from  the 
sale  list  of  his  effects. 

523.  'To  vie  it  with  the  vineyard's  best  produce' — in  the  1738 
edition. 

524,  525.  Here  Thomson  is  probably  expressing  not  his  own,  but 
the  foxhunter's  view  of  whist :  at  all  events,  he  had  a  kindly  word  for 
the  game  in  1738  : — 

'  Perhaps  awhile  amusive  thoughtful  whisk 
Walks  gentle  round.' 

528,529.  romp-loving  miss,  &c.     See  Winter,  11.  625-627. 
531.  the  dry  divan  {close  in  firm  circle"}.     Somerville  (in  The  Chace, 
Bk.  II)  has— 

'Now  sit  in  close  divan 
The  mighty  chiefs ; ' 

using  the  word  in  its  appropriate  sense  of  '  council.'  '  Divan '  is 
Persian,  and  has  the  various  meanings  of  '  council-chamber,'  '  sofa,' 
'  tribunal.' 

535-  Indulged  apart.  None  were  excused  from  deep-drinking.  In 
the  first  text  '  askew  '  held  the  place  of  '  apart.'  See  Scott's  Rob  Roy, 
chap,  vi,  the  scene  where  Francis  Osbaldistone  escapes  from  the  potations 
of  the  Hall. 

549.  A  happy  touch. 

562.  The  lubber  power.  Drunkenness  personified  ;  a  kind  of  English 
Silenus. 


NOTES,  504-595. 


329 


565-569.  These  five  lines,  humorously  satirical  of  the  convivial 
clergy  of  the  day,  were  not  added  till  after  1 738.  It  may  prove  interesting 
here  to  quote  from  Macaulay's  History  of  England  the  account  he  gives 
of  the  manners  and  mode  of  life  practised  by  the  English  Country 
Gentleman  of  1688  : — 

'  His  chief  pleasures  were  commonly  derived  from  field-sports  and 
from  an  unrefined  sensuality.  .  .  .  His  oaths,  coarse  jests,  and  scurrilous 
terms  of  abuse,  were  uttered  with  the  broadest  accent  of  his  province.  .  .  . 
His  table  was  loaded  with  coarse  plenty,  and  guests  were  cordially  wel- 
come to  it ;  but  as  the  habit  of  drinking  to  excess  was  general  in  the  class 
to  which  he  belonged,  and  as  his  fortune  did  not  enable  him  to  intoxicate 
large  assemblies  daily  with  claret  or  canary,  strong  beej  was  the  ordinary 
beverage.  The  quantity  of  beer  consumed  in  those  days  was  indeed 
enormous  ;  for  beer  then  was  to  the  middle  and  lower  classes,  not  only 
all  that  beer  now  is,  but  all  that  wine,  tea,  and  ardent  spirits  now  are.  .  .  . 
The  ladies  of  the  house,  whose  business  it  had  commonly  been  to  cook 
the  repast,  retired  as  soon  as  the  dishes  had  been  devoured,  and  left  the 
gentlemen  to  their  ale  and  tobacco.  The  coarse  jollity  of  the  afternoon 
was  often  prolonged  till  the  revellers  were  laid  under  the  table.' 

570.  by  this  fierce  sport.     In  the  first  text,  '  by  this  red  sport.' 

571.  See  Young's  Love  of  Fame,  Satire  v,  11.  113-116. 

579.  This  line  was  preceded  in  the  earlier  editions  by  the  line — 

'  Made  up  of  blushes,  tenderness,  and  fears.' 
590.  Float  in  the  loose  simplicity  of  dress.     Cp.  Ben  Jonson — 
'  Give  me  a  look,  give  me  a  face, 
That  makes  simplicity  a  grace ; 
Robes  loosely  flowing,  hair  as  free  ; 
Such  sweet  neglect  more  taketh  me 
Than  all  the  adulteries  of  art : 
They  strike  mine  eyes,  but  not  my  heart.' 

The  Silent  Woman. 

The  idea  here  expressed  was  caught  up  by  Herrick  : — 
'A  sweet  disorder  in  the  dress — 
A  lawn  about  the  shoulders  thrown 
Into  a  fine  distraction,  .... 
A  winning  wave,  deserving  note, 
In  the  tempestuous  petticoat  .... 
Do  more  bewitch  me  than  when  art 
Is  too  precise  in  every  part.' 

595.  Meaning  probably — 'Disclosing  a  new  charm  in  its  every 
motion,'  or  'disclosing  all  the  charms  of  motion.'  Dancing  has  been 
called  '  the  poetry  of  motion.' 


330  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

597.  To  train  the  foliage  o'er  the  snowy  lawn.     Cp.  Cowper — 

'  Here  the  needle  plies  its  busy  task ; 
The  pattern  grows,  the  well-depicted  flower, 
Wrought  patiently  into  the  snowy  lawn, 
Unfolds  its  bosom,  buds,  and  leaves,  and  sprigs,'  &c. 

The  Task,  Bk.  IV.  11.  150-153. 

598.  turn  the  tuneful  page.    First  editions  give  '  instructive  page.'    So 
Cowper,  as  above  : — 

'  The  poet's  or  historian's  page  by  one 
Made  vocal  for  the  amusement  of  the  rest.' 

599.  600.   To  lend  new  flavour  to  .  .  .  Nature's  dainties.     Thomson 
thus  retains  cookery  in  his  list  of  a  lady's  accomplishments. 

600-601.  in  their  race  To  rear  their  graces,  &c.  To  attend  to  the 
training  and  education  of  their  children. 

608.  Such  is  Thomson's  view  of  the  woman's  true  kingdom.  Like 
Milton's,  it  reveals  no  sympathy  with  what  has  come  to  be  called 
'  woman's  rights.' 

612.  In  close  array.  Not  in  flowing  garments,  but  in  what  Words- 
worth calls  '  woodland  dress.' 

614-617.  Wordsworth  has  described  the  same  scene  in  his  fragment 
on  Nutting,  but  he  discovered,  what  escaped  the  robuster  paganism  of 
Thomson,  '  a  spirit  in  the  woods ' : — 

'  Then  up  I  rose 

And  dragged  to  earth  both  branch  and  bough  with  crash 
And  merciless  ravage ;   and  the  shady  nook 
Of  hazels,  and  the  green  and  mossy  bower, 
Deformed  and  sullied,  patiently  gave  up 

Their  quiet  being 

— I  felt  a  sense  of  pain  when  I  beheld 
The  silent  trees  and  the  intruding  sky. 
Then,  dearest  maiden,  move  along  these  shades 
In  gentleness  of  heart ;   with  gentle  hand 
Touch — for  there  is  a  spirit  in  the  woods.' 
620.  an  ardent  brown.     A  shining  or  glossy  brown 
623.  these  neglecting.  Unconscious,  or  at  least  not  vain,  of  her  personal 
charms. 

625.  the  busy  joy-resounding  flelds.     The  harvest  fields. 
627,  628.  taste  ....   The  breath  of  orchard.     See  Spring,  1.   107 — 
'  taste  the  smell  of  dairy.' — '  Orchard,'  literally  '  wort-yard,'  a  '  herb- 
garden.' 

633.  the  gentle  race.     Of  pears. 

638-642.  It   is  worth  noting  that  the  very  sound   of  these  lines  is 


NOTES,  597-660.  331 

suggestive  of  the  appearance,  taste,  and  perfume  of  the  fruit  which  they 
describe.  The  same  appropriateness  of  language  is  noticeable  in  the 
description  of  '  juicy  pears  lying  in  soft  profusion '  (11.  630-63  2 
supra}. 

644,  645.  Thy  native  theme, . . .  Phillips,  Pomona's  bard.  John  Phillips, 
son  of  Archdeacon  Phillips  of  Salop,  and  of  Bampton,  Oxfordshire, 
was  born  on  December  30,  1676.  He  was  educated  at  Winchester, 
and  Christ  Church,  Oxford  ;  and  wrote  The  Splendid  Shilling  (1703)  a 
burlesque  imitation  of  the  style  of  Milton;  Blenheim  (1705);  and  (in 
1706)  a  poem  on  Cider,  in  two  books,  of  about  1500  lines  in  all, 
composed  in  imitation  of  Virgil's  Georgics,  and  remarkable  as  being  a 
pretty  exhaustive  and  trustworthy  treatise  on  apple-growing  and  cider- 
making.  He  is  said  to  have  been  a  man  of  singular  modesty  and 
amiability  in  private  life.  He  died  in  1708,  in  the  32nd  year  of  his  age. 
His  three  principal  poems  are  in  blank  verse — for  which  he  is  here 
complimented  by  Thomson,  as  '  nobly  daring  to  sing  in  rhyme-unfettered 
verse  '  first  after  the  example  of  Milton.  The  poem  on  Cider  (Gr.  ai/cepa, 
strong  drink)  opens  thus  : — 

'  What  soil  the  apple  loves,  what  care  is  due 

To  orchats,  timeliest  when  to  press  the  fruits, 

Thy  gift,  Pomona  !   in  Miltonic  verse, 

Adventurous,  I  presume  to  sing,  of  verse 

Nor  skilled,  nor  studious;   but  my  native  soil 

Invites  me,  and  the  theme,  as  yet  unsung.' 
And  it  concludes  with  the  prophecy  that  '  Silurian  cider ' 

'  Shall  please  all  tastes  and  triumph  o'er  the  vine.' 
648.  The  Silures  inhabited   South   Wales  generally.     The   English 
county  (on  the  Welsh  March)  of  Hereford  is  specially  referred  to.     In 
his  poem  Phillips  gives  the  palm  to  Hereford  over  Devon  for  cider. 
651.  to  cool  the  summer  hours — 

'  When  dusty  Summer  bakes  the  crumbling  clods 

How  pleasant  is't  beneath  the  twisted  arch 

Of  a  retreating  bower  in  midday's  reign 

To  ply  the  sweet  carouse, 

Secured  of  feverish  heats.'—  Cider,  Bk.  II. 

653.  sheds  equal.     The  time  of  the  autumnal  equinox,  the  22nd  of 
September,  has  now  arrived. 

654.  lose  me.     Let  me  lose  myself,  let  me  wander. 

655.  Dodington,  thy  seat.     (See  Summer,  Note,  1.  21.)  Eastbury,  in 
Dorsetshire,    where    Thomson   was    an    occasional    guest.       See    his 
correspondence  for  the  years  1731  and  1735. 

660.  thy  lofty  dome.     Eastbury  House  was  one  of  the  many  mansions 


332  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

which  John  Vanbrugh  (1666-1726),  dramatist  and  architect,  was 
commissioned  to  design  after  the  erection,  from  plans  which  he 
furnished,  in  1702,  of  Castle  Howard,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  in 
Yorkshire.  Vanbrugh  the  architect  is  best  known  as  the  designer 
of  Blenheim  House.  His  style,  both  in  the  construction  of  dramas  and 
of  houses,  may  be  characterised  as  solid  and  weighty.  A  modern  critic 
neatly  says  that  '  he  was  no  poet,  but  a  heavy  observer?  After 
Dodington's  death  no  tenant  could  be  found  for  Eastbury  House,  though 
its  owner  offered  a  premium  to  any  one  who  would  occupy  it.  The 
taste  for  '  solid  magnificence '  (see  Thomson's  letter  to  Dodington  of 
date  December  27,  1730),  which,  in  architecture,  both  Dodington  and 
Thomson  affected,  had  undergone  a  change. 

665.  'These  numbers  free,  Pierian  Eastbury  !  I  owe  to  thee.' — Young, 
in  Love  of  Fame,  Sat.  v. 

666.  After  this  line  in  the  earlier  editions  of  Autumn  came— 
'  They  twine  the  bay  for  thee.     Here  oft  alone, 

Fired  by  the  thirst  of  thy  applause,  I  court,'  &c. 
The  compliment  to  Young  was  an  afterthought,  due  probably  to  the 
publication  of  Night  Thoughts  in  1742-1744. 

667.  virtuous    Young.     Before  the  appearance  of   Night  Thoughts, 
a  poem  in  nine  books  of  blank  verse,  written  partly  in  emulation  of 
Thomson,  Young,  though  he  had  produced  much,  had  given  the  world 
nothing   that  was   really  of  superior   and   lasting   merit.     Thomson's 
opinion  of  him  in  1726,  when  he  was  busy  with  The  Universal  Passion, 
may  be  inferred  from  the  following  passage  which  occurs  in  a  letter 
to  Malloch,  of  date  August  2,  1726;   the  reference  is  to  a  poem  which 
Young  afterwards  omitted  from  his  collected  works  in  1741  :  *  I  have 
not  seen  these  reflections  on  the  Doctor's  Installment,  but  hear  they  are 
as  wretched  as  their   subject.     The  Doctor's  very  buckram  has  run 
short  on  this  occasion ;  his  affected  sublimity  even  fails  him,  and  down 
he  comes  with  no  small  velocity.'     Edward  Young  was  born  in  1681, 
did  not  publish  till  his  thirty-second  year,  entered  the  Church  when  on 
the  borders  of  fifty,  was  over  sixty  when  he  began  his  one  famous  poem, 
and  died — a  proud,  gloomy,  disappointed  man — in  1765,  aged  eighty- 
four  years.     Like  many  other  authors  of  the  day  he  paid  court  to  '  the 
Patron  '-—Dodington.     To  him  he  inscribed  the  second  satire  of  The 
Love  of  Fame. 

673-679.  These  lines  present  the  author  in  a  characteristic  attitude  of 
sensuous  ease  and  lazy  meditation.  Apparently  he  composed  part  of 
Autumn  while  luxuriating  as  Dodington's  guest  at  Eastbury.  (See 
his  letter  to  Dodington,  dated  from  Rome,  November  28,  1731,  for  a 
reference  to  the  gardens  at  Eastbury.)  Peach :  from  old  Fr.  pesche, 


NOTES,  665-732. 


333 


Lat.  persicum  ;  from  being  the  fruit  of  a  Persian  tree.  Plum  :  from 
'  prune,'  Lat.  prunum,  Gr.  irpovvov.  '  With  a  fine  blueish  mist  of 
animals  clouded ' — omitted  by  Thomson  from  the  last  revision  of  the 
text.  Nectarine  :  so  called  from  being  as  sweet  as  '  nectar '  ;  Gr. 
vfKrap,  the  wine  of  the  gods.  Fig :  Fr.  jigtie,  Lat.  ficus.  Vine  :  Fr. 
vigne,  Lat.  vinea,  a  vineyard,  then  a  vine  ;  Gr.  oivrj,  a  vine — named  from 
its  winding  growth. 

683-706.  A  short  digression  to  the  vineyards  of  France. 

691,  692.  Referring  to  the  two  varieties  of  black  and  white  grapes. 

693.  The  bloom. 

697.  to  cull  the  autumnal  prime.  To  gather  the  firstfruits,  the  first 
ripe  clusters. 

702.  the  raised  nations.  Excited,  or  invigorated.  The  former  is  a 
common  meaning  of  '  raised '  in  Lowland  Scotch. 

703-706.  Claret :  Fr.,  from  Lat.  clams,  clear;  a  clarified  wine. 
The  name  was  originally  applied  to  a  light-red  wine ;  with  us  it  is  a 
general  name  for  the  red  wines  of  Bordeaux.  Burgundy :  this  wine 
is  from  the  vineyards  of  the  Cote  d'Or,  between  Chalons  and  Dijon. 
Both  the  red  and  the  white  wines  of  Burgundy  rank  among  the  finest  in 
the  world.  Chambertin  is  one  of  the  most  famous  of  the  red  wines  of 
Burgundy.  Champagne :  named  from  the  ancient  province,  which 
means  a  '  plain ', ;  Lat.  campus.  Perhaps  the  best  varieties  are  Sillery,  a 
white,  and  Verzenay,  a  red  champagne. 

708.  Autumn  is  the  '  season  of  mists '  as  well  as  of  '  mellow  fruitful- 
ness.' — Keats. 

713.  Such  as  the  Cheviots,  in  his  daily  view  during  boyhood.     The 
Cheviot  shepherd  appears  at  1.  727  infra. 

714.  After  the  word  '  division '  came  in  the  1738  edition — 

'While  aloft 

His  piny  top  is,  lessening,  lost  in  air  : 
No  more  his  thousand  prospects  fill,'  &c. 

723,  724.  Whence  glaring  oft  ....  He  frights  the  nations.  Cp. 
Milton,  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I.  11.  594-599,  commencing,  'As  when  the  sun 
new-risen.' 

725.  beyond  the  life.  Larger  than  life  ;  magnified  shadows.  The 
phenomenon  here  referred  to  is  not  uncommon  in  the  Scottish  high- 
lands and  uplands  in  misty  weather.  Among  the  Harz  mountains  of 
Germany  it  is  popularly  known  as  the  Spectre  of  the  Brocken.  It  is  the 
magnified  shadow  of  objects  thrown  by  the  light  of  sunrise  or  sunset 
against  a  veil  of  mist. 

732.  the  Hebrew  bard.  Moses,  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis. 
Milton  invokes  the  '  Heavenly  Muse  ' — 


334  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

*  That,  on  the  secret  top 
Of  Oreb,  or  of  Sinai,  didst  inspire 
That  shepherd  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed 
In  the  beginning  how  the  heavens  and  earth 
Rose  out  of  chaos.' — Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I.  11.  6-10. 
733.  Light,  uncollccted.     That  is  '  ungathered  in  the  sun.'     The  sun 
made  its  appearance  in  the  heavens  on  the  fourth  day  of  Creation,  while 
light  was  created  on  the  first.    Chaos ; '  confusion,'  is  opposed  to  '  Order/ 
cosmos,  in  the  next  line. 

736-835.  By  far  the  larger  portion  of  this  long  passage  of  a  hun- 
dred lines  was  written  after  1738,  for  the  purpose  of  negativing  the 
theory  of  the  origin  of  rivers  advanced  in  the  earlier  text.  That  theory 
sought  to  explain  the  origin  of  rivers  by  postulating  a  system  of  attrac- 
tion of  oceanic  waters  upwards  through  the  pores  of  the  earth.  It  is 
stated,  as  the  accepted  view  of '  some  sages,'  in  the  present  text,  11.  743- 
756.  Milton  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  those  'sages,'  for  it  is  by 
porous  attraction  that  he  secures  the  irrigation  of  Paradise,  having 
previously  placed  that  lovely  garden  on  '  the  champaign  head  of  a  steep 
wilderness/  Southward,  he  tells  us,  through  the  low-lying  district  of 
Eden  (not  the  garden) — 

'Went  a  river  large, 

Nor  changed  his  course,  but  through  the  shaggy  hill 
Passed  underneath  ingulfed  ;   for  God  had  thrown 
That  mountain,  as  his  garden  mould,  high  raised 
Upon  the  rapid  current,  which,  through  veins 
Of  porous  earth  with  kindly  thirst  updrawn 
Rose  a  fresh  fountain,  and  with  many  a  rill 
Watered  the  garden.' — Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV.  11.  223-230. 
The  correct  theory  of  the  origin  of  streams  is  briefly  stated  in  the  seven 
lines  with  which  the  passage  opens.     The  fanciful  theory,  which  just 
reverses  the  natural  arrangement,  after  being  vividly  stated  as  already 
said  (11.  743-756),  is  then  dismissed  as  a  '  vain  amusive  dream,'  and 
shown  to  be  absurd,  impossible,  ruinous  in  the  most  comprehensive  sense, 
and — unnecessary  !     But  if  Thomson's  scientific  speculations  and  argu- 
ments are  amusing,  his  poetical  view  of  the  globe's  great  rivers  '  in  their 
infant  beds '  is  a  noble  effort  of  the  imagination,  expressed  with  some- 
thing of  the  sonorous  and  stately  measure  of  Milton. 

742.  After  this   line,  in   the  edition  of   1/38,  came  the  following 
scepticism  of  the  established  theory  : — 

'  But  is  this  equal  to  the  vast  effect  ? 
Is  thus  the  Volga  filled  ?   the  rapid  Rhine  ? 
The  broad  Euphrates  ?   all  the  unnumbered  floods 


NOTES,  733-784.  335 

That  large  refresh  the  fair-divided  earth, 
And,  in  the  rage  of  Summer,  never  cease 
To  send  a  thundering  torrent  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  returns,  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  where  the  hoarse  innumerable  wave 
Eternal  lashes,'  &c. — (See  text,  1.  744.) 

756-835.  These  lines  were  incorporated  with  the  text  after  1 738  :  in  the 
edition  of  that  year  appeared  the  following  lines,  which  they  displaced  : — 

'The  vital  stream 

Hence,  in  its  subterranean  passage,  gains 
From  the  washed  mineral  that  restoring  power 
And  salutary  virtue, 'which  anew 
Strings  every  nerve,  calls  up  the  kindling  soul 
Into  the  healthful  cheek  and  joyous  eye : 
And  whence  the  royal  maid,  Amelia,  blooms 
With  new-flushed  graces ;   yet  reserved  to  bless 
Beyond  a  crown  some  happy  prince ;   and  shine 
In  all  her  mother's  matchless  virtues  drest 
The  Carolina  of  another  land.' 

772.  Deucalion's  watery  times.  The  Flood.  According  to  the 
classical  legend  of  ancient  Greece,  Deucalion,  and  Pyrrha  his  wife, 
were,  on  account  of  their  piety,  the  only  human  beings  saved  when 
Zeus  destroyed  the  world  with  a  nine  days'  flood.  They  escaped 
drowning  in  a  ship.  Cp.  the  story  of  Noah  and  his  ark. 

777.  The  '  pervading  genius'  of  this  line  is  the  imagination. 

778.  Cp.  Gray  (of  Milton) : — 

'  He  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  Ecstasy 

The  secrets  of  the  abyss  to  spy.' — Progress  of  Poesy,  III.  2. 
783,  784.     Imaus    .    .    .    the  roving   Tartar's  sullen   botmds.     A 
recollection  of  Milton : — 


336  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

'  As  when  a  vulture  on  Imaus  bred, 
Whose  snowy  ridge  the  roving  Tartar  bounds,'  &c. 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  III.  11.  431,  432. 

Taurus.  A  mountain  range  in  Asia  Minor.  Imatts.  The  Hima- 
layas, between  India  and  Tartary.  Hemus  (1.  785),  a  range  of  hills 
crossing  Turkey  in  Europe  eastward  to  the  Black  Sea  :  Haemus,  Imaus, 
and  Himalaya  are  probably  all  from  the  same  origin — Sanskrit  hima  ; 
Gr.  xct^v  5  Lat.  hiems,  winter,  the  snowy  season. 

790,  791.  Caucasus.  A  range  of  very  high  mountains  stretching  over 
700  miles  from  the  Black  Sea  eastwards  to  the  Caspian.  The  Caspian  is 
an  enormous  salt-water  lake  in  the  south-west  of  Asia,  about  900  miles 
long,  into  which  flow  the  Volga  and  the  Araxes.  The  Euxine  is  the 
Black  Sea,  called  Euxine  euphemistically  by  the  ancient  Greeks  :  eu^ctj/oy, 
hospitable. 

792.  Riphean  rocks.  The  rocks  of  the  Ural  mountains.  Thomson's 
own  note  is,  'The  Muscovites  call  the  Riphaean  mountains  Weliki 
Camenypoys,  that  is,  the  great  stony  girdle ;  because  they  suppose 
them  to  encompass  the  whole  earth.' 

795.  Sc.  the  Obi,  Irtish,  Yenisei,  Lena,  &c. 

798.  Atlas,  propping  heaven,  as  poets  feign.  The  Greek  myth  is  to  the 
effect  that  one  of  the  Titans  (who  had  made  war  against  Zeus),  Atlas  by 
name,  was  punished  after  defeat  by  being  condemned  to  bear  heaven  on 
his  head  and  hands.  Later  legends  riiake  Atlas  a  man  who  was 
transformed  into  a  mountain.  Homer  refers  to  the  Greek  myth  ;  Ovid 
has  described  the  transformation  in  the  Fourth  Book  of  the  Meta- 
morphoses. 

801.  cloud- compelling.     A  Homeric  epithet  of  Zeus. 

802.  Jebel-Kumra,  or  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  supposed  in  Thomson's 
day  to  He  under  the  Equator  across  Central  Africa.     His  note  states  that 
they  '  surround  almost  all  Monomotapa.' 

841.  to  their  wintry  slumbers  they  retire.  The  idea  that  swallows, 
like  bats,  become  torpid  in  winter,  is  still  pretty  popular.  Thomson, 
though  he  presents  the  theory  of  hibernation,  clearly  prefers  the  true 
theory  of  migration. 

850.  plains,  'won  from    the    raging    deep   \by  diligence  amazing]. 
Holland—'  a  new  creation  rescued  from  his  [Ocean's]  reign '  (Goldsmith). 
The  reference  is,  of  course,  to  the  dikes.     Cp.  The  Traveller — 
'Onwards,  methinks,  and  diligently  slow, 
The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow, 
Spreads  its  long  arms  amidst  the  watery  roar, 
Scoops  out  an  empire,  and  usurps  the  shore.' 
853.  the  stork-assembly.     These   birds,   belonging  to   the   family   of 


NOTES,  790-877. 


337 


herons  and  bitterns,  though  widely  diffused  over  Europe,  have  always 
been  extremely  rare  in  England — rare  even  before  the  drainage  of  the  fen 
regions.  They  are  common  in  Holland,  where  great  care  is  taken 
to  protect  them.  The  people  place  boxes  for  their  nests,  and  it  is 
reckoned  a  fortunate  thing  for  the  occupants  of  a  house  if  the  box  which 
they  have  placed  on  the  roof  is  tenanted.  They  are  of  great  service  in 
devouring  reptiles,  and  in  clearing  the  streets  of  offal,  &c.  Thomson 
accurately  describes  their  'consultations,'  preliminary  exercises,  and 
arrangements  previous  to  their  departure  for  the  winter.  During 
these  '  consultations '  they  make  a  great  noise  by  the  clattering  of 
their  long  and  strong  mandibles. 

86 1.  The  period  closing  here  beautifully  rounds  off  the  description 
of  their  flight,  conveying  to  the  mind  a  sense  of  the  aerial  perspective  in 
which  the  *  figured  flight '  is  vanishing.  They  migrate  in  August  or 
September. 

864,  865.  Thule.  The  Orkney  and  Shetland  islands.  Hebrides. 
The  Western  Isles  off  the  coast  of  Scotland.  Pours  in  among  the 
stormy  Hebrides.  Cp.  -Thomson's  description  of  the  same  scene  in 
his  Britannia : — 

'Loud  the  northern  main 
Howls  through  the  fractured  Caledonian  isles.'— 11.  88,  89. 

866.  transmigrations.     Of  solan  geese,  and  other  sea-birds. 

8 7 1.  plain  harmless  native.     The  crofter  of  the  Western  Isles;  an 
accurate  description. 

872.  herd  dimimitive  of  many  hues.     The  Highland  breed  of  cattle  is 
distinguished  by  their  small  size,  long  horns,  shaggy  appearance,  and 
variety  of  colour — black,  red,  umber,  and  yellowish-white. 

874.  The  shepherd's  seagirt  reign.      The  '  shepherd  of  the  Hebride 
Isles '  is  also  introduced  in  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  Canto  I,  st.  xxx. 

875.  dinging,  gathers  his  ovarious  food.     The  eggs  (Lat.  ova)  of 
sea- fowl,  from  their  nests  in  the  cliff  crevices  and  shelves.    In  The  Pirate, 
Sir  Walter  Scott  refers  to  'those  midnight  excursions  upon  the  face 
of  the  giddy  cliffs  [overhanging  the  roost  of  Sumburgh  in  the  Shetland 
islands]  to  secure  the  eggs  or  the  young  of  the  sea-fowl ' — '  desperate 
sports/   he   says,    '  to   which   the   "  dreadful   trade   of   the   samphire- 
gatherer  "  is  like  a  walk  upon  level  ground.'      (See  The  Pirate,  chap,  ii, 
and  note.) 

876.  sweeps  the  fishy  shore.     With  their  nets  ;  or,  it  may  be,  with 
oars. 

877.  The  plumage  .  .  .  to  form  the  bed  [of  luxury}.      Eider-down. 
Even  Ailsa  rock,  so  far  south  as  the  Ayrshire  coast,   used  to  supply 
quantities  of  these  feathers.     Writing  to  his  uncle,  who  lived  opposite 

Z 


338  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

Ailsa,  Burns  asks  '  if  the  fowling  for  this  season  [the  date  is  4th  May, 
1 788]  be  commenced  yet,  as  I  want  three  or  four  stones  of  feathers,  and 
I  hope  you  will  bespeak  them  for  me.' 

878-949.  This  passage  is  devoted  to  an  account  of  Scotland  and  its 
people.     It  is  an  expansion  of  the  following  thirteen  half-hearted  lines 
which  originally  appeared  in  Summer  in  connexion  with  the  description 
of  England  and  the  English  (see  Summer,  11.  1442-1619)  : — 
'And  should  I  northward  turn  my  filial  eye 

Beyond  the  Tweed,  pure  parent-stream,  to  where 

The  hyperborean  ocean  furious  foams 

O'er  Orca  or  Berubium's  highest  peak, 

Rapt  I  might  sing l  thy  Caledonian  sons, 

A  gallant,  warlike,  unsubmitting  race ! 

Nor  less  in  Learning  versed,  soon  as  he  took 

Before  the  Gothic  rage  his  western  flight ; 

Wise  in  the  council,  at  the  banquet  gay  ; 

The  pride  of  honour  burning  in  their  breasts, 

And  glory,  not  to  their  own  realms  confined, 

But  into  foreign  countries  shooting  far 

As  over  Europe  bursts  the  boreal  morn.' 
(See  Summer,  Note,  11.  1479-1579.) 

88 1.  the  waving  main.  In  the  earlier  editions,  'gelid  main ' — which, 
though  less  picturesque,  helps  better  to  explain  '  the  keen  sky '  and  '  soul 
acute '  of  the  next  two  lines. 

884.  [forests  httge,~]  Incult,  robust,  &c.  Caledonia,  '  land  of  brown 
heath  and  shaggy  woods'  included  such  well-known  historical  forests  of 
natural  growth  ('  incult ')  as  Athole,  Birnam,  Braemar,  Rothiemurchus, 
Torwood,  Cadzow,  &c. 

886.  extensive.    Such  as  Loch  Lomond,  covering  an  area  of  45  square 
miles.      Watery  wealth.     Fish  of  various  kinds. 

887.  her  fertile  vales.     Such  as  the  '  carses '  of  Stirling  and  Cowrie  ; 
but  Thomson  specially  refers  to  the  dales  of  the  Lowlands — Tweeddale, 
Clydesdale,  Teviotdale,  Nithsdale,  &c. 

890,  891.  These  lines  do  not  appear  in  the  edition  of  1738.  Ednam, 
the  birthplace  of  Thomson,  in  the  north-east  corner  of  Roxburghshire,  is 
only  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  Tweed.  A  couple  of  months  after  his 

1  One  might  ask,  c  And  why  not,  then  ? '  But  Thomson  was  himself  ashamed  of 
the  meagre  sketch,  out  of  all  due  proportion  to  the  long  and  noble  panegyric  of 
England  and  her  worthies — and  withdrew  it  altogether  from  its  original  place  in  the 
poem  of  Summer.  He  made  some  amends  in  Autumn.  Thomson's  patriotism  is 
not  arraigned  here,  but  his  slackness  in  expressing  it  to  an  English  auditory. 


NOTES,  878-916.  339 

birth,  his  father  was  ordained  minister  of  Southdean  on  the  Jed,  and  here 
the  boyhood  and  youth-time  of  Thomson  were  spent — in  a  pastoral 
rather  than  '  sylvan '  region,  however.  But  the  reference  is  probably  to 
the  ancient  forest  of  Jedwood,  through  which  the  Jed  flows  on  its  way 
to  Teviot,  the  chief  tributary  of  Tweed.  He  early  began  to  write  verse, 
his  compositions  being  on  homely  country  subjects — hence  the  reference 
to  his  '  Doric  reed.' 

893.  Orca.  Orkney.  Berubium.  Duncansbay  Head,  in  the  north  of 
Caithness-shire,  is  the  Berubium  of  Ptolemy. 

895-897.  visited  By  learning,  &c.  Rome  was  sacked  by  the  bar- 
barians in  410.  The  last  occupant  of  the  throne  of  the  Caesars  was 
overthrown  by  Odoacer  in  476.  It  was  in  563  that  Columba  came  to 
lona  on  his  mission  of  Christianizing  the  Picts.  Thomson's  reference 
may  be  to  the  appearance  of  the  Culdees  in  Scotland,  which,  according  to 
tradition,  was  about  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century. 

900.  Wallace.  Sir  William  Wallace,  the  hero  of  the  Scottish  wars 
with  Edward  I  of  England  in  the  end  of  the  thirteenth,  and  beginning 
of  the  fourteenth  century.  He  was,  after  many  brave  but  unsuccessful 
efforts  to  secure  the  independence  of  his  country,  meanly  betrayed  into 
the  hands  of  King  Edward,  who  barbarously  ordered  his  execution  in 
London  in  1305.  , 

902.  generous.  Probably  in  the  sense  of  'national,'  or  'worthy  of 
a  noble  race.' 

905.  for  every  land.  As  mercenary  soldiers  in  France,  Germany,  &c. 
The  ubiquity  of  the  travelled  Scot  is  proverbial. 

909.  The  aurora  borealis— no  uncommon  phenomenon  of  a  Scottish 
winter. 

911,  912.  luxury  .  .  .  Of  blessing  thousands.  Goldsmith  speaks  of 
the  'luxury  of  doing  good,'  in  The  Traveller,  1.  22. 

914-916.  to  give  A  double  harvest,  &c.  This  had  been  done  for 
England  by  Walpole's  policy  of  peace,  about  the  time  (1730)  when  this 
poem  was  published.  '  His  time  of  power,'  says  Green  in  The  History 
of  the  English  People,  '  was  a  time  of  great  material  prosperity.  .  .  .  The 
rise  of  manufactures  was  accompanied  by  a  sudden  increase  of  commerce, 
which  was  due  mainly  to  a  rapid  development  of  our  colonies.  .  .  .  With 
peace  and  security,  the  value  of  land,  and  with  it  the  rental  of  every 
country  gentleman,  tripled ;  while  the  introduction  of  winter  roots,  of 
artificial  grasses,  of  the  system  of  a  rotation  of  crops,  changed  the 
whole  character  of  agriculture,  and  spread  wealth  through  the  farming 
classes.'  (See  the  last  thirty-four  lines  of  Allan  Ramsay's  Prospect  of 
Plenty.)  Lord  Townshend  introduced  the  turnip  in  1730.  In  1732 
drill  husbandry  was  introduced. 

Z  2 


340  THE  SEASONS. — AUTUMN. 

919.  To  form  the  lucid  lawn.  The  linen  manufacture  is  now  an 
important  part  of  the  industry  of  the  people.  The  chief  centres  are  at 
Dundee  and  Dunfermline. 

921-923.  Batavian  fleets  Defraud  its  of  the  .  .  .  swarms,  &c.  The 
herring  fisheries  of  Scotland  are  now  the  most  important  of  the  fisheries 
of  Great  Britain.  But  it  is  only  comparatively  recently  that  they  have 
been  established  and  developed.  Towards  the  close  of  the  i  yth  century, 
and  for  many  years  after,  the  herring  harvests  of  the  Scottish  firths  were 
gathered  by  Dutch  fishermen,  whose  fleets  of  boats  were  no  unfamiliar 
sight  in  the  Forth  and  other  estuaries1.  The  unfortunate  Darien 
Company  had  the  development  of  the  sea-fisheries  of  Scotland  as  one  of 
their  schemes.  In  1720  a  joint-stock  company  was  formed  to  prosecute 
the  herring  fishery  in  Scotland.  It  held  out  a  Prospect  of  Plenty  to  the 
country,  and  the  Prospect  was  duly  celebrated  in  a  curious  poem  (1720) 
by  Allan  Ramsay ;  but  the  North  Sea  Scheme,  like  that  of  the  more 
famous  South  Sea,  collapsed.  The  fostering  care  of  some  patriotic 
statesman  was  still  wanted  in  1730,  when  Thomson  put  his  question,  and 
asked  the  Duke  of  Argyle  to  answer  it. 

927.  as  in  name.  By  the  treaty  of  Union,  of  1707,  the  name  of 
Great  Britain  was  applied  to  the  United  Kingdoms  of  England  and 
Scotland. 

929.  Argyle.     John,  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich.     '  This  noble- 
man,' says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  '  was  very  dear  to  his  countrymen,  who 
were  justly  proud  of  his  military  and  political  talents,  and  grateful  for 
the  ready  zeal  with  which  he  asserted  the  rights  of  his  native  country.' 
(See,  for  a  fuller  and  very  favourable  estimate  of  his  character,  The 
Heart  of  Midlothian,  chap.  xxxiv.)x   It  was  of  him  Pope  wrote  : — 
'Argyle,  the  state's  whole  thunder  born  to  wield, 
And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  the  field.' 

He  was  born  in  1678;  served  under  Marlborough  in  Flanders,  dis- 
tinguishing himself  at  Ramillies,  Oudenarde,  Malplaquet,  &c. ;  was 
appointed  Commander  of  the  Forces  in  Scotland,  where  he  quelled  the 
disturbances  connected  with  the  Rebellion  of  1715  ;  and  was  raised  to 
the  English  peerage  in  1718,  with  the  title  of  Duke  of  Greenwich.  He 
died  in  1743.  He  is  known  in  Scotland  as  '  The  good  Duke  of  Argyle,' 
— a  designation  which  he  merited  from  the  kindliness  of  his  disposition, 

1  In  1689  Dutch  vessels, — '  busses '  as  they  were  called, — engaged  in  the  herring 
traffic,  were  mistaken  for  a  French  fleet  in  the  Firth  of  Forth,  and  alarmed  the 
inhabitants  of  Edinburgh.     Allan  Ramsay,  in  1721,  wrote  of  the  Dutch  fishermen — 
1  Lang  have  they  plied  that  trade  like  busy  bees 
And  sucked  the  profit  of  the  Pictland  seas.' 

On  the  Prospect  of  Plenty. 


NOTES,  919-970.  341 

and  his  many  private  acts  of  beneficence.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
Thomson's  was  the  popular  estimate  of  his  character. 

938.  The  village  of  Malplaquet  in  French  Flanders,  where  Marl- 
borough  gained  a  great  victory  over  Marshal  Villars  in  i7°9>  lies  °n 
one  side  of  the  open  gap  (Trouee)  between  the  forests  of  Taisniere  and 
Laniere  on  the  road  to  Mons.  A  great  deal  of  the  fighting  was  in 
Taisniere  forest.  This  battle  was  the  bloodiest  in  the  whole  of  Marl- 
borough's  wars. — Six  lines,  of  no  great  merit,  have  been  dropt  here  from 
the  edition  of  1738. 

944.  Forbes.  Duncan  Forbes,  of  Culloden,  Lord  President  of  the 
Scottish  Court  of  Session.  Born  in  1685,  he  was  trained  for  the  bar, 
and  rose  to  be  Lord  Advocate  in  1725.  Ten  years  later  he  was  raised 
to  the  Scottish  bench,  and  in  1737  became  Lord  President.  He  died  in 
1747.  He  was  one  of  the  many  personal  friends  of  Thomson,  who  was 
also  on  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  his  son.  His  rapid  rise  to  place  and 
power  was  owing  partly  to  his  own  talents  and  partly  to  his  political 
and  family  connection  with  the  Duke  of  Argyle.  He  is  remembered  in 
Scotland  for  his  clemency  and  generosity  (exhibited  so  particularly 
as  almost  to  compromise  his  loyalty)  in  behalf  of  the  Jacobite  rebels  of 
1715  and  1745.  The  later  years  of  his  life  were  largely  devoted  to 
the  improvement  of  Scottish  methods  of  agriculture  and  the  advancement 
of  Scottish  tratie. 

967.  low-thoughted.     Applied  by  Milton  to  'care,'  in  Comus,  1.  6. 

968.  soothe  the  throbbing  passions  into  peace.     In  Spring,  1.  463 — 

*  Soothe  every  gust  of  passion  into  peace.' 

970-10x35.  The  substance  of  these  lines  had  already  been  beautifully 
expressed  by  the  poet  in  prose.  Writing  from  Barnet,  near  London,  in 
September,  1725,  Thomson,  who  was  then  just  commencing  his  poem  of 
Winter,  remarks  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  and  confidant,  Dr.  William 
Cranstoun,  of  Ancrurn — a  village'  about  three  miles  from  Jedburgh — 
'  Now  I  imagine  you  seized  with  a  fine  romantic  kind  of  a  melancholy 
on  the  fading  of  the  year  ;  now  I  figure  you  wandering,  philosophical 
and  pensive,  amidst  the  brown  withered  groves,  while  the  leaves  rustle 
under  your  feet,  the  sun  gives  a  farewell  parting  gleam,  and  the 
birds — 

"  Stir  the  faint  note,  and  but  attempt  to  sing." 

Then  again,  when  the  heavens  wear  a  more  gloomy  aspect,  the  winds 
whistle,  and  the  waters  spout,  I  see  you  in  the  well-known  deugh  x 
beneath  the  solemn  arch  of  tall  thick-embowering  trees,  listening  to  the 
amusing  lull  of  the  many  steep  moss-grown  cascades,  while  deep,  divine 

1  A  glen,  or  chasm  between  two  rocks. 


342  THE  SEASONS. — AUTUMN. 

Contemplation,  the  genius  of  the  place,  prompts  each  swelling  awful 
thought.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  resign  your  place  in  that  scene  at  an 
easy  rate.  None  ever  enjoyed  it  to  the  height  that  you  do  ;  and  you  are 
worthy  of  it.  There  I  walk  in  spirit,  and  disport  in  its  beloved  gloom. 
This  country  I  am  in  is  not  very  entertaining  ;  no  variety  but  that  of 
woods,  and  them  we  have  in  abundance.  But  where  is  the  living  stream, 
the  airy  mountain,  or  the  hanging  rock  ? '  &c. 

983.  aimed  from  some  inhuman  eye.     Cp.  Burns — 

'  Inhuman  man !  curse  on  thy  barbarous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye  ! ' 

The  Wounded  Hare. 

994.  The  peculiarly  effective  pause  after  '  sob '  should  be  noted 
here. 

1005.  philosophic  Melancholy  comes  I  Appropriately  to  the  fading 
year.  Cp.  Burns — 

'  Come,  Autumn,  sae  pensive,  in  yellow  and  gray, 
And  soothe  me/  &c. 

1020-1022.  A  noble  sentiment,  characteristic  of  Thomson. 
1025.  wonder.     Admiration. 

1030-1036.     The  feeling  for  the  supernatural  (as  expressed  here,  and 
in  Summer,  at  1.   538,  and  elsewhere  in  his  poetry)  is  a   feature  of 
Thomson's  genius — to  which,  surely,  Collins  must  have  been  looking 
when  he  figured  Thomson  as  a  Druid  in  the  well-known  Ode  : 
'  O  vales  and  wild  woods  (shall  he  say), 
In  yonder  grave  your  Druid  lies ! ' 

1037-1081.  These  forty-five  lines  were  not  added  till  after  1738. 
1042.  paradise  of  Stowe.  '  The  seat  of  the  Lord  Viscount  Cobham.' 
(Note  by    Thomson.}     It   is  not  now  the  attractive  place  it  was  in 
Thomson's  time. 

1048.  Pitt.  The  elder,  Earl  of  Chatham.  He  was  born  in  1708,  and 
was  therefore  only  twenty-two  when  Thomson  published  Autumn.  The 
compliment  to  him  was  added  after  he  began  to  make  a  name  for 
himself  as  a  statesman.  It  was  not  till  1 735  that  Pitt  entered  Parliament. 
He  took  the  side  of  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  and  offered  a  determined 
resistance  to  Walpole.  As  Thomson  died  in  1748,  he  could  only  speak 
of  Pitt  as  '  the  early  boast '  of  his  country. 

1050.  that  temple.  The  Temple  of  Virtue  in  Stowe  Gardens.  So 
at  the  Leasowes  Shenstone  had  Damon's  Bower,  and  there  he  wrote, 
'  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1748,'  to  his  friend  '  William  Lyttleton, 
Esq.' — 

'  Yes,  there,  my  friend  !    forlorn  and  sad, 
I.  grave  your  Thomson's  name ; 


NOTES,  983-1098.  343 

And  there,  his  lyre,  which  Fate  forbade 

To  sound  your  growing  fame.' 

1062.  draw  the  tragic  scene  [_with  juster  hand],  Thomson's  first 
tragedy,  Sophonisba,  was  produced  at  Drury  Lane  in  Feb.  1729-30. 
It  was  rather  a  failure  on  the  stage,  though  it  passed  through  four 
editions  in  1730.  Agamemnon  appeared  in  1738,  Edward  and  Eleanora 
in  1739;  then  came  Tancred  and  Sigismunda  (1745),  and  the  post- 
humous Coriolanus. 

1072.  Cobham.  The  proprietor  of  Stowe,  Sir  Richard  Temple, 
afterwards  Lord  Cobham.  He  it  was  that  laid  out  the  walks  and 
gardens,  planted  the  groves,  and  erected  the  statues  and  temples  at 
Stowe, — a  '  chief  out  of  war/  to  use  Pope's  phrase. 

1072,  1073.  thy  verdant  files  Of  ordered  trees  shouldst . . .  range.  The 
arrangement  greatly  affected  about  the  beginning  and  middle  of  last 
century  was  in  the  figure  of  the  quadrum,  or  the  quincunx,  that  is  by 
fours,  or  perfect  squares ;  or  by  fives,  like  the  spots  on  the  side  of  a 
die  :  • :  In  the  Second  Georgic  Virgil  describes  the  former  arrange- 
ment : — 

'  Nee  secius  omnis  in  unguem 
Arboribus  positis  secto  via  limite  quadret : 
Ut  saepe  ingenti  bello  cum  longa  cohortes 
Explicuit  legio,  et  campo  stetit  agmen  aperto, 
Directaeque  acies,'  &c. — 11.  277-281. 

Pope,  in   his  Satires  and  Epistles  of  Horace  Imitated,  refers  to  the 
quincunx : — 

'  My  retreat  the  best  companions  grace, 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  statesmen  out  of  place ; 
There  St.  John  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl 
The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul ; 
And  he,  whose  lightning  pierced  the  Iberian  lines 
Now  forms  my  quincunx,  and  now  ranks  my  vines.' 

Bk.  II,  Sat.  I,  11.  125-130. 

1093.  optic  tube  describes.     Cp.  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I,  11.  288,  290. 
1096.  through  the  passing  cloud  sk&  seems  to  stoop.  '  Seems  to  descend/ 
that  is,  '  nearer  to  the  earth/     Milton  also  notices  the  illusion — 
'  Oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud/ 

//  Penseroso,  11.  71,  72. 
See  also  Comus,  1.  333. 

1098.  the  pale  deluge.  Cp.  '  the  dazzling  deluge '  of  sunshine  in 
Summer,  1.  435.  Blake,  in  his  lines  to  The  Evening  Star,  has — '  Wash 
the  dusk  with  silver/ 


344  THE  SEASONS.  — AUTUMN. 

1101,  1102.     The  effect  of  full  moon  is  finely  caught  in  these  lines. 

1 106,  1 107.  near  extinct  her  deadened  orb  appears,  And  scarce  appears. 
This  is  the  phenomenon,  referred  to  in  •  the  grand  old  ballad  of  Sir 
Patrick  Spens,'  of  'the  new  moon  with  the  old  moon  in  her  arms.' 

1109-1114.  This  is  a  description  of  the  Aurora,  or  Northern  Lights, 
not  of  a  meteoric  shower.  Cp.  Burns,  in  his  fragmentary  Vision  at 
Lincluden  (1794) : — 

'  The  cauld  blae  north  was  streaming  forth 

Her  lights  wi'  hissing  eerie  din  ; 
Athwart  the  lift  they  start  and  shift 
Like  Fortune's  favours,  tint  as  win.' 

1115-1137.  The  first  draught  of  this  passage  appeared  in  the  first 
edition  of  Summer  (1727).  (See  Summer,  Note,  1.  1698.) 

1118.  Thronged  'with  aerial  spears,  &c.  It  recalls  Milton's  awful 
line — 

'  With  dreadful  faces  thronged  and  fiery  arms.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  XII,  1.  644. 

1 1 22,  1123.  Cp.  Chaucer's  The  Squieres  Tale,  11.  204-261.  Also 
Milton's  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I,  11.  598,  599. 

1132.  That  is,  that  the  last  day  has  arrived. 

1134.  inspect  sage.     Wise  insight. 

1136.  yet  unfixed.  That  is,  '  till  now  unexplained,  and  unsettled.' 
This  is  very  much  the  condition  of  affairs  yet.  That  the  phenomenon 
of  the  Aurora  is  due  to  electricity  is  generally  believed,  but  how  is  still 
an  open  question. 

1141-1144.  The  same  idea  has  already  been  brought  forward  in  this 
poem,  11.  730-735. 

1148,  1149.  See  Comus,  11.  337-340,  for  'the  taper  of  some  clay 
habitation,'  &c. 

1151-1164.  This  passage,  in  a  somewhat  different  form,  appeared 
originally  in  the  first  edition  of  Summer  (1727).  (See  Summer,  Note, 
1.  1681.) 

1157-1159.  Compare  with  this  the  more  pathetic  picture  of  the  shep- 
herd's wife  and  children,  in  Winter,  11.  310-317. 

1 183.  Convolved.  A  favourite  word  of  Thomson.  See  Spring,  1.  836. 
The  smoking  of  bees  in  order  to  secure  their  honey  is  now  rarely 
practised.  It  is  both  more  humane  and  more  profitable  to  abstract 
honeycomb  from  the  hive  without  destroying  the  bees. 

1 187.  the  blooming  waste.  The  heather  (in  bloom  in  August  and  Sep- 
tember), from  which  a  richer  honey  is  made  than  from  garden  flowers, 

1190,  1191.  Nature  groan  ....  awaiting  renovation.  See  St.  Paul's 
Epistle  to  the  Romans  for  this  reference,  chap,  viii,  19-23. 


NOTES,  1101-1339.  345 

1204.  Palermo,     The  capital  city  and  chief  seaport  of  Sicily. 

1 21 1,  1 21 2.  Construe  'Save  what  brushes  the  filmy  thread  of  eva- 
porated dew  from  the  plain.'  Thomson's  closeness  and  delicacy  of 
observation  is  revealed  in  these  lines  :  they  refer  to  a  phenomenon 
of  tranquil  autumnal  morning  which  few  have  observed.  As  'the 
filmy  thread  of  dew,'  which  has  got  somehow  into  the  air,  falls  on  one's 
face,  one  is  apt  to  imagine  that  it  is  about  to  rain  ;  but  the  sky  all  round 
is  a  sunny  blue  ;  neither  is  there  wind  to  blow  the  dew  from  the  hanging 
corn-eats. 

1214,  1215.  The  high  and  wide  skies  of  Autumn,  on  days  of  'utter 
peace,'  are  like  the  creation  of  a  new  heaven. 

1219.  The  corn-yard,  or  stack-y  rd,  securely  enclosed. 

1 22 1.  The  festival  of  harvest-home  : — 

'  Merriment 

Such  as  the  jocund  flute,  or  gamesome  pipe 
Stirs  up  among  the  loose  unlettered  hinds 
When,  for  their    ....   granges  full 
In  wanton  dance  they  praise  the  bounteous  Pan.' 

Camus,  11.  172-176. 

1222.  'The  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind.' — Goldsmith's 
Deserted  Village. 

1236.  The  happiest  he  ^vho far  from  public  rage,  &c.     Cp.  Horace — 
'  Beatus  ille,  qui  procul  negotiis, 

Ut  prisca  gens  mortalium, 
Paterna  rura  bobus  exercet  snis 

Solutus  omni  fenore,'  &c. — Epodon  Carm.  I,  2. 

1263,  1264.     See  supra,  11.  4,  5. 

1267.  the  chide  of  'streams.  A  beautiful  expression.  Shakespeare  has 
it, — '  Never  did  I  hear  such  gallant  chiding  '  (Midsummer  Night's  Dream, 
Act  IV,  Sc.  i.),  where  it  is  said  by  Hippolyt  in  her  eulogium  of  the 
Spartan  breed  of  hounds. 

1273-1277.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task,  Bk.  IV,  the  concluding  passage— 
'  Hail  therefore,'  &c. 

1287,  1288.  This  is  very  severe,  for  Thomson,  on  lawyers.  See  also 
11.  1291-1294  infra. 

1304.  who,  from  the  world  escaped.  Like  Cowper,  in  his  Olney 
retreat. 

IS1?-  frigid  Tempe.     See  Spring,  Note,  1.  908. 

1318.  Hemus.     See  supra,  Note,  1.  784. 

1326.  then  [in  Autumn]  he  best  exerts  his  song.  Seesuflra,  Note,  1.  670. 

1339.  His  own  affection  for  his  sisters  would  serve  to  illustrate  the 
line. 


THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

1341,  1342.  the  little  strong  embrace  Of  prattling  children  twined 
around  his  neck.  Thomson  must  have  had  a  child's  arm  round  his 
neck,  to  describe  '  the  little  strong  embrace  '  so  accurately. 

1348-1351.  See  the  Age  of  Innocence  fully  described  in  Spring,  11. 
241-270. 

!353-  the  knowledge  of  thy  works.  He  enumerates  more  particularly, 
in  the  succeeding  lines,  astronomy,  geology,  botany,  natural  history,  and 
psychology.  His  love  of  the  study  of  natural  science  is  abundantly 
evident  from  his  poetry.  It  was  probably  instilled  into  his  mind  at 
Edinburgh  University,  where  the  Baconian  and  Newtonian  impulse  was 
felt  more  powerfully  in  the  first  half  of  the  1 8th  century  than  it  seems 
to  have  been  felt  at  the  English  Universities.  (See  Sir  A.  Grant's  Hist, 
of  Edinburgh  University,  vol.  i,  pp.  263  et  seqq.} 

1368.  An  allusion  to  his  natural  indolence.  It  was  the  alternative 
that  was  in  store  for  Thomson — not  vast  and  varied  scientific  knowledge  ; 
but  a  place  <  by  the  lowly  brook  ' — '  in  lowly  dale  fast  by  a  river's  side  ' 
— and  a  dream  of  a  Castle  of  Indolence. 


WINTER. 

INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

Winter,  placed  last— agreeably  to  the  natural  order— in  the  col- 
lected Seasons,  comes  first  in  the  order  of  composition,  and  perhaps  of 
merit  and  popularity  as  well.  It  was  entirely  written  in  England. 
Thomson  arrived  in  London  in  March,  1725.  Disappointed  in  the 
immediate  object  of  his  journey,  whatever  it  was — probably  a  situation 
in  the  service  of  the  Government — he  was  forced  by  the  slenderness  of 
his  purse  to  accept  the  office  of  tutor  to  a  small  boy  of  five,  and  mean- 
while prepare  for  a  less  precarious  and  more  honourable  means  of 
maintenance.  Writing  in  July  to  an  intimate  friend  in  Scotland,  he  says 
— '  I  am  pretty  much  at  ease  in  the  country,  ten  miles  from  London, 
teaching  Lord  Binning's  son l  to  read — a  low  task,  you  know,  not  so 
suitable  to  my  temper ;  but  I  must  learn  that  necessary  lesson  of 
suiting  my  mind  and  temper  to  my  state.  I  hope  I  shall  not  pass  my 
time  here  without  improvement— the  great  design  of  my  coming  hither 
— and  then,  in  due  time,  I  resolve  through  God's  assistance  to  consum- 
mate my  original  study  of  divinity  ;  for  you  know  the  business  of  a 
1  Afterwards  seventh  Earl  of  Haddington. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  347 

tutor  is  only  precarious  and  for  the  present.'  The  place  referred  to  in 
this  letter  as  ten  miles  from  London  was  East  Barnet;  and  here 
Thomson  continued  (with  an  occasional  flying  visit  to  London)  to 
reside  till  the  end  of  the  year,  by  which  time  he  seems  to  have  finished 
together  the  first  draught,  at  least,  if  not  the  full  composition,  of 
Winter,  and  his  engagement  as  tutor  in  Lord  Binning's  family.  He 
cannot  be  said  to  have  begun  the  poem  till  the  end  of  Autumn,  when 
he  was  prompted  to  the  work  by  the  nature — one  might  say  the 
necessity — of  his  situation.  The  subject  had  been  determined  for  him 
by  a  variety  of  causes.  He  writes  bravely  enough  on  the  manner  in 
which  he  found  and  first  began  to  work  at  his  subject,  but  his  mind  was 
undoubtedly  then  disposed  to  a  gloomier  view  of  life  than  was  habitual 
to  him,  and  to  less  cheerful  subjects  of  contemplation  than  had  engaged 
his  attention  in  the  preceding  Spring.  He  had  not  been  in  England 
more  than  six  weeks  when  he  received  the  sad  news  of  the  death  of  his 
mother,  to  whom  he  was  tenderly  attached ;  at  Barnet  he  had  run  into 
debt,  and  was  feeling  as  a  strange  sensation  the  first  pressure  of  poverty  ; 
the  '  melancholy '  natural  to  his  spirits  '  on  the  fading  of  the  year,'  was 
of  a  deeper  shade  in  the  October  of  1725  1  than  he  had  ever  known  it, 
or  perhaps  was  ever  again  to  know ;  and  the  influence  of  a  poem  by 
Robert  Riccaltoun,  every  whit  as  lugubrious  as  The  Grave  of  Blair,  had 
filled  his  imagination  with  a  gloom  only  too  congenial  with  his  circum- 
stances, and  cherished  rather  than  chidden  away  by  the  desponding 
young  poet.  In  the  autumn  of  1725,  in  another  letter  to  his  intimate 
friend  (Dr.  Cranstoun,  of  Ancrum)  he  writes  :  '  I  am  just  now  painting 
[Nature]  in  her  most  lugubrious  dress  for  my  own  amusement,  describing 
Winter  as  it  presents  itself.  .  .  .  After  this  introduction  I  say — 
"  Nor  can  I,  O  departing  Summer !  choose 
But  consecrate  one  pitying  line  to  you ; 
Sing  your  last  tempered  days,  and  sunny  calms, 
That  cheer  the  spirits  and  serene  the  soul." 

Then  terrible  floods,  and  high  winds,  that  usually  happen  about  this 
time  of  the  year,  and  have  already  happened  here  (I  wish  you  have  not 
felt  them  too  dreadfully) — the  first  produced  the  enclosed  lines ;  the  last 
are  not  completed.  Mr.  Riccaltoun's  poem  on  Winter,  which  I  still 
have,  first  put  the  design  into  my  head  :  in  it  are  some  masterly  strokes 
that  awakened  me.  Being  only  a  present  amusement  it  is  ten  to  one 
1  '  This  country  I  am  in  is  not  very  entertaining ;  no  variety  but  that  of  woods.' 


348  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

but  I  drop  it  whenever  another  fancy  comes  across.'  Riccaltoun's 
poem,  from  this  interesting  connection,  acquires  an  importance  of  some 
historical  value.  It  has  been  identified,  on  evidence  that  is  almost 
conclusive,  with  a  set  of  some  fifty-eight  verses  in  the  heroic  couplet 
'by  a  Scotch  clergyman,'  printed  in  1726  in  Savage's  Miscellany,  and 
again,  in  1740,  in  The  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  May,  under  the  title 
of  '  A  Winter's  Day.'  Thomson's  copy  of  the  poem  was  probably  got 
in  MS.  from  the  author's  own  hand ;  but  it  may  have  been  a  cutting 
from  an  Edinburgh  periodical  of  date  anterior  to  1726.  Riccaltoun  was 
a  young  farmer  at  Earlshaugh,  some  four  miles  from  the  manse  of 
Southdean,  when  Thomson  was  a  schoolboy  ;  and,  having  a  taste  for 
the  classics,  for  he  was  college-bred,  and  taking  a  fancy  to  the  minister's 
son,  he  gave  him  help  with  his  Latin  lessons  and  exercises.  He  after- 
wards became  minister  of  the  parish  of  Hobkirk,  near  Jedburgh.  The 
influence  of  the  following  quotations  from  Riccaltoun's  verses  will 
readily  be  traced  in  Thomson's  poem  : — 

'  Now,  gloomy  soul,  look  out !    now  comes  thy  turn ! 

With  thee,  behold  all  ravaged  Nature  mourn ; 

Hail  the  dim  empire  of  thy  darling  night 

That  spreads  slow-shadowing  o'er  the  vanquished  light. 

Look  out  with  joy !     The  ruler  of  the  day, 

Faint  as  thy  hopes,  emits  a  glimmering  ray; 

Already  exiled  to  the  utmost  sky, 

Hither  oblique  he  turns  his  clouded  eye. 

Lo,  from  the  limits  of  the  wintry  pole 

Mountainous  clouds  in  rude  confusion  roll ; 

In  dismal  pomp  now  hovering  in  their  way, 

To  a  sick  twilight  they  reduce  the  day.' — 11.  1-12. 

'Let  no  intrusive  joy  my  dead  repose 

Disturb; 

In  this  moss-covered  cavern  hopeless  laid 

On  the  cold  cliff  I  lean  my  aching  head 

And,  pleased  with  winter's  waste,  unpitying  see 

All  Nature  in  an  agony  with  me. 

Rough  rugged  rocks,  wet  marshes,  ruined  tours, 

Bare  trees,  brown  brakes,  bleak  heaths,  and  rushy  moors, 

Dead  floods,  huge  cataracts,  to  my  pleased  eyes 

(Now  I  can  smile  !)    in  wild  disorder  rise ; 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  349 

And  now,  their  various  dread  fulness  combined, 

Black  melancholy  comes  to  doze  my  mind.'— 11.  33-44. 

*  But  hark  !  a  sudden  howl  invades  my  ear — 
The  phantoms  of  the  dreadful  hour  are  near ; 
Shadows  from  each  dark  cavern  now  combine, 
And  stalk  around,  and  mix  their  yells  with  mine ! ' — 11.  5 1-54. 
Thomson's  chief,  if  not  his  only,  literary  correspondent  during  the 
composition  of  Winter  was  his  former  college  companion  at  Edinburgh, 
David  Malloch  (or  Mallet  as  he  strangely  preferred  to  be  called),  who 
in  1725,  and  for  several  years  afterwards,  was  tutor  to  the  two  sons  of 
the  Duke  of  Montrose  *.  Spence,  in  his  Anecdotes,  &c.,has  preserved  a 
rumour  that  Thomson  went  down  to  live  at  Twyford,  in  Hants,  a 
country  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Montrose,  on  the  invitation  of  Malloch,  and 
that  while  there  he  submitted  to  Malloch's  judgment  the  MS.  of  Winter ; 
that  the  friends  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  publisher  for  it ;  and  that, 
when  it  appeared  at  last,  the  Dedication  was  the  composition  of  Malloch. 
The  publisher  of  Winter  was  John  Millan,  who  gave  the  author 
three  guineas  for  it;  and  the  poem  was  issued  in  folio  in  March,  1726. 
Presently  it  began  to  be  talked  about  in  the  London  coffee-houses  as 
a  genuine  poem  on  a  new  and  original  subject — the  person  who  was  first 
to  discover  its  merits  being  the  Rev.  Robert  Whatley.  Almost  as  soon 
as  Whatley,  Aaron  Hill 2  began  to  sound  its  praise ;  and  there  was 
a  recommendation  of  it  by  Spence  in  his  Essay  on  Pope's  Odyssey, 
published  in  1727.  The  rate  of  its  success  may  be  estimated  from  the 
facts  that  the  second  edition  was  called  for  in  the  following  June,  and 
that  the  fifth  edition  was  out  before  the  end  of  1728.  It  brought 
Thomson  the  friendship  of — among  others — Lady  Hertford,  Mrs. 
Stanley,  Dr.  Rundle,  and  Sir  C.  Talbot. 

Malloch  may  have  written  the  prose  Dedication,  which  was  addressed 
to  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  Spencer  Compton,  Speaker  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  but  Thomson  unfortunately  homologated  it  in  a  paraphrase 
of  its  extravagant  statements  to  which  he  gave  a  permanent  place  in  the 

1  See  a  curious  poem  '  To  Mr.  David  Malloch  on  his  Departure  from  Scotland,'  by 
Allan  Ramsay  : — 

'The  task  assigned  thee  's  great  and  good 
To  cultivate  two  Grahams,'  &c. 

2  '  You  have  given  me  fame,'  was  the  acknowledgment  of  Thomson  in  a  letter  to 
Hill  on  May  24,  1726. 


350  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

text  of  the  poem.     The  prose  Dedication  was  prefixed  to  the  first  five 
editions  of  Winter  :  it  ran  as  follows — 

'  Sir, — The  Author  of  the  following  poem  begs  leave  to  inscribe  this 
his  first  performance  to  your  name  and  patronage :  unknown  himself, 
and  only  introduced  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  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  integrity  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  cottage  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  discernment  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,'  &c. 

This  is  fulsome.  The  fulsomeness,  conscious  or  ignorant  of  its  nature, 
Thomson  unhappily  adopted  ;  but  it  is  also  stilted,  insincere,  and  im- 
pudent. The  audacity  of  the  concluding  sentence  was  foreign  to  the 
character  of  Thomson. 

The  second,  third,  and  fourth  editions  of  Winter  contained  a  preface 
of  Thomson's  own  composition,  which  one  might  describe  as  the 
poet's  apology  for  poesy,  or  rather  his  vindication  of  poetry.  It  is 
pervaded  by  a  nobility  of  sentiment  and  an  independence  of  tone,  which 
are  in  marked  contrast  to  the  effrontery  and  servility  of  Malloch's 
Dedication.  It  begins — 

'  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  for  the  present  contempt  of  it,  as  managed  by  the 


INTR ODUCTOR  Y  NOTE.  351 

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  learning  and  politeness.  It  is  affronting  the 
universal  taste  of  mankind,  and  declaring  against  what  has  charmed  the 
listening  world  from  Moses  down  to  Milton.  ...  It  is  even  declaring 
against  the  sublimest  passages  of  the  inspired  writings  themselves,  and 
what  seems  to  be  the  peculiar  language  of  heaven.'  Then  follows  some 
well-directed  satire,  and  the  poet  continues  :  '  That  there  are  frequent 
and  notorious  abuses  of  Poetry  is  as  true  as  that  the  best  things  are 
most  liable  to  that  misfortune ;  but  ...  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  exchange  her 
low,  venal,  trifling  subjects  for  such  as  are  fair,  useful,  and  magnificent 
.  .  .  and  poets  [shall]  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  mankind,  who,  far  above  all  the  pomp  and  pride  of 
fortune,  scorns  the  little  addressful  flatterer,  discountenances  all  the 
reigning  fopperies  of  a  tasteless  age,  and  .  .  .  stretching  his  views  into 
late  futurity,  has  the  true  interest  of  virtue,  learning  and  mankind 
entirely  at  heart — a  character  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.'  There  are  some  more 
satirical  remarks  on  '  the  little  glittering  prettinesses  '  of  the  fashionable 
verse  of  the  day,  from  which  the  poet  turns  with  a  noble  s.corn — '  A 
genius,'  he  says,  *  fired  with  the  charms  of  truth  and  nature  is  tuned  to  a 
sublimer  pitch,  and  scorns  to  associate  with  such  subjects.'  He  goes  on 
to  recommend  to  poets  and  readers  of  poetry  a  return  to  the  study 
of  Nature,  too  long  neglected ;  and  exclaims,  after  a  brief  survey  of  the 
grander  phenomena  of  Nature, — '  But  there  is  no  thinking  of  these  things 
without  breaking  out  into  poetry.'  He  next  refers  to  the  example  of '  the 
best  poets,  both  ancient  and  modern.'  Whence  did  they  derive  their  in- 
spiration ?  '  They  have  been  passionately  fond  of  retirement  and  solitude  : 
the  wild  romantic  country  was  their  delight.'  There  are  two  or  three 


352  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

xmavoidable  compliments — to  '  Mr.  Hill,'  '  Mira,'  and  '  Mr.  Malloch  '  ; 
nnd  the  Preface  concludes  with  the  announcement  that  the  reforms,  in 
poetical  composition  and  in  poetical  taste,  which  he  has  just  been 
urging,  he  will  endeavour  himself  to  practise  '  in  the  other  Seasons,' 
which  it  is  his  '  purpose '  to  describe. 

Winter,  which  is  the  shortest  poem  of  the  series  of  The  Seasons,  was 
very  considerably  shorter  still  when  it  first  appeared.  So  late  as  the 
edition  of  1738  it  consisted  of  only  787  lines ;  it  was  finally  enlarged  to 
1069.  The  principal  additions  were  a  paraphrase  (11.  126-145)  of  a 
part  of  the  First  Georgic  of  Virgil ;  a  description  (11.  414-423)  of 
avalanches  ;  an  enlargement  of  the  list  of  Greek  and  Roman  Worthies  ; 
the  lament  for  Hammond  (11.  555-571);  a  eulogy  of  Chesterfield;  an 
extension  of  the  view  of  life  and  Winter  within  the  Arctic  circle ;  and  a 
eulogistic  outline  of  the  career  of  the  Czar  Peter.  Numerous  verbal 
alterations  were  made  in  the  text  after  1738,  some  of  them  at  the 
suggestion  of  Pope;  and  several  lines  were  dropped.  The  geographical 
range  of  the  poem  is  only  inferior  to  that  of  Summer.  The  best  scenes 
are  Scottish.  Holland,  France,  Italy,  and  Switzerland  furnish  impressive 
Winter  scenes ;  Siberia  and  Lapland  are  graphically  presented  ;  and  a 
glimpse  is  given,  in  a  flight  beyond  Iceland  and  Greenland,  of  the 
white  terrors  at  the  Pole.  The  historical  range  is  a  remarkable, 
and  a  not  very  harmonious  feature  of  the  poem.  Long  winter  evenings 
are,  no  doubt,  conducive  to  retirement  and  study  ;  and  the  history 
of  the  world's  great  leaders,  in  the  spheres  of  thought  and  action, 
may  naturally  enough  form  part  of  one's  winter  reading ;  but  the 
subject,  thanks  very  much  to  Pope,  is  treated  at  unconscionable  length, 
and  receives  a  prominence  relatively  to  the  other  parts  of  the  poem 
which  is  quite  disproportionate,  and  (some  may  be  pardoned  for 
thinking)  of  the  nature  of  an  excrescence. 

Perhaps  the  most  poetical  passages  are  those  that  describe  a  wet  day 
at  the  farm ;  a  river  in  flood  ;  the  visit  of  the  redbreast ;  a  shepherd 
perishing  in  the  snow-drift,  with  the  pathetic  picture  of  his  wife  and 
children  becoming  concerned  about  his  absence ;  '  the  goblin-story ' 
told  by  village  fires  ;  the  still,  freezing  night ;  and  the  Siberian  bear 
'  with  dangling  ice  all  horrid.'  The  clearness  and  completeness  of 
these  descriptions  strike  the  imagination  at  once,  and  the  singular 
appropriateness  of  the  language  imprints  them  on  the  memory. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  in  his  list  of  winter  sports  Thomson  did 


INTR OD UCTOR  Y  NOTE.  353 

not  include  a  description  of  the  Scots  game  of  curling,  '  the  roaring 
play'  of  Burns. 

The  argument  as  amended  for  the  final  text  runs  as  follows  : — '  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.' 

Gulliver's  Travels,  by  Swift,  Butler's  Sermons,  and  Dyer's  Grongar 
iHill,  were,  with  Thomson's  Winter,  the  principal  London  publications 
bf  the  year  1726.  AflatcM,  Defoe,  Bentley,  and  Theobald  also  pub- 
lished works  in  the  same  year. 

A  curious  story  connected  with  the  Dedication  may  be  added.  Lord 
Wilmington,  then  Sir  Spencer  Compton,  and  Speaker  of  the  Commons, 
took  no  notice  of  the  honour  which  had  been  done  him  till  the  first 
edition  was  almost  exhausted.  The  neglect  displeased  Thomson, 
and  roused  the  satire  of  Hill  and  Malloch  against  the  indifference  of 
patrons.  Hill's  reproaches  were  communicated  to  the  Speaker,  and 
were  so  far  effective  that  the  compliment  of  the  Dedication  was  at  last 
acknowledged  by  a  fee  of  twenty  guineas.  Thomson's  account  of  his 
interview  with  his  patron,  and  the  way  in  which  it  was  more  im- 
mediately brought  about,  is  contained  in  a  letter  to  Hill : — '  On 
Saturday  morning  [June  4,  1726]  I  was  with  Sir  Spencer  Compton.  A 
certain  gentleman,  without  my  desire,  spoke  to  him  concerning  me ;  his 
answer  was  that  I  had  never  come  near  him.  Then  the  gentleman  put 
the  question  if  he  desired  that  I  should  wait  on  him  ;  he  returned  he 
did.  On  this  the  gentleman  gave  me  an  introductory  letter  to  him.  He 
received  me  in  what  they  commonly  call  a  civil  manner,  asked  me  some 
commonplace  questions,  and  made  me  a  present  of  twenty  guineas.  I  am 
very  ready  to  own  that  the  present  was  larger  than  my  performance  [he 
means,  not  the  poem,  but  the  Dedication  as  a  piece  of  complimentary 
composition— usually  attributed  to  Malloch!]  deserved  ;  and  shall  ascribe 
it  to  his  generosity  rather  than  the  merit  of  the  Address.'  Meanwhile 
both  Hill  and  Malloch  had  written  verses  to  the  praise  of  Thomson  and 

A  a 


354  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

the  censure  of  the  Speaker,  which  were  intended  to  be  prefixed  to 
the  second  edition  of  Winter  then  in  the  press.  Thomson  either  did 
not  wish  to  lose  the  praise  or  did  not  wish  to  offend  his  friends  by 
withdrawing  the  verses,  and  they  were  accordingly  printed  with  but 
slight  modification  of  the  censure — certainly  not  enough  '  to  clear  Sir 
Spencer.'  Thomson's  correspondence  shows  very  amusingly  the 
dilemma  he  was  in. 


1.  The  year  has  lost  its  autumnal  look,  and  now  assumes  a  wintry 
aspect.     More   figuratively,  the   reign   of  autumn  is  over;   it  is  now 
Winter's  turn  to  rule.     '  The  varied  year '  means  '  the  year  that  has 
varied,  or  changed  its  appearance,'  and  not  *  the  year  that  is  varied  by 
the  succession  of  the  seasons.'    The  idea  contained  in  '  varied '  is  repeated 
at  1.  43  in  the  word  '  inverted.'     It  simply  means  '  altered,'  or   '  so 
altered  as  to  exhibit  a  complete  contrast.' 

2.  rising.  Ascending  from  the  horizon. 

3.  Vapours,  and  clouds,  and  storms.     See  11.  54-56,  infra. 

6.  Congenial  horrors.  Some  trace  the  congeniality,  avowed  here  so 
boldly,  to  the  peculiar  circumstances — of  disappointment,  loneliness, 
bereavement,  and  even  poverty — in  which  Thomson  was  placed  when  he 
began  the  poem.  They  imagine  him  making  choice  of  a  subject  of 
*  glooms '  and  '  horrors '  much  in  the  same  mood  as  that  which  made 
Burns  exclaim — 

'Come,  Winter,  with  thine  angry  howl, 

And,  raging,  bend  the  naked  tree ; 
Thy  gloom  will  soothe  my  cheerless  soul, 

When  Nature  all  is  sad  like  me ! ' — Meeniis  ee. 

They  perhaps  overlook  the  fact  (stated  in  the  immediately  succeeding 
lines)  that  Winter-time  had  always  been  a  pleasure  to  him :  it  was 
equally  congenial  to  his  cheerful,  careless,  robust  boyhood.  He  could 
say  with  Burns — 

•O  Nature,  a'  thy  shows  and  forms 
To  feeling,  pensive  hearts  ha'e  charms; 
WThether  the  summer  kindly  warms 

Wi'  life  and  light, 
Or  winter  howls  in  gusty  storms 

The  long  dark  night.' 

Epistle  to  William  Sims  on. 
Probably  by    'congenial'   Thomson   simply   means   the  horrors  and 


NOTES,  i -i 8. 


355 


glooms  of  the  Cheviot  winters,  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  from 
his  infancy ;  he  had  grown  up  amongst  them. 

7.  my  cheerful  morn  of  life.  From  the  third  month  to  the  sixteenth 
year  of  his  life,  his  home  was  the  solitary  manse  of  Southdean  in 
Roxburghshire,  not  more  than  five  miles,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  Carter 
Fell,  one  of  the  summits  of  the  Cheviots. 

9.  sung  of  Nature.  Delighted  in  rural  scenes.  But  there  may  be  a 
reference  to  his  boyish  exercises  in  verse,  which  were  probably  on 
subjects  connected  for  the  most  part  with  country  life. 

12-14.  All  this  he  could  do  at  the  door,  or  from  the  parlour  window, 
of  his  father's  manse.  The  Jed  sweeps  round  the  manse  garden,  and  is 
a  sufficiently  '  big  torrent '  when  in  flood. 

14.  the  grim  evening  sky.     'Red,'  meaning   'lurid/   in  the   early 
editions,  as  late  as  that  of  1738. 

15.  the   lucid  chambers  of  the  south.     A  beautiful  phrase,   partly 
scriptural.     See  the  Book  of  Job :  <  [He  is  mighty  in  strength]  which 
maketh  .  .  .  the  chambers  of  the  south.'  (chap.  ix.  9).       Cp.  William 
Blake's  To  the  Muses  :— 

'  Whether  on  Ida's  shady  brow, 

Or  in  the  chambers  of  the  East, 
The  chambers  of  the  sun,  that  now 

From  ancient  melody  have  ceased,'  &c. 
See  Spring,  1.  1034. 

17.  first  essay.     The  poem  of  Winter,  though  it  comes  last  in  the 
collected  Seasons,  was  the  first  written  of  the  series.     It  was  published 
in  1726;  Summer  came  next,  in  1727;    then  Spring,  in   1728;    and 
Autumn,  with  the  Hymn,  last  of  all,  published,  in  its  due  place  in 
the  natural  order,  with  the  other  Seasons,  in  1730- 

1 8.  Wilmington.    Sir  Spencer  Compton,  created  Baron  Wilmington  in 
January,  1728  ;  Earl,  in  May,  1730.     He  was  born  probably  in  the  year 
1673 ;  and  began  his  long  parliamentary  career  in  1698  as  the  Member 
for  Eye.     A  son  of  the  Earl  of  Northampton,  he  belonged  to  a  Tory 
family,  but  joined  the  Whigs,  and  was  rewarded  with  a  long  succession 
of  honourable  appointments.     The  new  Parliament  of  1715  elected  him 
their  Speaker;   he  was  then  the  representative  for  Sussex.     In  1722 
he  was  again  chosen  Speaker,  and  filled  the  chair  till  the  dissolution  of 
Parliament  in  July,   1727.     He  held  at  the   same  time  the  office  of 
Paymaster-General ;  and  was  made  a  Knight  of  the  Bath  in  1725.     In 
1727   he  might  have  been  Prime  Minister  instead   of  Walpole,  but 
confessed  to  the   King  '  his  inability  to  undertake   the   duties   of  so 
arduous  a  post.'     He  had  made  a  similar  confession  when  he  filled  the 
office  of  Speaker,  declaring  that  '  he  had  neither  memory  to  retain, 

Aa  2 


356  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

judgment  to  collect,  nor  skill  to  guide  the  debates  of  the  Commons.' 
Public  opinion  took  him  at  his  word  :  he  was  generally  regarded  as  a 
mere  cipher,  and  treated  as  such  by  the  caricaturists  and  satirical  writers 
of  his  time.  Yet  he  was  not  without  dignity,  especially  on  State 
occasions,  and  secured  some  respect  by  the  solemnity  of  his  manner  and 
the  impressive  tones  of  his  voice.  His  talents,  however,  were  but 
mediocre,  and  he  lacked  both  tact  and  decision.  His  peerage  came  to 
him  rather  as  a  solatium  for  the  premiership  he  could  not  fill,  than  as  a 
reward  for  his  services.  He  died  unmarried  in  1743,  and  the  title  lapsed. 
His  estates  went  to  his  brother,  the  Earl  of  Northampton.  Thomson's 
eulogy  of  him  (11.  28-40)  is  a  remarkable  instance  either  of  gross 
flattery  or  of  crass  ignorance. 

renews  her  song.  The  expression  means  that  Thomson  repeats  to 
Lord  Wilmington  the  dedication  he  had  addressed  to  him  when  Sir 
Spencer  Compton  four  years  previously.  The  dedication  of  the  first 
edition  of  Winter  was  in  prose,  and,  according  to  Joseph  Spence,  was 
written  by  Malloch.  The  passage,  from  1.  17  to  1.  40,  is  the  new 
dedication,  introduced  into  the  text  of  Winter,  in  1730,  when  the  first 
edition  of  the  collected  Seasons  was  published ;  the  prose  dedication, 
which  had  appeared  in  the  first  five  editions  of  Winter — all  published 
before  the  end  of  1728 — was,  of  course,  no  longer  necessary.  (See 
Introductory  Note  to  Winter.) 

19.  Since,  i.e.  since  1726.     The  date  is  now  1730.     In  the  interval 
he  had  completed  The  Seasons. 

20.  Skimmed  the  gay  Spring.     '  The   Muse,'   or  his   own   poetical 
imagination,  is  here  presented  under  the  metaphor  of  a  swallow. 

21 .  Attempted  through  the  Summer  blaze  to  rise.     Summer  is  certainly 
the  most  laboured  of  the  series. 

26.  Well  illustrated  by  the  passage  ending  1.  105,  infra. 
28,  29.   Thrice  happy,  could  she  Jill  thy  judging  ear p,  &c.     '  Happy,  if 
I  can  in  any  degree  merit  this  good  fortune  [yottr  notice  and  esteeni}. 
As  every  ornament  and  grace  of  polite  learning  is  yours,  your  single 
approbation  will  be  my  fame.' — Prose  Dedication  (1726). 

30.  For  this  line  the  editions  from  1730  to  1738  give  the  following 
three  : — 

'For  thee  the  graces  smoothe;   thy  softer  thoughts 
The  Muses  tune  ;    nor  art  thou  skilled  alone 
In  awful  schemes,  the  management  of  states.' 

32-38.  'I  dare  not  indulge  my  heart,  by  dwelling  on  your  public 
character  ;  on  that  exalted  honour  and  integrity  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 


NOTES,  18-65.  357 

united  in  all  your  behaviour,  and  finish  the  patriot.' — Prose  Dedication. 

If  Malloch  wrote  the  prose  dedication  (it  is  little  to  his  honour)  Thomson 

unfortunately  appropriated  its  sentiments  in  this  outrageous  panegyric. 

The  verses  are  a  scarcely  disguised  paraphrase  of  Malloch's  sycophantic 

sentences. 

41-44.  In  all  editions  up  to  1738  these  lines  read — 

'  When  Scorpio  gives  to  Capricorn  the  sway, 
And  fierce  Aquarius  fouls  the  inverted  year, 
Retiring  to  the  verge  of  heaven,  the  sun/  &c. ; 

in  plain  English,  '  In  mid-winter,  the  sun,'  &c. 

42.  This  method  of  marking  time  is  a  survival  from  the  days  of  Chaucer. 
(See  the   opening   verses   of  the  Prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales.) 
Thomson  is  the  latest  poet  of  note  in  our  literary  history  to  maintain 
the  traditional  method.     The  sun  enters  the  zodiacal  sign  of  the  Archer 
{Sagittarius)  on  the  2ist  November,  and  quits  it,  to  enter  the  sign  of  the 
Horned  Goat  (Capricornus),  on  the  shortest  day,  the  2ist  of  December  ; 
the  next  sign  (Aquarius,  the  Water-carrier)  is  entered  on  the  2 1st  January. 
(See  Spring,  Note,  11.  26,  27.) 

43.  the  inverted  year.     Cp.  Cowper's  Task  (published  1785) — 

'  O  winter!    ruler  of  the  inverted  year.' — Bk.  IV.  1.  120. 
Horace  has  the  whole  line  in  the  first  Book  of  his  Satires  (v.  36) — 
'  Quae    [formica   parvuld\,    simul    inversum    contristat   Aquarius 

annum,'  &c. 

See  Note,  1.  I,  stipra.  '  To  invert  the  year '  is  explained  in  some  verses 
by  Malloch,  quoted  by  Thomson  in  a  letter  Sept.  or  Oct.  1726 — 'to 
bring  wild  Winter  into  Summer's  place.' 

48.  clothed  in  cloudy  storm.     In  1738  and  previous  editions, — '  at  dull 
distance  seen,' 

49)  50-  Cp.  Bums — 

'  Phoebus  gi'es  a  short-lived  glower, 

Far  south  the  lift.' — A  Winter  Night. 

57.  the  face  of  things.     A  common  expression  with  Thomson  and  his 
imitators ;  Malloch,  for  example  (referring  to  lightning), — 

'  Now  the  face  of  things 
Disclosing;   swallowed  now  in  tenfold  night.' 

The  Excursion,  Bk.  I. 

64.  Fresh  from  the  plough.     In  the  earlier  editions  (till  1738),  '  Red 
from,'  &c.     Land  may  either  be  '  stirred  '  by  the  plough  in  November, 
or  it  may  be  ploughed  to  prepare  a  seed-bed  for  the  winter  wheat. 

65.  crop  the  wholesome  root.      Turnips,   thrown   down   on  the  new 
ploughed  land  for  sheep.     But  turnips  did  not  become  a  common  crop, 
even  on  English  farms,  till  the  success  of  Lord  Townshend's  experi- 
ments, in  1730,  was  seen.    See  Autumn,  Note,  11.  913-915. 


358         THE  SEASONS.  —  WINTER. 

66-71.  These  lines  were  probably  written  at  Barnet,  near  London. 
'  This  country  I  am  in  is  not  very  entertaining  ;  no  variety  but  that  of 
woods,  and  them  we  have  in  abundance ;  but  where  is  the  living  stream, 
the  airy  mountain,  or  the  hanging  rock? ' — Letter  from  Thomson  to  Dr. 
William  Cranstoun,  at  Ancrum,  near  Jedburgh,  September,  1725.  It 
is  evident  that  when  he  wrote  them  his  imagination  was  among  Cheviot 
scenery  and  the  horrors  of  a  Cheviot  winter. 

71.  'That  haunts  the  imagination.'  Listening  seems  to  be  re- 
dundant. 

73.  Wrapt  in  black  glooms.     Better  in  the  earlier  text  (till  1738) — 
'Striding  the  gloomy  blast,'  an  image  perhaps  suggested  by  Shake- 
speare— 

'  Pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 

Striding  the  blast,'  Sec.— Macbeth,  Act  I.  Sc.  vii. 
First,  joyless  rains  obscure.  Here  begins  a  description  of  a  Winter 
rain-storm  and  its  effects;  it  continues  to  1.  no.  A  description  of  a 
Winter  wind-storm  and  its  effects  follows— to  1.  222;  to  be  in  turn 
succeeded  by  a  description  of  a  snowstorm  and  its  effects,  ending  at 
1.  321- 

74.  with  vapour  foul.     'Foul'  replaces  'vile'  in  the  earlier  text. 
As  an  adjective,  it  qualifies  '  vapour ' — not  '  skies.' 

85.  with  meaning  low.     '  Lowing  for  the  shelter  of  their  stalls  and 
for  the  food  there  provided  for  them.'     The  form  in  the  earlier  text  is 
'  lowe.' 

86.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task,  Bk.  V,  11.  27-30. 

89-93.  The  scene  here  depicted  is  a  cosy  cottage  interior,  forming 
with  its  group  of  rustics,  talking  and  laughing  beside  a  bright  fire, 
a  complete  contrast  to  the  misery  of  the  poultry  and  the  cheerless 
winter  weather  prevailing  without.  It  is  the  condition  of  rustic  life  in 
winter-time  so  beautifully  suggested  by  Horace,  Car.  I.  4 — 'jam 
stabulis  gaudet  pecus  et  arator  igni.'  Only,  the  Scottish  poet  leaves 
the  cattle  '  asking  for  their  stalls  '  or  '  ruminating '  under  a  shed  in  the 
farmyard.  Cp.  for  the  hind's  happy  oblivion  of  the  storm,  Burns's 
description  of  Tam  o'  Shanter  in  the  alehouse  at  Ayr  : — 
'Ae  market-night 

Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right 

Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 

Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely.  .  .  . 

The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  an'  clatter, 

And  aye  the  ale  was  growing  better;  .  .  . 

The  souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories, 

The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus  : 


NOTES,  66-125.  359 

The  storm  without  might  rair  and  rustle, 
Tam  didna  mind  the  storm  a  whistle.' — 11.  37~52- 
90.  taleful  there.     Recounting  by  the  fire  such  country  stories  and 
gossip    as  the   Scots   poet,   Fergusson    (1750-1774),   suggests   in   his 
Farmer's  Ingle. 

94-105.  This  description — of  a  river  in  flood,  or,  as  they  say  in 
Scotland,  '  in  spate ' — is  characteristic  of  Thomson's  style  when  he  is 
handling  a  congenial  subject. :  it  is  bold,  graphic,  and  instantly  sugges- 
tive of  the  whole  scene.     Cp.  Burns's  Brigs  of  Ayr  : — 
'  When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  a'-day  rains 
Wi'  deepening  deluges  overflow  the  plains  ; 
When  from  the  hills  where  springs  the  brawling  Coil, 
Or  stately  Lugar's  mossy  fountains  boil,  .  .  . 
Aroused  by  blustering  winds  and  spotting  thowes, 
In  mony  a  torrent  down  the  snaw-broo  rowes ; 
While  crashing  ice,  borne  on  the  roaring  spate, 
Sweeps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gate, 
And,  from  Glen  buck  down  to  the  Ratton-key, 
Auld  Ayr  is  just  one  lengthened  tumbling  sea,'  &c. 

11.  88-1  oo  (Clarendon  Press  ed.) 

94-96.  Construe — '  The  roused-up  river,  swelled  with  many  a  torrent 
and  with  the  mixed  ruin  of  its  overspread  banks,  at  last  pours  along 
widely  over  its  brim.'  7"he  mixed  ruin  of  its  banks  :  such  as  mills  and 
bridges  and  embankments  (see  Burns,  as  quoted  above),  &c.  The  river 
here  described  is  doubtless  the  Tweed,  or  one  of  its  tributaries. 
98.  rude.  '  Chapt'  in  the  early  editions. 

109,  no.  Perhaps  no  poet  had  a  keener  or  more  appreciative  sense 
of  the   sublime   in   Nature   than   Thomson.     His   genius,   says   John 
Wilson,  '  loves  to   paint   on   a   great   scale,  and  to   dash   objects   off 
sweepingly  by  bold   strokes.'     He   sets   Nature    rather   'before   your 
imagination '  than  before  your  eyes.     He  '  paints  woods — not  trees ; 
paints  in  a  few  wondrous  lines  rivers  from  source  to  sea.' 
113.  powerful  beings.  '  Subtile  '  in  the  earlier  text. 
115.  For  this  line  the  earlier  text  gives — 

'Against  the  day  of  tempest  perilous/ 

118,  119.  Added  after  1738.  The  next  line  opened  the  passage,  and 
ran — 

'  Late  in  the  louring  sky  red  fiery  streaks.' 

125.  a  wan  circle  round  her  blunted  horns.  In  the  earlier  text — • 
*  her  sullied  orb.'  The  ring,  or  halo,  is  often  a  prognostic  of  stormy 
weather.  In  Longfellow's  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus — 


360  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

1  Up  and  spake  an  old  sailor 

Had  sailed  the  Spanish  main, 
"  I  pray  thee  put  into  yonder  port 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane; 

Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 

To-night  no  moon  we  see."' 

126-145.  The  whole  of  this  passage,  except  1.  127  and  1.  130  (where, 
however, '  fluttering  straw'  was  used  for  'withered  leaf '),  was  introduced 
after  the  edition  of  1738.  Much  of  it  seems  to  be  a  recollection  or  a 
copy  of  the  First  Georgic  of  Virgil  :  cp.  for  example,  with  Thomson's 
text— 

(#)  '  Saepe  etiam  Stellas  vento  impendente  videbis 
Praecipites  caelo  labi,  noctisque  per  umbram 
Flammarum  longos  a  tergo  albescere  tractus: 
Saepe  levem  paleam  et  frondes  volitare  caducas, 
Aut  summa  nantes  in  aqua  colludere  plumas.' — 11.  365-369. 
(£)  '  Aut  bucula  caelum 

Suspiciens  patulis  captavit  naribus  auras.' — 11.  375,  376. 
(f)    '  Cum  medio  celeres  revolant  ex  aequore  mergi  (cormorants) 

Clamoremque  ferunt  ad  litora.' — 11.  361,  362. 
(X)  'Notasque  paludes 

Deserit  atque  altam  supra  volat  ardea  (heron)  nubem.' 

11-  363,  364- 
(e)  '  E  pastu  decedens  agmine  magno 

Corvorum  increpuit  densis  exercitus  alis.' — 11.  381,  382. 
(/)  'Ne  nocturna  quidem  carpentes  pensa  puellae 

Nescivere  hiemem,'  &c. — 11.  390,  391. 

J34>  T35-  Even.  Demonstr.  of 'taper.'  The  housewife  is  spinning 
from  a  distaff.  The  flaws,  or  little  gusts  of  air,  that  precede  a  wind- 
storm, making  straws  and  leaves  '  play  '  in '  eddies,'  enter  the  spinster's 
cottage,  and  make  her  candle  gutter,  or  run,  and  the  flame  on  her 
hearth  emit  the  crackling  sound  referred  to. 

140.  blackening  train.  Burns  has  the  same  phrase  in  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night : — 

'  And  blackening  trains  o'  craws  to  their  repose.' 

142.  closing  shelter.     Enclosed,  snug. 

143.  Assiduous  in  his  bower  the  wailing  owl.     '  Assiduous,'  literally 
*  sitting  at ' ;  hence  '  ceaseless ' — as  in  1.  184,  infra.     Cp.  Gray — 

'  From  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain.' — Elegy. 


NOTES,  126-194.  361 

144.  cormorant,  Fr.  cormoran  ;  Lat.  corvus  marinus,  the  sea-crow, 
— the  t  being  excrescent.  The  Breton  word  for  '  sea-crow '  is  morvran, 
from  mory  sea,  and  bran,  crow.  (Prof.  Skeat.)  In  Lat.,  mergus  is  the 
sea-crow. 

153-155.  In  the  original  text — 

*  Then  issues  forth  the  storm  with  mad  control, 
And  the  thin  fabric  of  the  pillared  air 
O'erturns  at  once.' 

157.  A  daring  hyberbole. 

158.  Adopted  at  the  suggestion  of  Pope,  as  a  substitute  for — 

'  Through  the  loud  night  that  bids  the  waves  arise.' 
160-163.  Originally— that  is,  in  all  editions  till  after  that  of  1738 — 
'  Seems,  as  it  sparkles,  all  around  to  burn. 
Meantime,  whole  oceans,  heaving  to  the  clouds, 
And  in  broad  billows  rolling  gathered  seas, 
Surge  over  surge,  burst  in  a  general  roar,'  &c. 
1 66.  inflated.     In  the  early  text  « hilly' ;  while  at  1.  169  <  full-blown ' 
stood  for  '  wintry.' 

175.  Instead  of  this  opening  the  earlier  text  gives — 
'  Nor  raging  here  alone  unreined  at  sea, 
To  land  the  tempest  bears ;  and  o'er  the  cliff 
Where  screams  the  seamew,  foaming  unconfined, 
Fierce  swallows  up  the  long-resounding  shore. 
The  mountain  growls ;    and  all  its  sturdy  sons,'  &c. 
178.  The  introduction  of  the  lone  wayfarer  gives  a  distinctly  human 
interest  to  the  description. 

182.  honours.  Foliage.  'December  .  .  .  silvis  honorem  excutit.' — 
Hor.  Ep.  XI,  5-6. 

191-194.  A  feeling  for  the  supernatural,  probably  of  Scottish  growth, 
was  an  essential  feature  of  Thomson's  genius.  See  Autumn,  Note, 
11.1030-1036;  Summer,  11.  538-564;  and  elsewhere.  Burns  refers  to  the 
abundance  of  tales  and  songs  in  rural  Scotland  '  concerning  devils, 
ghosts,  fairies,  brownies,  witches,  warlocks,  spunkies,  kelpies,  elf- 
candles,  dead-lights,  wraiths,  apparitions,  cantrips  .  .  .  and  other 
trumpery ; '  and  owned  their  effect  upon  his  imagination  to  have  been 
so  strong  that,  to  the  end  of  his  life,  in  his  nocturnal  rambles,  he  found 
himself  '  keeping  a  sharp  look-out  in  suspicious  places.'  (Letter  to  Dr. 
Moore,  Aug.  2,  1787.)  What  was  true  of  Burns  and  his  day,  was 
certainly  not  less  true  of  Thomson  and  his.  The  expression  of  the 
feeling  here  heightens  the  horror  of  the  scene — a  plain  with  its 
awakened  hamlets  and  country  houses  in  the  wild  possession  of  the 
midnight  wind. 


362  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

198.  Cp.  Milton — 

'  How  oft  amidst 

Thick  clouds  and  dark  doth  Heaven's  all-ruling  sire 
Choose  to  reside,  his  glory  unobscured, 
And  with  the  majesty  of  darkness  round 
Covers  his  throne,  from  whence  deep  thunders  roar, 
Mustering  their  rage,  and  Heaven  resembles  Hell  ! ' 

Par,  Lost,  Bk.  II.  11.  263-268. 

199.  '  Who  walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind.' — Psalm  civ.  3. 

200.  commands  a  calm.     See  Mark,  iv.  39. 

204.  while  the  drowsy  world  lies  lost  in  sleep.  Thomson's  favourite 
time  for  reflection  and  the  composition  of  poetry  was  at  midnight. 

208.  meddling  senses.     Distracting  the  contemplative  soul. 

217-222.  The  cheerfully  serious  piety  of  Thomson,  his  strong  sense 
of  the  filial  relation  of  man  to  the  Great  Father  of  us  all,  are  well  ex- 
hibited in  his  Prayer.  The  Scottish  Church  lost  a  great  man  in  Thomson. 
Probably  the  gain  was  all  the  greater  to  English  literature. 

218.  With  Socrates,  Thomson  believed  that  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
virtue  meant  the  practice  of  virtue. 

220,  221.  See  Matthew,  iv.  4  :  '  Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone,'  &c. 

221.  conscious  peace.     Peace  of  conscience  :  an  enlightened  or  rational 
consciousness  of  peace  of  mind. 

228.  And  the  sky  saddens  with  the  gathered  storm.  Cp.  Summer, 
1.  979— 

'And  Mecca  saddens  at  the  long  delay.' 

232.  Originally — '  Sudden  the  fields,'  which  artistically  suggests  the 
transformation  to  a  white  world.  Unfortunately  Thomson  preferred  in 
the  later  editions  to  be  instructive,  and  substituted  '  cherished,'  i.  e. 
'  protected  '  by  the  snow. 

235.  Low  the  woods,  &c.  Cp.  Horace's  'Silvae  laborantes.' — Car. 
L9. 

239.  one  wild .  .  .  waste.     A  favourite  form  of  phrase  with  Thomson. 
Thus   1.    270,    infra,  'one  wide  waft';  Britannia,  1.   230,  'one  wide 
flash  ' ;  and  elsewhere. 

240-245.  Cp.  Pope— 

'Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the  plain? 
The  birds  of  heaven  shall  vindicate  their  grain. 
Thine  the  full  harvest  of  the  golden  year  ? 
Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer.' 

Essay  on  Man,  III,  11.  37-40  (published  1732-4). 

240.  the  labourer-ox.  Milton  has — 'the  laboured  ox,'  coming  with 
loose  traces  from  the  furrow  (Comus,  1.  291).     See  Spring,  Note,  1.  35. 


NOTES,  198-260.  363 

241,  242.  demands  The  fruit  of  all  his  toil.  Has  a  rightful  claim,  in 
the  period  of  his  enforced  idleness,  on  part  of  the  produce  of  his  own 
Spring  and  Autumn  toil. 

244.  The  'winno^ving  store.  The  barn.  After  the  sheaves  were 
threshed  by  the  flail — an  ordinary  winter  task  in  the  old  farm-towns,  and 
performed  in  the  barn — next  came  the  slow  process  of  winnowing,  which 
was  done  by  throwing  up  the  grain  by  means  of  shovels  or  sieves,  while 
a  current  of  air  passing  over  the  threshing-floor,  between  two  opposite 
doors,  blew  away  the  chaff.  While  these  operations  of  threshing  and 
winnowing  went  on  in  winter  time  in  the  barn,  the  doorways  were 
besieged  by  fowls,  pigeons,  wild  birds,  &c.,  which  picked  up  and  fought 
for  the  stray  corn.  Winnowing  by  shovel  was  displaced  by  winnowing 
with  fanners,  the  invention  in  1737  of  a  farmer  called  Andrew  Rodger, 
who,  curiously  enough,  belonged  to  Thomson's  native  county  of  Rox- 
burgh. Even  the  fanners  are  now  regarded  as  old-world  implements. 
(It  is  right  to  notice  that  Knight,  in  his  Pict.  Hist,  of  England,  gives 
the  credit  of  the  invention  to  the  Dutch,  and  refers  the  introduction  of 
it  into  England  to  the  year  1710.) 

claim  the  little  boon.     Cp.  Burns — • 

'  I  doubtna,  whyles,  but  thou  may  thieve  ? 
What  then,  poor  beastie  ?   thou  maun  live ; 
A  daimen  icker  in  a  thrave * 
'S  a  sma'  request. 
I'll  get  a  blessing  wij  the  lave 

And  never  miss  't.' —  To  a  Field-Mouse. 

245-256.  The  picture  of  the  redbreast  helping  himself  to  the  table 
crumbs  is  a  charming  vignette  which,  for  clearness  and  accuracy  of 
drawing,  Thomson  has  nowhere  surpassed.  The  simplicity  of  the 
language  admirably  befits  the  subject.  Note  *  askance '  and  '  slender.' 

246.  sacred  to  the  household  gods.     Dear  to  domestic  tradition;    a 
favourite  or  pet  of  the  household.     See  the  nursery  ballad  The  Babes  in 
the  Wood  ;  also  Webster's  Vittoria  Corombona  (The  White  Devil)— 
'  Call  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren, 
Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover, 
And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 
The  friendless  bodies  of  unburied  men/ 
257-260.   The  hare  ....  the  garden  seeks.     So  Burns — 
'  And  hunger'd  maukin  's  ta'en  her  way 

To  kailyards  green, 
While  faithless  snaws  ilk  step  betray 

Where  she  has  been.' — The  Vision,  I,  11.  3-6. 
1  A  few  stray  ears  from  every  other  shock. 


364  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

261-263.   The  bleating  kind  Eye  the  bleak  heaven,  &c.     Cp.  Scott--* 
'  In  meek  despondency  they  eye 
The  withered  sward  and  wintry  sky.' 

Marmwn,  Canto  I.  Introduction. 

266.  Baffle   the  raging  year.     To  '  baffle '  is  to  '  foil,'  with,  in  the 
original,  a  sense  of  disgrace.     '  Baugh,'  a  word  still  in  use  among  the 
Scottish  peasantry,  is  cognate,  and  signifies  '  dull,'  '  deficient  in  smooth- 
ness or  briskness ' ;  ice  is  said  to  become  *  baugh '  when  the  frost  gives 
way, — the  edge  or  sharpness  is  taken  off. 

267.  food  at  will.     So  that  they  may  have  it  when  they  wish. 

267,  268.  lodge  them  below  the  storm,  And  watch  them  strict.  Place 
them  where  they  will  not  be  exposed  to  the  winter  wind,  in  the  valley,  or 
on  the  lee-side  of  the  hill ;  and  take  care  that  in  the  sheltered  place  they 
do  not  suffer  from  the  danger  peculiar  to  such  a  shelter — the  danger  of 
being  snowed  up,  or  smothered  with  drifted  snow. 

271.  In  one  wide  waft.  A  vast  blanket  of  snow,  thrown  upon  them, 
and  burying  them  under  its  thick  and  weighty  folds. 

273.  -whelms.  Take  in  composition  with  '  o'er  '  in  1.  269  ;  and  con- 
strue— '  And  the  billowy  tempest  o'erwhelms  the  hapless  flocks,'  &c. 
But  probably  Thomson  uses  the  word  as  equivalent  to  the  Scottish  term 
'  whummles/  meaning  '  tumbles  up '  or  '  overturns  ' :  in  this  case  the 
construction  is — '  And  the  whirlwind's  wing  whelms  (i.  e.  overturns)  the 
billowy  tempest  over  the  hapless  flocks,'  &c.  (See  Prof.  Skeat's  interest- 
ing note  on  '  Whelm  '  in  his  Eng.  Etym.  Diet.) 

277.  The  full  fury  of  the  winter  wind  sweeps  up  the  surface-snow  in 
blinding  drift. 

278.  his  own  loose-revolving  fields.     Fields  familiar  to  him,  that  now 
seem  to  be  moving  as  the  whirlwind  catches  up  the  loose  surface-snow 
and  blows  it  in  drift  around  him. 

279.  Disastered. '  Ill-starred,' '  unfortunate,' '  overtaken  with  calamity.' 
Cp.  with  'disaster,'  'consider,'  'influence,'  &c, — words  of  astrological 
origin. 

other  hills — than  those  which   the   same  landscape  in   summer 
presents  to  his  view  ;  snow-clad  hills,  and  heaps  of  driven  snow. 

280.  joyless — as    being   '  unknown,'    '  strange  '   to   him  :    he   is   be- 
wildered. 

285.  flouncing.     An  imitative  word  ;  allied  to  '  flounder.' 

286.  thoughts  of  Jiome.      The    anxiety   of    his    wife    and   children, 
concerned  about  his  long  delay :  their  destitution,  if  he  should  perish, 
&c. 

291.  tufted  cottage.  The  reference  is  probably  to  the  turf  chimney- 
top,  or  ridge,  of  his  thatched  cottage,  just  peering  above  the  snow. 


NOTE,  261-358.  365 

292.  middle  waste.     A  Latinism,  meaning  the  middle  of  the  waste. 

299.  beyond  the  poiver  of  frost.  Into  which,  therefore,  a  fall  would 
mean  death  by  drowning. 

302.  the  still  unfrozen  spring.  'Still'  here  signifies  'always':  cp. 
Shakespeare's  '  still- vext  Bermoothes,'  in  The  Tempest.  For  '  spring,' 
the  earlier  text  (as  late  as  1 738)  gives  '  eye ' :  the  common  country  name 
for  such  a  spring  in  a  marsh  is  still '  well-ee,'  so  named  from  its  round 
shape  and  its  brightness. 

307.  bitterness^  of  death.     That  is,  as  a  personal  suffering  ;  the  phrase 
is  scriptural — '  surely  (said  Agag)  the  bitterness  of  death  is  past '  (i  Sam. 
xv.  32). 

308.  tender  angtiish.     The  absence  of  his  wife,  and  children,  and 
'friends'   (Scots  for   'relatives'),  as   explained   in   1.  310.     (Contrast 
11.  346-348,  infra.} 

311-315.  This  contrasting  scene  in  the  tragedy  of  the  shepherd 
perishing  in  the  snowstorm  is  all  the  more  effective  that  it  is  suddenly 
introduced.  There  is  pathos  of  a  peculiarly  tender  kind  in  the  picture 
of  the  little  children  calling  from  the  doorway  into  the  darkness  for  their 
father. 

311.  officious.  In  its  literal  sense  of  'dutiful.'  Thomson  has  it 
again  in  Lines  to  the  Memory  of  Lord  Talbot — '  the  officious  muse,' 
1.  296. 

311,  312.  Cp.  Gray's  Elegy  (published  1751") — 
'  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.' — 11.  21-24. 
(Cp.  also  Goldsmith's  description  of  the  Swiss  peasant's  home,  in  The 
Traveller.) 

313.  little  children,  peeping  out.  Cp.  a  similar  '  situation '  in  Long- 
fellow's Twilight  :— 

'  In  the  fisherman's  cottage 

There  shines  a  ruddier  light, 
And  a  little  face  at  the  window 

Peers  out  into  the  night,'  &c. — By  the  Seaside. 
321.  Stretched  out '.     Pope's  alteration  for  '  unstretched.' 

bleaching.     Becoming   covered   with   the   falling   and   drifting 
snow. 

322-358.  The  transition  here  is  natural,  and  the  reflections  are  credit- 
able to  the  heart  of  Thomson.  It  is  ignorance  of  the  sufferings  of 
their  fellow-beings,  and  not  heartlessness,  that  makes  so  many  people 
selfish. 


366  THE  SEASONS.  — WINTER. 

334,  335-  the  CUP  °f Srief-     Matthew  xxvi.  42. 

339,  340.  the  fiercer  tortures  of  the  mind,  &c.  Cp.  Gray's  Ode  on  a 
Distant  Prospect  of  Eton  College — 

'These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear, 
The  vultures  of  the  mind  ;     .     .     . 

Keen  Remorse  with  blood  defiled, 
And  moody  Madness  laughing  wild.' 
341.   Whence,  i.  e.  by  reason  of  which. 

345.  honest.  Honourable.  The  *  passions '  here  alluded  to  are 
antithetic  to  those  enumerated  in  1.  340,  supra. 

347.  A  line  followed  here  in  the  earlier  editions,  which  Thomson 
dropt  after  1738: 

'  Like  wailing  pensive  ghosts  awaiting  theirs.' 

348.  point  the  parting  anguish.     Render  more  acute  the  agony  of 
dying. 

349.  350.  the  thousand  nameless  ills,  &c.     Cp.  Shakespeare — 

'The  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to.'— Hamlet,  Act.  Ill,  Sc.  i. 
354>  355-  So  Cowper,  in  The  Task— 

'  It  seems  the  part  of  wisdom,  and  no  sin 
Against  the  law  of  love,  to  measure  lots 
With  less  distinguished  than  ourselves ;  that  thus 
We  may  with  patience  bear  our  moderate  ills, 
And  sympathise  with  others  suffering  more.' 

The  Winter  Evening. 

357>  358-  Construe — '  And  the  social  passions  would  work  into  clear 
perfection,  [a  process  of]  gradual  bliss,  still  refining.'  See  Castle  of 
Indolence,  II,  st.  61. 

359.  the  generous  band.  '  The  generous  few,'  in  the  first  editions. 
The  reference  is  to  the  Jail  Committee  of  1729,  appointed  to  inquire  into 
the  condition  of  the  prisons.  The  state  of  the  Fleet  Prison,  a  receptacle 
for  debtors  from  the  I2th  century,  and  of  the  Marshalsea,  was  at  this 
time,  and  indeed  all  through  the  i8th  century,  notorious.  They  were 
proved  to  have  been  the  scene  of  great  atrocities  and  brutalities.  The 
evils  arose  from  the  extortion  of  the  keepers,  and  from  the  practice  of  the 
Warden— as  the  head  official  of  the  Fleet  was  called — subletting  the 
prison.  (See  an  account  of  the  Fleet  Prison  in  Dickens's  The  Pickwick 
Papers.  By  Act  5  and  6  Viet,  both  the  Fleet  and  the  Marshalsea  were 
at  last  abolished.)  The  work  of  the  Jail  Committee  may  be  said  to 
have  been  continued  and  extended  by  the  philanthropical  exertions  of 
John  Howard  (1726  7-1790);  and  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Fry  (jiee  Gurney), 


NOTES,  334-388.  367 

'  the  female  Howard '  (1780-1845).  (See  Howard's  An  Account  of  the 
Lazarettos,  &c.,  published  in  1789.)  For  a  description  of  the  state  of 
the  prisons  of  England  at  the  time  when  the  Jail  Committee  of  1729-1 730 
was  appointed,  Knight's  Pop.  Hist.,  vol.  vi,  may  be  consulted. 

367.  little  tyrants.  The  jailors,  who  used  instruments  of  torture  upon 
their  unhappy  victims. 

375.  After  this  line,  instead  of  the  six  lines  in  the  final  text,  appeared 
in  the  earlier  editions,  down  to  that  of  1 738,  the  following  passage  : — 
'  Hail,  patriot  band !  who,  scorning  secret  scorn, 
When  justice  and  when  mercy  led  the  way, 
Dragged  the  detected  monsters  into  light, 
Wrenched  from  their  hand  oppression's  iron  rod, 
And  bade  the  cruel  feel  the  pains  they  gave. 
Yet  stop  not  here,  let  all  the  land  rejoice 
And  make  the  blessing  unconfined  as  great. 
[Much  still  untouched  remains  ; '  &c.] 

384.  The  toils  of  law.  Not  the  labours — but  the  net,  or  snare,  of  law. 
See  Autumn,  11.  1291-1294,  where  Thomson  returns  to  his  early  attack 
upon  the  abuse  of  law  by  pettifoggers — 

'Let  these 

Ensnare  the  wretched  in  the  toils  of  law,'  &c. 

'  Toils,'  Fr.  toiles,  snares  for  wild  beasts ;  in  the  singular,  toile,  cloth ; 
from  Lat.  tela  (for  texla)  a  web ;  texo,  I  weave. 

388.  Here  followed,  so  late  as  the  edition  of  1738,  a  series  of  twenty- 
one  lines,  which  in  the  later  editions  Thomson  partly  dropped,  and 
partly,  with  but  slight  verbal  alterations,  elsewhere  incorporated  with 
the  text  of  Winter.  The  series  commenced — 

'Yet  more  outrageous  is  the  season  still, 

A  deeper  horror,  in  Siberian  wilds.' 

Then  followed  the  three  lines  which  will  be  found  in  the  description  of 
'  the  wild  stupendous  scene  '  at  the  pole,  11.  895-897,  infra.  Next  came 
the  graphic  picture  of  the  bear  '  with  dangling  ice  all  horrid,'  to  be  found 
at  11.  827-833,  infra.  And  the  remaining  nine  lines  of  the  series  ran 
thus : — 

'  WThile  tempted  vigorous  o'er  the  marble  waste, 
On  sleds  reclined,  the  furry  Russian  sits ; 
And,  by  his  reindeer  drawn,  behind  him  throws 
A  shining  kingdom  in  a  winter's  day. 

Or  from  the  cloudy  Alps  and  Apennine, 
Capt  with  gray  mists  and  everlasting  snows ; 
Where  Nature  in  stupendous  ruin  lies, 
And  from  the  leaning  rock,  on  either  side, 


368  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

Gush  out  those  streams  that  classic  song  renowns : 
[Cruel  as  death,'  &c.] 

389-413.  This  account  of  the  ferocity  of  the  wolf  is  scarcely 
overcharged.  The  animal  is  still  a  common  winter  horror  in  various 
parts  of  Europe.  In  severe  winters  it  descends  in  hungry  packs 
from  the  forests  of  the  Apennines,  Alps,  and  Pyrenees,  and  is  greatly 
dreaded  by  the  villagers  and  country  people  of  the  adjacent  regions. 
Many  terrible  stories  have  been  told  of  the  pursuit  of  travellers  by  wolves 
in  Russia,  France,  and  Spain.  It  is  only  when  severely  pressed  by 
hunger  that  wolves  dare  to  attack  man — in  general  they  are  cowardly 
and  sneaking;  but  their  ravages  among  sheep,  and  even  cattle  of  full 
growth,  and  horses,  are  a  serious  yearly  loss  to  those  countries  which 
they  infest.  They  used  to  be  plentiful  in  the  British  Isles,  and  in  Saxon 
England  January  used  to  be  known  as  the  Wolf-month.  When  they 
disappeared  from  England  is  not  well  known,  but  they  continued  to 
plunder  field  and  fold  in  Scotland  down  to  the  time  of  the  Union  of  the 
Crowns.  Cameron  of  Lochiel  is  said  to  have  slain  the  last  Scottish  wolf 
in  1680. 

405,  406.  Even  beauty,  &c.  A  fanciful  idea,  common  in  one  shape 
or  another  in  many  mediaeval  romances.  Thus  royalty,  chastity,  and 
other  eminent  qualities  besides  beauty,  were  believed  to  be  respected  by 
the  lion.  Cp.  Shakespeare,  I  King  Henry  IV,  Act  II.  sc.  iv ;  Milton's 
Comus,  11.  441-452;  Spenser's  Faery  Queene,  &c. 

407.  undistinguished.     In  no  way  favoured  or  respected  over  others. 

413.  Thus  adding  a  new  and  real  horror  to  churchyard  superstitions. 
The  subject  is  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  the  superstitious 
peasant. 

Mixed  with  foul  shades. 

'  Those  thick  and  gloomy  shadows  damp 
Oft  seen  in  charnel  vaults  and  sepulchres 
Lingering  and  sitting.' — Comus,  11.  470-472. 

414-423.  This  passage  does  not  appear  in  the  earlier  editions.  It 
was  introduced  after  the  edition  of  1738. 

The  most  easterly  of  the  Cantons  of  Switzerland  bears  the  French 
name  of  Grisons,  and  the  German  name  of  Graiibundten — both  given  to 
the  district  for  the  same  reason,  the  circumstance  of  the  inhabitants 
wearing  a  dress  of  gray  homespun.  The  bund,  or  states,  into  which  the 
inhabitants  of  the  different  valleys  of  this  hilly  region  formed  themselves 
so  early  as  the  I4th  century,  were  for  mutual  defence  and  protection, 
from  the  exactions  of  the  numerous  resident  nobility.  The  country 
is  an  assemblage  of  hills  and  valleys  of  very  various  climate  and  fertility, 
and  lying  in  the  basin  of  the  head-waters  of  the  Danube,  the  Rhine,  and 


NOTES,  389-437.  369 

the  Ticino.  The  famous  long  and  lovely  valley  of  the  Engadine  is  in 
this  canton.  The  people  are  largely  engaged  in  pastoral  and  sylvan 
industries — the  chief  exports  being  cattle,  cheese,  and  timber.  The 
country  has  long  been  subject  to  the  terror  of  avalanches — the  devastating 
descent  of  large  masses  of  snow  from  the  mountain  cliffs  and  slopes  to 
the  valleys.  Just  the  year  after  Thomson's  death,  an  event  which 
occurred  in  1748,  a  village  of  Grisons,  Rueras,  in  the  Tarvich  valley, 
was  enveloped  and  pushed  from  its  place  by  an  avalanche  during  the 
night ;  so  quietly  was  this  done  that  the  inhabitants  continued  to  sleep, 
and  only  wondered  when  they  awoke  why  daylight  was  so  long  in 
dawning.  Unfortunately  many  of  them  perished  before  they  were 
dug  out. 

424-616.  This  long  passage  is  a  remarkable  feature  of  the  poem.  It 
deals  mainly  with  the  manner  and  circumstances  in  which  Thomson,  if 
he  had  been  free  to  choose,  would  have  preferred  to  spend  the  months 
of  winter.  Nearly  one  half  of  it  appeared  for  the  first  time  subse- 
quently to  1 738. 

431-433.  There  studious  let  me  sit,  &c.     Cp.  Malloch — 
'From  thought  to  thought  in  vision  led, 
He  holds  high  converse  with  the  dead ; 
Sages  or  Poets.     See,  they  rise  ! 
And  shadowy  skim  before  his  eyes.     .     .     . 
Lo !   Socrates,  the  seer  of  heaven 
To  whom  its  moral  will  was  given. 
Fathers  and  friends  of  humankind, 
They  formed  the  nation,  or  refined, 
With  all  that  mends  the  head  and  heart 
Enlightening  truth,  adorning  art.' — A  Fragment. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  whether  Malloch  is  the  debtor  or  the  creditor  :  the 
pieces  are  undoubtedly  related.  There  was  a  brisk  commerce  of  literary 
ideas,  and  a  constant  interchange  of  literary  work  between  Thomson 
and  Malloch  from  1725  to  1727,  and  probably  both  before  and  after  those 
dates. 

Cp.  Southey,  in  his  library  : — 

'My  days  among  the  dead  are  past; 

Around  me  I  behold, 
Where'er  these  casual  eyes  are  cast, 

The  mighty  minds  of  old.' 

437.  The  long-lived  volume.  The  reference  is  probably  to  Plutarch's 
famous  Parallel  Lives,  of  forty-six  Greeks  and  Romans  arranged  in  pairs 
for  the  purpose  of  comparison,  each  pair— the  one  a  Greek,  the  other 
a  Roman — constituting  a  biblion.  The  work  has  been  exceedingly 

Bb 


370  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

popular  in  ancient,  mediaeval,  and  modern  times.  Of  the  thirteen 
Greeks  in  Thomson's  list,  from  Socrates  to  Philopoemen,  Plutarch 
includes  ten,  viz.  Solon,  Lycurgus,  Aristides,  Cimon,  Timoleon, 
Pelopidas,  Phocion,  Agis,  Aratus,  and  Philopoemen ;  and  of  the 
eleven  Romans  in  Thomson's  list,  from  Numa  to  Marcus  Brutus, 
Plutarch  includes  five,  viz.  Numa,  Camillus,  Tullius  Cicero,  Cato  the 
Younger,  and  Marcus  Brutus. 

438.  The  sacred  shades.  The  venerated  spirits  of  great  men,  long 
since  dead,  hut  famous  to  all  future  time. 

4^9-528.  This  long  passage  of  ninety  lines  is  an  expansion  of  the 
original  text,  which  appeared  in  all  the  earlier  editions  down  to  and 
including  that  of  1738,  and  consisted  of  only  some  twenty  lines. 
Those  twenty  lines  named  or  referred  to  only  nine  of  the  distinguished 
men  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome.  The  expansion  seems  to  have  been 
suggested,  and,  to  the  extent  of  nearly  one-half,  actually  made  by  Pope. 
The  original  text  ran  as  follows  : — 

'First  Socrates, 

Whose  simple  question  to  the  folded  heart 
Stole  unperceived,  and  from  the  maze  of  thought 
Evolved  the  secret  truth,— a  god-like  man! 
Solon  the  next,  who  built  his  commonweal 
On  equity's  wide  base.     Lycurgus  then, 
Severely  good  ;   and  him  of  nigged  Rome, 
Numa,  who  softened  her  rapacious  sons ; 
Cimon,  sweet-souled ;    and  Aristides,  just ; 
With  that  attempered  hero,  mild  and  firm, 
Who  wept  the  brother,  while  the  tyrant  bled  ; 
Unconquered  Cato,  virtuous  in  extreme; 
Scipio,  the  human  warrior,  gently  brave, 
Who  soon  the  race  of  spotless  glory  ran, 
And,  warm  in  youth,  to  the  poetic  shade 
With  friendship  and  philosophy  retired  ; 
And,  equal  to  the  best,  the  Theban  twain 
Who  single  raised  their  country  into  fame. 
Thousands  behind,  the  boast  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
Whom  virtue  owns,  the  tribute  of  a  verse 
Demand ; — but  who  can  count  the  stars  of  heaven  ? ' 
43Q.  Socrates.    A  great  Athenian  philosopher,  born  B.C.  469.   It  was 
not  till  B.C.  406  that  he  filled  any  political  office.     In  that  year  he  was 
a  member  of  the  Senate  of  the  Five  Hundred,  and  had  the  great  moral 
courage  to  refuse  to  put  to  the  vote  a  question  which  he  regarded  as 
unconstitutional :    he   refused   also   to    obey  the  order  of  the  Thirty 


NOTES,  438-450.  371 

Tyrants  for  the  apprehension  of  Leon  of  Salamis.  He  incurred  the 
hatred  of  the  Tyrants,  who  passed  a  law,  levelled  specially  at  him, 
forbidding  the  teaching  of  oratory ;  and  he  incurred  the  enmity  of  the 
democracy  by  his  friendship  for  the  haughty  Alcibiades  and  the  cynical 
Critias.  He  was  accused  of  introducing  the  worship  of  new  divinities  and 
of  corrupting  young  people  by  his  novel  doctrines,  religious  and  political. 
During  his  trial  he  behaved  with  a  manly  independence  and  superiority 
of  manner  which  irritated  his  judges  ;  refused  to  say  or  do  anything 
that  would  conciliate  them  ;  and  accepted  his  sentence  of  death  with 
equanimity,  and  even  cheerfulness.  Thirty  days  after  sentence  he  drank 
the  cup  of  hemlock  juice,  and  died  with  composure,  being  then  in  his 
7oth  year.  His  teaching  was  carried  on  wherever  he  could  find  a 
listener— in  the  street,  the  workshop,  or  the  field.  His  method  was 
peculiar  :  it  was  not  the  conveyance  of  ready-made  knowledge  by  direct 
instruction,  but  the  development,  by  a  series  of  questions,  of  the  know- 
ledge that  was  already  in  the  mind  of  his  disciple.  His  objects  in 
undertaking  at  his  own  hand  the  post  of  public  teacher  of  the  youth 
and  manhood  of  Athens  were  to  awaken  the  sense  of  moral  responsi- 
bility, and  to  guide  the  impulse  after  self-knowledge.  He  directed  his 
own  conduct  by  a  divine  voice,  which,  even  from  his  childhood,  he  had 
been  always  hearing :  it  put  a  restraint  upon  words  he  was  about  to 
speak,  upon  actions  he  was  about  to  perform.  This  warning  voice  is 
commonly  spoken  of  as  the  Daimon  or  guiding  spirit  of  Socrates. 
Thomson  regards  it  as  simply  an  enlightened  and  sensitive  conscience. 
With  Socrates  knowledge  was  virtue.  (See  Note,  11.  209-216,  supra1.} 

446.  Solon.  A  famous  lawgiver  of  Athens,  one  of  the  Seven  Sages, 
born  about  638  B.C.  When  he  was  44  years  of  age  he  was  chosen 
archon,  and  in  virtue  of  his  office  was  invested  with  supreme  power  to 
institute  all  necessary  measures  for  the  safety  and  prosperity  of  the 
State.  He  remodelled  the  constitution,  basing  his  laws,  as  Thomson 
says,  'on  equity's  wide  base.'  He  secured  by  the  promise  of  the 
citizens  a  trial  of  at  least  ten  years  for  his  laws.  He  is  said  to  have 
spoken  of  his  laws,  as  cby  no  means  the  best  that  could  have  been 
framed,  but  as  the  best  the  Athenians  would  have  received.'  Among 
his  laws  and  institutions  may  be  noted — a  graduated  income-tax,  a 
deliberative  assembly  of  representative  members,  the  liability  of  people 
to  support  their  aged  parents  if  in  their  youth  they  had  been  taught 
some  trade  or  profession  by  the  parents,  &c. 

450.  the  laurelled  field  of  finer  arts.     The  sphere  of  poetry,  painting, 
sculpture,  &c.  in  which  the  ancient  Greeks  excelled.    The  laurel,  sacred 
to  the  Muses,  was  bestowed  on  those  who  excelled  in  the  arts. 
1  See  Thomson's  Liberty,  Part  II.  11.  222-235. 
B  b  2 


372  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

452.  smiling  Greece.  Their  approving  and  delighted  countrymen. 

453-  Lycurgiis.  From  Athens  Thomson  now  turns  for  a  while  to 
Sparta.  Lycurgus,  who  flourished  about  the  middle  of  the  eighth  century 
B.C.,  was  the  originator  of  the  famous  Spartan  laws,  the  result  of  which 
was  to  make  Sparta  a  nation  of  soldiers.  The  city  was  a  camp,  every 
man  a  soldier.  The  interest  of  the  State  was  supreme,  and  the  citizen 
existed  only  for  it.  The  education  of  the  Spartan  was  undertaken  by 
the  State:  from  his  childhood  each  male  was  inured  to  a  system  of 
severe  discipline ;  there  was  no  home  life,  the  meals  were  common, 
and  life  was  spent  in  barracks  ;  commerce  was  discouraged  by  the  intro- 
duction of  iron  money ;  agriculture  was  left  to  slaves  or  Helots,  and 
despised  ;  in  short  the  Spartans  were  warriors,  and  nothing  else. 
These  laws  laid  the  foundation  of  the  military  supremacy  of  Sparta. 

456.  at  Thermopylae  he  glorious  fell.  This  was  Leonidas,  king  of 
Sparta.  He  was  captain  of  the  three  hundred  who  kept  the  passage  at 
Thermopylae  against  the  host  of  Persian  invaders.  In  the  desperate 
battle  in  front  of  the  pass  he  was  among  the  first  to  fall,  B.C.  480.  Ther- 
mopylae (the  Hot  Gates — so  named  from  the  hot  springs  in  the  middle 
of  the  pass)  lay  between  Mount  Oeta  and  the  marshy  edge  of  the  Malic 
Gulf,  and  was  the  only  pass  by  which  an  enemy  could  penetrate  into 
southern  Greece  from  the  north.  The  Western  Gate  was  so  narrow 
that  there  was  only  room  for  a  single  chariot  between  the  mountain  and 
the  marsh.  (See  Liberty,  II.  1.  1 79.) 

459.  Aristides.  The  poet  now  returns  to  Athens.  Aristides,  sur- 
named  The  Just,  had  for  his  rival  the  'haughty'  Themistocles.  He  was 
ostracised  about  the  year  482  B.C.,  but  returned  from  his  banishment  to 
apprise  Themistocles  of  the  position  of  the  Persian  fleet.  The  result 
of  his  communication  was  the  great  naval  victory  for  Greece  of  the 
battle  of  Salamis,  B.C.  480.  After  the  battle  Aristides  was  recalled,  and 
reinstated  in  popular  favour.  He  continued  to  do  noble  service  for 
Athens  till  his  death,  probably  in  468  B.C.,  but  died  so  poor  that  the 
property  he  left  was  insufficient  to  bury  him. 

4r>6.  Cimon.  Son  of  Miltiades,  the  hero  of  Marathon.  He  was  the 
great  Athenian  ruler  in  the  interval  between  the  death  of  Aristides  and 
the  rise  of  Pericles.  It  was  at  the  time  of  the  Persian  invasion  of 
Greece  (480  B.C.)  that  he  first  distinguished  himself.  After  the  victory 
at  Platsea  he  was  brought  forward  by  Aristides.  He  gained  many 
subsequent  victories  over  the  Persians.  Wealthy  with  Persian  spoil  he 
expended  his  riches  freely  for  the  gratification  of  the  Athenians  and  the 
security  of  Athens.  He  kept  a  free  table,  and  threw  open  to  all  and 
sundry  his  beautiful  gardens  and  pleasure  grounds.  With  part  of  the 
Persian  treasure  he  increased  the  fortification  of  the  citadel,  and  laid  the 


NOTES,  452-490-  373 

foundation  of  the  long  walls  from  Athens  to  the  Pirceus.  He  was  of  a 
frank  and  affable  disposition,  and  in  early  life  too  much  inclined  to 
habits  of  conviviality. 

472.  in  unequal  times.  Either  in  times  inferior  in  glory  to  those  just 
referred  to,  or,  more  probably,  in  times  unworthy  of  the  great  men  now 
to  be  named. 

474.  Timoleon,  A  native  of  Corinth.  His  brother  Timophanes 
having  formed  the  design  of  making  himself  tyrant  of  their  native  city, 
Timoleon,  in  his  passion  for  the  liberty  of  the  State,  slew  him  with  his 
own  hand.  He  almost  immediately  thereafter  conducted  an  expedition 
to  Sicily  to  repel  the  Carthaginians,  and  restore  order  in  the  island. 
This  was  in  344  B.C.  The  history  of  his  successes  reads  like  a  romance. 
He  died  at  Syracuse  in  377  B.C.,  and  was  buried  in  the  market-place  at 
the  public  expense. 

476.  the  Theban  pair.  Epaminondas,  the  hero  of  Leuctra  and 
Mantinea — two  great  victories  over  the  Spartans,  the  last  fatal  to 
himself  (362  B.C.)  ;  and  Pelopidas,  his  friend,  who  also  aided  in 
raising  Thebes  over  Sparta  and  Athens  to  the  supremacy  of  Greece. 

481.  Phocion  the  Good.  An  Athenian  general  and  statesman,  born 
about  the  year  402  B.C.  When  Demosthenes  and  others  were  urging 
opposition  to  Philip  of  Macedon,  Phocion  counselled  peace  :  his  opposi- 
tion to  the  war-party  brought  about  his  condemnation,  and  he  drank 
the  hemlock,  in  317  B.C.,  at  the  age  of  85.  He  is  to  be  commended 
for  his  private  qualities ;  his  public  virtue  was  at  least  above  suspicion. 

488.  Agis.  The  fourth  of  the  name,  kings  of  Sparta.  Agis  IV 
reigned  from  244  to  240  B.C.  He  attempted  a  re-establishment  of  the 
laws  of  Lycurgus,  but  was  opposed  by  his  colleague  Leonidas  (the 
Second)  and  the  wealthy  citizens,  thrown  into  prison,  and  afterwards  put 
to  death. 

490.  The  two  Achcean  heroes.  Aratus  and  Philopcemen.  They 
were  in  succession  the  chiefs  of  the  Achaian  League — a  confederation  of 
the  states  of  Achaia,  in  the  north  of  the  Peloponnesus,  which  had  for  its 
object  the  union  of  Greece.  Aratus  was  more  successful  as  a  diplo- 
matist than  as  a  general.  In  a  dissension,  however,  with  Philip  of 
Macedon,  who  was  bent  on  the  conquest  of  Greece,  he  was  put  to 
death  by  poison,  213  B.C.  Philopcemen  was  appointed  General  of  the 
League  in  208  B.C.  He  was  a  successful  general,  frequently  defeating 
the  Spartans  ;  but  in  183  B.C.,  on  an  enterprise  to  punish  the  Messenians 
for  their  revolt  from  the  League,  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  compelled 
to  drink  poison.  He  is  regarded  as  '  the  last  of  the  Greeks.'  In  the 
intervals  of  warfare,  it  is  said,  he  withdrew  to  the  cultivation  of  his  farm. 

498.  Of  rougher  front.     The  Romans. 


374  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

499.  those  virtuous  times.  Of  the  early  kings,  and  of  the  early 
republic. 

502.  Romulus  was  the  founder  of  Rome ;  Numa  Pompilius,  his 
successor,  gave  the  Romans  their  religion. 

504:  Servius,  the  king.  Servius  Tullius,  sixth  king  of  Rome.  He  is 
famous  less  for  military  achievement  than  for  his  foundation  of  all  the 
civil  rights  and  institutions  of  ancient  Rome. 

507.  The  public  father  who  the  private  quelled.  Thomson's  note 
here  is — '  Marcus  Junius  Brutus' ;  but  this  is  clearly  a  mistake.  Marcus 
is  referred  to  at  1.  524,  infra.  Lucius  is  meant.  After  the  rape  of 
Lucretia,  Lucius  Junius  Brutus  roused  the  Romans  against  the  Tar- 
quins,  and  on  their  expulsion  he  became  first  consul  of  the  Republic. 
On  his  two  sons  joining  in  an  attempt  to  restore  the  Tarquins  he 
ordered  them  to  be  put  to  death. 

510.  Camillus.     Marcus  Furius  Camillus.     After  many  military  ex- 
ploits to  the  glory  of  Rome,  he  was  driven  into  banishment  on  a  charge 
of  unfair  division  of  the  spoils  of  Veii ;    but  when,  in  390  B.C.,  the 
Gauls  took  Rome  and  threatened  its  destruction,  the  Romans  in  the 
Capitol  made  him  Dictator  in  his  absence,  and  sent  for  him  as  the 
only  possible  saviour  of  the  State.    He  accordingly  returned  ;  and,  with 
a  hastily  gathered  army,  attacked  and  completely  routed  the  Gauls. 
The  victory  won  for  him  the  title  of  the  Second  Romulus.    He  was  five 
times  Dictator,  and  continued  fighting  and  defeating  Volscians,  Gauls, 
and  other  enemies  of  Rome,  till  his  8oth  year,  when  he  died  of  the 
plague,  365  B.C. 

511.  Fabricius.     Like  Cincinnatus,  a  favourite  representative  of  the 
integrity  and  simplicity  of  the  heroic  times  of  ancient  Rome.     Pyrrhus, 
king  of  Epirus,  was  invading  Italy,  280  B.C.,  and  Fabricius  was  the 
Roman  legate  appointed  to  treat  with  him.     Pyrrhus,  to  win  him  to  his 
side,  alternately  offered   money  and   intimidation,  but   in   vain  ;    the 
inflexible  Roman  was  to  be  conquered  neither  by  gold  nor  coercion. 
He  lived  poor,  on  the  produce  of  his  hereditary  farm  ;  and,  after  doing 
noble  service  as  general  and  legislator  for  his  country,  died  poor — 
leaving  his  dowerless  daughters  to  the  bounty  of  the  Senate. 

512.  Cincinnatus.     This  is  Thomson's  favourite   Roman  hero:    he 
has  several  references  to  him.     (See  Spring,  11.  58-65.)     In  Liberty, 
Part  III.  11.  143-147,  he  is  alluded  to  as — 

'ready,  a  rough  swain,  to  guide  the  plough; 
Or  else,  the  purple  o'er  his  shoulder  thrown 
In  long  majestic  flow,  to  rule  the  state 
With  wisdom's  purest  eye;    or,  clad  in  steel, 
To  drive  the  steady  battle  on  the  foe.' 


NOTES,  498-521.  375 

He  was  twice  called  from  his  farm,  which  he  cultivated  with  his  own 
har.ds,  to  assume  the  dictatorship  in  times  of  great  emergency  ;  in  458 
B.C.,  and  again,  when  he  was  80,  in  439.  On  the  first  occasion,  he 
saved  the  Roman  army,  routed  the  enemy,  and  was  back  again  at  his 
farm,  within  sixteen  days. 

513.  Thy  willing  victim,  Carthage.  Regulus.  After  winning  many 
victories  over  the  Carthaginians  in  Africa,  he  sustained  a  terrible  defeat 
in  a  sanguinary  battle  in  which  30,000  of  his  men  were  slain,  and,  being 
taken  prisoner,  remained  a  captive  in  Carthage  for  five  years.  He  was 
then  ordered  to  accompany  an  embassy  which  was  sent  to  Rome  with  the 
object  of  securing  peace,  or  at  least  an  exchange  of  noble  prisoners. 
He  advised  the  Senate  to  enter  into  no  negotiations,  but  to  continue  the 
war  against  Carthage  at  all  hazards.  The  Senate  took  his  passionately 
urged  advice,  and  he  prepared,  as  he  had  promised,  to  return  to  his 
captivity.  His  friends  and  relatives  in  vain  implored  him  to  remain  in 
Rome.  On  his  return  to  Carthage  he  was  put  to  death  with  a  refinement 
of  cruelty  hardly  credible.  Thomson  elsewhere  repeats  the  story  of  his 
heroic  fulfilment  of  his  promise: — 

'  Regulus  the  wavering  Fathers  'firmed 

By  dreadful  counsel,  never  given  before ; 

For  Roman  honour  sued,  and  his  own  doom. 

Hence  he  sustained  to  dare  a  death  prepared 

By  Punic  rage.     On  earth  his  manly  look 

Relentless  fixed,  he  from  a  last  embrace, 

By  chains  polluted,  put  his  wife  aside, 

His  little  children  climbing  for  a  kiss  ; 

Then  dumb,  through  rows  of  weeping,  wondering  friends, 

A  new  illustrious  exile  pressed  along.' 

Liberty,  III.  11.  166-175. 

517.  Scipio,  the  gentle  chief.  Not  the  great  Scipio,  but  the  adopted 
son  of  his  son.  He  is  known  as  Scipio  Africanus  Minor.  He  served 
with  distinction  in  Spain,  and  on  the  outbreak  of  the  third  Punic  war, 
in  149  B.C.,  he  went  to  Africa,  and  after  the  great  glory  of  taking 
Carthage,  146  B.C.,  reduced  Africa  to  the  condition  of  a  Roman 
province.  The  downfall  of  Carthage  brought  tears  to  his  eyes.  He 
was  well  read  in  Grecian  literature,  and  consorted  with  such  writers  as 
Polybius  the  historian,  Terentius  the  dramatist,  Lucilius  the  poet,  &c. 
His  friendship  for  Lselius  is  celebrated  in  Cicero's  dialogue  De 
Amicitia. 

521.  Tully.  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero,  the  great  Roman  orator  and 
statesman,  and  an  illustrious  writer  on  many  subjects — literary,  political, 
and  philosophical.  His  exposure  and  suppression  of  the  dangerous 


376  THE  SEASONS.  —  WINTER. 

conspiracy  of  Catiline  gained  for  him  the  title  of '  Father  of  his  country.' 
Born  in  106  B.C.,  he  was  consul  in  63  B.C.,  and  nearly  twenty-one  years 
later  was  killed  by  the  soldiers  of  Antony.  He  was  then  within  a  few 
weeks  of  completing  his  64th  year. 

522.  rushing  Rome.    Rapidly  declining  Rome.    The  power  of  Rome 
was  not  declining,  but  great  encroachment  was  being  made  on  consti- 
tutional liberty. 

523.  Unconquered  Cato,   virtuous  in  extreme.      The   reference   is 
rather  to  Cato  Uticensis   than  Cato  Censor.     Cato  the  younger  was 
born  95  B.C.     He  was  conspicuous  from  early  manhood  for  the  stern- 
ness of  his  character,  and  the  purity  of  his  morals.     As  a  leader  of  the 
aristocratic   party   he   opposed    Julius   Caesar  and   Pompey.      Africa 
submitted  to  Caesar,  except  only  Utica,  in  which  Cato  resolved  to  make 
a  stand  ;  but  when  he  saw  that  the  Romans  in  Utica  were  inclined  to 
submit  he  committed  suicide  rather  than  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
conqueror.      (See  Addison's    Cato — 'Caesar  shall  never  say  "I  con- 
quered Cato."  ' — Act  IV.  sc.  iv.      Also  Pope's    Temple  of  Fame — 
'Unconquered  Cato  shews  the  wound  he  tore.' — 1.  176.) 

524.  unhappy  Brutus.     Marcus  Junius  Brutus,  a  noble  Roman  who 
joined  the  conspiracy  of  Cassius,  and  murdered  his  friend  Julius  Caesar 
in  the  belief  that  Caesar's  death  was  necessary  for  the  preservation  of  the 
Republic.     He  was   afterwards   defeated   by  Antony  and  Octavius  at 
Philippi,  42  B.C.,  and  perished  on  the  battle-field  by  his  own  hand. 

532.  Ph&bus.      The  sun-god   Apollo,   who   was  also  the  god    of 
poetry. 

the  Mantuan  swain.  Virgil,  born  at  Andes  near  Mantua  on  the 
Mincius,  70  B.C.  He  is  called  a  '  swain  '  from  the  nature  of  his  Georgics 
and  Eclogues,  which  are  on  rural  subjects.  His  great  poem,  the  ^neid, 
is  one  of  the  world's  three  great  epics,  and  gives  in  language  of  singular 
lucidity  and  sweetness  a  mythical  account  of  the  origin  of  the  Roman 
people.  He  died  in  the  year  19  B.C. 

533.  Homer.      The   great  Greek  epic   poet;   author   of  the   Iliad, 
which  describes  the  history  of  the  siege  of  Troy ;  and  the   Odyssey, 
which  narrates  the  story  of  the  return  of  Odysseus  from  the  Trojan 
wars. 

534.  Parent  of  song.   In  the  Temple  of  Fame,  Pope  describes  Homer 
as  the  '  Father  of  verse.' 

535-  The  British  muse.  The  great  English  epic  poet  was,  of  course, 
John  Milton,  born  1608,  died  1674.  He  wrote  Paradise  Lost,  Paradise 
Regained,  Comus,  Lycidas,  Samson  Agonistes,  &c.  In  the  next  line 
'darkling' — a  phrase  employed  by  Milton  himself— literally,  'in  the 
dark,'  refers  to  the  blindness  which  afflicted  both  Homer  and  Milton. 


NOTES,  522-546. 


377 


Thomson  (1.  534,  supra)  ranks  Milton  on  an  equality  with  Homer :  it 
was  Milton's  ambition  to  rank  with  him — '  blind  Mseonides' — 

*  equalled  with  me  in  fate, 
So  were  I  equalled  with  [him]  in  renown.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  III.  11.  33,  34- 
Dryden  goes  farther — 

'  Three  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn  : 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpassed; 
The  next  in  majesty ;   in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  farther  go, 
To  make  the  third  she  joined  the  other  two.' 

For  a  fuller  criticism  of  Milton's  genius  by  Thomson,  see  Summer, 
11.  1567-1571.     See  also  Cowper's  Table  Talk,  11.  555-558. 

536.  full  up  the  middle  steep  to  fame.     'Right  up  the  hill  to  the 
very  top.'     The  completeness  of  the  achievement  is  indicated  by  '  full'; 
the  directness  of  the  ascent — proof  of  strength  and  energy  of  genius — by 
'  middle.'     '  The  middle  steep'  is,  of  course,  a  Latin  idiom  :  so,  1.  292 
supra,  '  the  middle  waste.' 

537.  Nor  absent  are  those  shades,  &c.     See   1.  438,  supra.     The 
reference  here  is  to  the  three  great  Greek  tragic  poets,  ^Eschylus  (born 
525  B.C.),  Sophocles  (born  495  B.C.),  and  Euripides   (born   480   B.C., 
at  Salamis  and  on  the  day  of  the  battle). 

537-540.     In  the  earlier  text  the  first  and  principal  notice  was  given 
to  the  lyrical  poets  (such  as  Pindar,  Alcgeus,  Sappho,  Anacreon),  and 
the  great  tragic  dramatists  were  disposed  of  in  a  single  line — 
'  Nor  absent  are  those  tuneful  shades,  I  ween, 
Taught  by  the  graces,  whose  enchanting  touch 
Shakes  every  passion  from  the  various  string ; 
Nor  those,  who  solemnise  the  moral  scene.' 

538.  Pathetic  drew  the  impassioned  heart.    The  expression  is  capable 
of  two  meanings;  either — 'delineated  in  drama  the  pathetic  tragedy  of 
human  suffering,'  or — '  evoked  by  his  dramas  the  profoundest  feelings 
(of  pity  or  terror)  of  his  audience.'     In  1.  537  the  word  '  touch  '  applies 
equally  to  the  pencil  and  the  lyre,  and  in  either  application  is  quite  in 
accord  with  '  drew '  of  the  following  line. 

541.  First  of  your  kind.     First  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  '  best.'    In 
this  sense  it  is  frequently  used  by  Burns. 

546,  547.  For  these  two  lines  the  earlier  text  gave — 

'  Save  Lycidas,  the  friend,  with  sense  refined.' 

546.  a  few  chosen  friends .     Thomson  had  many  friends,  and  scarcely 
an   enemy — it  would   be  hard  to  mention  one.     He  was  'that  right 


378  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

friendly  bard '  to  all  his  brethren.  To  Lyttelton  he  was  '  one  of  the 
best  and  most  beloved  of  my  friends.'  To  Murdoch  and  Forbes  he  was 
'  honest-hearted  Thomson  ' — tried,  amiable,  open.  The  '  few  chosen 
friends '  who  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  Thomson  when  he  wrote  these 
words  at  Richmond  (where  he  settled  in  1736}  included  Pope,  Ham- 
mond, Collins,  Dr.  Armstrong,  his  neighbours  the  Robertsons,  Mallet, 
occasionally  Quin,  and  (as  often  as  he  thought  he  would  be  welcome) 
Millar  the  publisher.  Thomson  never  '  chose '  his  friends ;  they  were 
attracted  to  him,  and  though  he  had,  in  his  heart,  special  favourites, 
he  was  of  too  genial  and  of  too  indolent  a  disposition  not  to  make  all 
welcome. 

547.  my  humble  roof.  A  neat  garden-cottage  in  Kew-foot-lane, 
Richmond,  looking  down  upon  the  Thames  and  commanding  a  good 
range  of  landscape.  A  cousin  of  his  own  kept  his  garden  trim  ;  he  was 
fortunate  in  his  housekeeper,  a  Mrs.  Hobart ;  his  rooms  were  adorned 
with  a  great  many  paintings  and  engravings — partly  collected  during 
his  tour  in  Italy ;  his  bookshelves  were  filled  with  foreign  and  classical 
books,  and  the  works  of  standard  English  authors ;  and  his  cellar  was 
well-stocked  with  wines,  and  Edinburgh  ale. 

550.  Pope  was  some  twelve  years  the  senior  of  Thomson  :  he  was  a 
frequent  visitor  at  Richmond  ;  and  at  Twickenham  there  was  a  standing 
rule  for  the  servants  that  Mr.  Pope  was  always  at  home  to  Mr. 
Thomson.  By  the  miises1  hill  (Parnassus)  Thomson  signifies  the 
labours  of  poetical  composition.  Thomson's  intimacy  with  Pope, 
however,  dates  from  a  time  before  the  residence  at  Richmond. 

553>  554-  A  beautiful  compliment.  His  own  Homer:  the  Trans- 
lation of  the  Iliad,  published  1715-1720  ;  Translation  of  the  Odyssey, 
published  1723-1725. 

555-571.  This  passage  was  added  to  the  text  after  the  death  of 
Hammond,  in  1742.  It  is  a  very  generous  tribute  to  his  memory, 
prompted  and  inspired  by  a  friendship  that  was  undoubtedly  genuine. 
Hammond  has  been  rather  hardly  dealt  with  by  the  critics  :  there  is 
no  real  reason  to  set  aside  the  judgment  of  Thomson  as  here  expressed 
in  his  friend's  favour.  Thomson's  anticipations  of  future  greatness  for 
young  Hammond  were  probably  well  founded :  in  any  case,  whatever 
opinion  one  may  hold  of  his  love  elegies,  his  character  was  of  a  kind  to 
win  the  respect  and  affection  of  Thomson.  There  were  two  Hammonds 
known  in  a  small  way  for  their  literary  reputation  ;  the  one  Anthony, 
the  other,  his  second  son,  James.  It  was  James  Hammond  whom 
Thomson  knew.  He  was  born  in  1710;  and,  while  still  a  youth,  was 
equerry  to  George,  Prince  of  Wales,  afterwards  George  III.  He  has 
been  judged  entirely  by  his  Love  Elegies,  which  were  written,  on  the 


NOTES,  547-596.  379 


380  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

597-603.  if  doomed  In  powerless  humble  forttme,  &c.  Cp.  Gray, 
who  had  surely  been  reading  these  lines — 

'  Chill  penury  repressed  their  noble  rage 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul.' 

This  is  just  Thomson's  image,  and  it  even  recalls  his  words — '  repress 
the  ardent  risings  of  the  kindling  soul.'     Cp.  further — 
'Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way.' — Elegy. 
605.  those  scenes.    Of  immortal  life  and  the  future  state  beyond  death 
and  the  grave. 

606-608.  A  favourite  idea,  and  an  essential  part  of  Thomson's 
religious  hope.  See  Spring,  11.  374-377,  and  Note ;  Liberty,  III. 
11.  68-70. 

610.  play  the  shapes.     'Play  off,'  or  'give  play  to.'     This  too  was 
part  of  the  pastime  of  Cowper's  Winter  Evening — 

'  Me  oft  has  fancy  ludicrous  and  wild 

Soothed,'  &c.— 11.  285,  286. 
And  again — 

'  Discourse  ensues         .... 

Not  such  as  with  a  frown  forbids  the  play 

Of  fancy,'  &c.— 11.  174-176. 

611.  frolic  fancy.     Here  '  frolic  '  is  properly  put  to  its  original  use  as 
an  adjective.     So  Milton — 

'  Ripe  and  frolic  of  his  full-grown  age.' — Comus,  1.  59. 
611-616.     A  happy  discriminating  description  of  wit  and  humour,  as 
these  are  commonly  understood.     A  less  happy  description  appeared  in 
the  earlier  editions,  down  to  that  of  1738  : — 

'And  incessant  form 

Unnumbered  pictures,  fleeting  o'er  the  brain, 
Yet  rapid  still  renewed,  and  poured  immense 
Into  the  mind  unbounded  without  space : 
The  great,  the  new,  the  beautiful ;  or  mixed 
Burlesque  and  odd,  the  risible  and  gay ; 
Whence  vivid  wit,  and  humour,  droll  of  face, 
Call  laughter  forth,  deep- shaking  every  nerve.' 
See  Cowper's  Table  Talk,  11.  657,  658. 

617-629.  The  scene  shifts  from  the  studious  retirement  of  the  scholar 
to  the  winter  evening  amusements  of  common  country-folks.  The  scene 
is  Scottish. 

617.  the  village  rouses  up  the  Jire.  The  villagers  make  preparation 
for  a  long  and  comfortable  winter  '  fore-night.' 


NOTES,  597-646.  381 

618.  ivell  attested  and  as  well  believed.     The  language  is  humorously 
ironical. 

619,  620.  Cp.  Ferg'usson — 

'  In  rangles  round,  before  the  ingle's  lowe, 

Fra  guid-dame's  mouth  auld  warld  tales  they  hear, — 
Of  warlocks  loupin'  round  the  wirrikow  ; 

Of  ghaists  that  win  in  glen  and  kirk-yard  drear; 
Whilk  touzles  a'  their  tap,  and  gars  them  shake  wi'  fear.' 

Farmer  s  Ingle,  st.  vii  (published  1773). 

621.  the  soitnding  hall.  The  roomy  farmhouse  kitchen.  The  '  hall* 
is  the  public  room. 

624.  '  The  loud  laugh  that  speaks  the  vacant  mind.' — Goldsmith's 
Deserted  Village. 

625-629.  Cp.  Autumn, — 

'  Romp-loving  miss 

Is  hauled  about  in  gallantry  robust.' — 11.  528,  529. 
'  The  laugh,  the  slap,  the  jocund  curse  go  round.' — 1.  547. 
627.  shook.     Racy  of  rustic  dancing.     Burns  has — 

'  I'll  laugh,  an'  sing,  an'  shake  my  leg.' 

Epist.  to  Lapraik. 

630-655.  Winter  evening  in  the  city — the  streets,  the  gaming-table, 
the  ball-room,  the  theatre,  &c. 

630.  swarms  intense.     Is  full  of  busy  eager  crowds. 

public  haunt.     Such  as  coffee-room,  club-room,  &c. 
633.  Down  the  loose  stream  of .  ,  .  .  joy.     In  pursuit  of  fashionable 
immoral  pleasures. 

635.  The  gaming  fztry.  A  passion  for  gambling,  or  engaging  in 
games  of  hazard,  for  high  stakes ;  a  fashionable  vice  of  last  century. 
(See  Life  of  Fox  the  great  statesman.) 

640.  effuses.     In  its  etymological  sense — '  pours  forth,'  '  displays.' 

641,  642.  beamed  from,  &c.     Expanded  from  the  original  text — 

'  Rained  from  radiant  eyes.' 
Cp.  Summer,  11.  145,  146. 

645.  The  fop  light-fluttering,  &c.  Thomson  used  to  call  one  of  his 
friends  (Hammond)  with  good-humoured  pleasantry  'a  burnished 
butterfly.'  Cp.  Hamlet's  description  of  the  court-flutterer  Osric — 
'  Dost  know  this  water-fly  ? '  (Act  V.  sc.  ii.) 

646-655.  It  is  only  in  Winter  that  Thomson  refers  to  the  theatre  as 
a  place  of  amusement.  Milton  introduces  it  in  both  L' Allegro  (1.  131) 
and  II  Penseroso  (1.  97) — but  in  the  former,  it  is  the  Comic,  in  the 
latter  the  Tragic,  drama  that  furnishes  the  entertainment.  Thomson 
gives  the  preference  to  Tragedy,  as  better  suited  for  the  season — '  a  sad 


382  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

tale 's  best  for  winter/  says  Shakespeare ;  but  he  provides  Comedy  too 
as  a  winter  evening  entertainment. 

647.  Monimia.   The  heroine  of  The  Orphan  (first  produced  in  1680), 
a  tragedy  by  Thomas  Otway. 

648.  Belvidera.     The  heroine  of  Otway's  great  tragedy  Venice  Pre- 
served (1682). 

653-655.  These  lines  were  added  subsequently  to  1738.  '  Bevil '  is 
one  of  the  characters  in  Sir  Richard  Steele's  The  Conscious  Lovers 
(produced  in  1722,  when  the  author  was  in  his  52nd  year:  his  first  play, 
Grief  a  la  Mode,  was  acted  in  1702).  A  distinction  is  here  implied 
between  '  low '  and  '  genteel '  comedy. 

When  Thomson  first  came  up  to  London,  in  March,  1725,  he  was  at 
once  irresistibly  attracted  to  the  theatre.  Apparently  it  was  his  first 
experience  of  the  acted  drama.  He  writes  accordingly  with  all  the 
freshness  of  inexperience,  and  with  the  delightful  abandon  of  youth, 
on  the  subject  of  his  first  acquaintance  with  a  pleasure  forbidden  in 
Scotland.  The  letter  is  to  a  young  friend,  a  country  doctor  in  Scot- 
land : — 

'  The  play-house  is  indeed  a  very  fine  entertainment,  though  not  to 
the  height  I  expected.  A  tragedy,  I  think,  or  a  fine  character  in  a 
comedy  gives  greater  pleasure  read  than  acted  ;  but  your  fools  and 
persons  of  a  very  whimsical  and  humorous  character  are  a  delicious 
morsel  on  the  stage  ;  they  indeed  exercise  my  risible  faculty,  and 
particularly  your  old  friend  Daniel,  in  Oroonoko  [by  Southerne,  pro- 
duced in  1696],  diverted  me  infinitely :  the  grave-digger  in  Hamlet, 
Beau  Clincher  and  his  brother  in  the  Trip  to  the  Jubilee,  pleased  me 
extremely  too.  Mr.  Booth  has  a  very  majestic  appearance,  a  full, 
harmonious  voice,  and  vastly  exceeds  them  all.  in  acting  tragedy.  The 
last  Act  in  Cato  he  does  to  perfection,  and  you  would  think  he  expired 
with  the  Oh  I  that  ends  it !  Mr.  Wilks,  I  believe,  has  been  a  very  fine 
actor  for  the  [part  of]  the  fine  gentleman  and  the  young  hero,  but  his 

face  now  is  wrinkled,  his  voice  broken Mills  and  Johnstoun 

are  pretty  good  actors.  Dicky  Norris,  that  little  comical  toothless 
devil,  will  turn  his  back  and  crack  a  very  good  jest  yet :  there  are  some 
others  of  them  [that  are]  execrable.  Mrs.  Oldfield  [admired  by  Pope 
for  her  rendering  of  Rowe's  Jane  Shore]  has  a  smiling  jolly  face,  acts 
very  well  in  comedy.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Porter  excels  in  tragedy,  has  a  short 
piercing  voice,  and  enters  most  into  her  character ;  and  if  she  did  not 
act  well  she  could  not  be  endured,  being  more  disagreeable  in  her 
appearance  than  any  of  them.  Mrs.  Booth  acts  some  things  very  well, 
and  particularly  Ophelia's  madness  in  Hamlet  inimitably;  but  then 
she  dances  so  deliciously,  has  such  melting  lascivious  motions,  air,  and 


NOTES,  647-662.  383 

postures  ....  indeed,  the  women  are  generally  the  handsomest  in  the 
house,  and  better  actors  than  the  men — but  perhaps  their  sex  prejudices 
me  in  their  favour. 

'  These  are  a  few  of  the  observations  I  have  made  hitherto  at  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  to  which  I  have  paid  five  visits,  but  I  have  not  been  at 
the  New  House  yet :  my  purse  will  not  keep  pace  with  my  inclinations 
in  this  matter.  Oh  !  if  I  had  Mass  John  [said  by  Lord  Buchan  to  have 
been  the  Rev.  Gabriel  Wilson  of  Maxton,  in  the  presbytery  of  Selkirk  ; 
some  thirty  years  older  than  Thomson]  here,  to  see  some  of  their 
'  top  '  fools  ;  he  would  shake  the  scenes  with  laughter.' — Letter  to  Dr. 
Wm.  Cranstoun,  Ancrum,  April  3,  1725. 

656-690.  This  complimentary  apostrophe  to  Lord  Chesterfield,  not 
written  till  after  1738,  is  lugged  into  a  place  with  which  it  has  but  a 
slender  connection.  Such  as  it  is,  the  connection — to  be  found  in  the 
three  preceding  lines— was  clearly  manufactured  for  the  compliment. 
(See  Note,  11.  653-655,  supra^)  '  Whate'er  can  deck  mankind  or  charm 
the  heart '  is  delicately,  or  rather  flimsily,  hinted  as  the  enviable  attribute 
of  Lord  Chesterfield  :  Bevil  suggests  Chesterfield. 

What  is  said  here  in  praise  of  Lord  Chesterfield  must  on  the  whole 
be  allowed  to  be  his  due.  The  points  touched  upon  in  this  eulogy  are 
his  elegance  of  manners,  his  intellectual  accomplishments,  his  oratorical 
abilities,  his  statesmanlike  qualities,  and  his  patronage  of  literature. 
Philip  Dormer  Stanhope,  fourth  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  was  born  in  1694. 
He  was  trained  for  a  political  career,  and  filled  various  important  offices 
of  State  ;  was  in  succession  Ambassador  to  Holland,  Lord-Lieutenant  of 
Ireland,  and  Secretary  of  State.  In  1748  he  retired  from  political  life. 
His  death  occurred  in  1773.  He  is  now  chiefly  remembered  for  the  polish 
of  his  manners,  his  collision  with  Dr.  Johnson,  and  his  Letters  to  his  Son. 
Johnson's  Letter  to  Chesterfield  was  written  7th  Feb.,  1755.  The 
Letters  to  his  Son  are  written  in  good  English  and  contain  good  sense. 
Nothing,  however,  that  Chesterfield  did  could  please  the  great  moralist : 
'  they  teach  the  manners  of  a  dancing-master,'  said  Johnson,  certainly 
savagely,  and  rather  unjustly.  Their  morality,  it  must  be  allowed,  is 
often  of  a  Machiavellian  cast. 

In  his  Love  of  Fame,  Satire  II,  Young  also  pays  a  compliment  to  the 
learning  of  Chesterfield  : — 

'  [He]  titles  knows,  and  indexes  has  seen, 
But  leaves  to  Chesterfield  what  lies  between.' — 11.  91,  92. 

660.  Apollo's  .  .  .  fire.  Phcebus,  the  sun-god,  and  the  god  of  poetry 
and  beauty. 

662.  the  guardian,  ornament,  &c.  '  Et  praesidium  et  dulce  decus.' — 
Horace,  I.  I. 


384  THE  SEASONS.-^  WINTER. 

675.  Attic  point.  The  keenness  of  Athenian  wit.  Athens  was  in 
Attica. 

691,  692.  These  lines  were  added  to  the  later  editions  (after  1738)  to 
make  the  transition  from  Chesterfield  to  the  subject  proper  easier  and 
less  abrupt. 

693.  This  line  in  the  earlier  editions  began — '  Clear  frost  succeeds.' 

694.  the  ethereal  nitre.     Frost,  so  called  poetically  from  its  pene- 
trating nature.     See  Autumn,  Note,  11.  4,  5.     Cowper,  in  The  Task, 
Bk.  Ill,  refers  to  '  the  nitrous  air  of  winter  feeding  a  blue  flame.' — 
11-  32>  33-     See  also  Savage's  Wanderer,  C.  i.,  1.  56. 

707.  The  benefit  of  frost  to  the  syil  is  that  it  disintegrates  the  clods, 
and  kills  the  germs  of  insect  life  destructive  to  vegetation.  Cold  is  not 
the  positive  substance  which  Thomson  seems,  at  least  poetically,  to 
consider  it :  it  is  the  result  of  the  absence  of  heat.  '  Vegetable  soul ' 
means  '  power  to  produce  healthy  vegetation.' 

709,  710.  There  is  a  greater  specific  quantity  of  oxygen  in  the  air  in 
rosty  weather,  and  more  oxygen  is  consequently  burned  :  the  result  is  a 

brighter  fire.  '  The  lively  cheek  of  ruddy  fire  '  probably  means  that  the 
sides  of  the  flame  are  brighter.  In  rural  Scotland  the  jambs  or  sides  of 
the  fire-place  are  sometimes  called  '  the  cheeks  o'  the  fire.'  To  sit  at  the 
cheek  o'  the  fire  is  to  sit  by  the  hearth.  Thomson,  however,  omits  the 
necessary  the  for  this  interpretation. 

710.  luculent.     Lat.  luculentus,  bright  or  clear;  from  lux,  light. 
716.  the  ilhisive  fluid.     Quicksilver,  the  only  metal  that  is  fluid  at 

ordinary  winter  temperatures.     It  freezes  at  39°  below  zero. 

718,  7*9-  The  crystals  of  which  snow  is  composed  are  commonly  in 
the  form  of  six-pointed  stars.  But  of  this  form  there  are,  and  have  been 
figured,  hundreds  of  varieties. 

721.  Steamed  eager,   &c.      Sent   forth   as   an   invisible   vapour   of 
freezingly  cold  air.     '  Steamed '  qualifies  '  gale  '  in  1.  723. 

722.  suffused.      This  participle  refers  to  the  'horizon'  (in  1.  721), 
which   at  evening  is   of  a  deep  red   because  of  '  the  fierce  rage   of 
winter.' 

724.  Breathes  a  Hue  film,  &c.     Burns's  description  of  the  formation 
of '  infant  ice '  on  a  stream  is  not  less  delicately  true  : — 

4  The  chilly  frost,  beneath  the  silver  beam, 
Crept  gently  crusting  o'er  the  glittering  stream.' 

The  Brigs  of  Ayr,  11.  39,  40  (Clarendon  Press  ed.). 
Note  the  frequency  of  the  letter  r  both  here  arid  in  Thomson's  descrip- 
tion of  the  freezing  '  stream  ' — not  the  pool. 

725.  bickering.     The  word   is  Celtic,  and  means  'skirmishing'   in 
ordinary  English  j    primarily,  according  to  Prof.   Skeat,  it  means  '  to 


NOTES,  675-778. 


385 


keep  pecking.'     Applied  to  a  stream  it  suggests  the  rapid  tremulous 
movement  of  the  current.     Cp.  Tennyson's  Brook — 
'  [I]  sparkle  out  among  the  fern 
To  bicker  down  a  valley.' 

727.  Rustles.  Cp.  Burns,  to  whose  ear  the  crisp  sound  of  floating 
ice  colliding  suggested  '  jingling  ' ;  but  Thomson's  ear  was  no  less  fine 
than  Burns's — 

'When  thowes  dissolve  the  snawy  hoord, 
An'  float  the  jinglin'  icy  boord,'  &c. 

Address  to  the  Deil,  11.  61,  62. 

731.  The  whole  imprisoned  river  growls  below.  In  the  original  text 
'detruded'  took  the  place  of  'imprisoned,'  and  better  explained  the 
cause  of  the  '  growling.'  As  the  frost  strengthens,  the  water  shrinks,  and 
there  is  a  little  free  space  between  the  ice  and  the  water  favourable  to 
the  production  of  a  hollow  sound. 

732>  733-  Loud  rings  .  .  .  .  A  double  noise.  Sometimes  described 
in  Scotland  as  '  a  hammer-clinking  frost.'  '  A  double  noise  '  is 
not  a  twofold  or  duplicate  noise,  but  a  noise  increased  to  twice  its 
ordinary  loudness.  See  1.  591,  supra — '  double  suns,'  meaning  'greatly 
increased  crops.' 

738.  full  ethereal  round.  The  entire  dome  of  the  heavens,  clear  of 
cloud. 

740.  all  one  cope.     One  vast  undimmed  canopy. 

742.  the  rigid  influence.     The  hardening  or  stiffening  power  of  frost. 
746-751.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task,  Bk.  V.  11.  110-121,  for  a  similar  effect 
of  frost. 

752.  Introduced  in  the  earlier  editions  by  a  line  afterwards  dropped  : — 

'The  liquid  kingdom  all  to  solid  turned.' 

762-778.  Instead  of  this  excursion  to  Holland  and  Northern  Europe 
Thomson  in  the  earlier  text,  down  to  1738,  gives  a  British  scene  of 
sliders  and  skaters : — 

'  [Swains]    Fond  o'er  the  river  rush,  and  shuddering  view 
The  doubtful  deeps  below.     Or  where  the  lake 
And  long  canal  the  cerule  plain  extend, 
The  city  pours  her  thousands,  swarming  all, 
From  every  quarter  :    and,  with  him  who  slides, 
Or  skating  sweeps,  swift  as  the  winds,  along 
In  circling  poise,  or  else  disordered  falls, 
His  feet  illuded  sprawling  to  the  sky, 
While  the  laugh  rages  round ;   from  end  to  end, 
Encreasing  still,  resounds  the  crowded  scene.' 

c  c 


386  THE  SEASONS. —  WINTER. 

768.  Batavia.  Holland,  so  called  from  the  Batavi,  the  Roman  name 
for  the  inhabitants  of  the  island  of  Batavia  at  the  mouth  of  the  Rhine. 

771.  The  then  gay  land.     The  Dutch  being  commonly  a  dull  nation. 

772.  the  northern  courts.     Those  of  Scandinavia  and  Russia. 
782.  Cp.  Cowper — 

'  His  slanting  ray 
Slides  ineffectual  down  the  snowy  vale.' 

The  Task,  Bk.  V.  11.  6,  7. 

789-793.  Another  of  Thomson's  many  complaints  against  the  practice 
of  sport.     See  1.  257,  and  Note.     (See  Autumn,  Note,  1.  401.) 
794-798.  These  lines  originally  ran — 

'But  what  is  this?   these  infant  tempests,  what? 
The  mockery  of  Winter,  should  our  eye 
Astonished  shoot  into  the  frigid  zone; 
Where  more  than  half  the  joyless  year  is  night, 
And  failing  gradual  life  at  last  goes  out.' 

799.  There,  i.e.  in  the  frigid  zone,  Siberia,  to  which  political 
and  criminal  offenders  are  banished  by  the  Czar.  There  used  to  be 
three  grades  of  punishment — close  confinement  to  the  hard  work  of  the 
mines,  compulsory  work  of  a  less  laborious  kind,  and  simple  exile 
with  comparative  freedom  but  under  police  surveillance.  Thomson's 
exile,  in  1.  801,  apparently  belongs  to  the  class  of  the  comparatively 
free  exile.  The  passage  from  1.  799  to  1.  903  was  added  after  1738. 

803.  heavy  loaded  groves.  A  scarcely  suitable  description  of  pine- 
forests  standing  white  with  snow. 

and  solid  floods.     Such  rivers,  frozen  over  for  many  months,  as  Obi, 
Yenisei,  Lena,  &c. 

805.  frozen  main.     Arctic  Ocean. 

806.  cheerless  towns.    Such  as  Tobolsk,  Yakutsk,  Petropaulovsk,  &c. 

807.  the  caravan.     Company  of  travelling  traders.      The  goods  are 
transported  for  the  most  part  on  sledges. 

808.  rich  Cathay.     China.     Commercial  intercourse  between  Russia 
and  China,  through  Siberia,  began  by  treaty  in  1689,  renewed  in  1727. 
Furs,  cloth,  and  precious  metals  are  bartered  for  tea.     The  gateway  of 
the  traffic  is  Kiachta,  a  Siberian  town  on  the  Chinese  frontier. 

812.  Fair    ermines.      'Ermine'    is    said    to    be    a    corruption   of 
'Armenian,'  from  Armenia,  in  Asiatic  Turkey. 

813.  Sables.     From  the  Russian  word  sobole,  the  sable.     Black  sable 
furs  were  in  greatest  demand,  and  hence  '  sable '  came  to  mean  '  black.' 

814.  freaked.     A  rare  word,  coined  from  'freckled,'  and  allied  to 
'flecked.'     It  means  mottled,  or  spotted.     Milton  has — 

« The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freaked  with  y&?—Lycidast  144. 


NOTES,  768-839. 


387 


8 1 8.  the  branching  elk.  The  mature  elk,  or  moose-deer,  has  antlers 
of  a  very  broad  blade,  with  from  nine  to  as  many  as  fourteen  snags  (or 
branches)  on  each  horn.  The  weight  of  such  antlers  is  great,  and  has 
been  known  to  amount  to  60  Ibs.  The  neck  of  the  elk  is  short  and 
thick  of  necessity,  to  bear  such  a  weight ;  and  the  creature  goes  on  its 
knees  to  graze.  It  is  about  six  feet  high  at  the  shoulder.  Its  timidity 
and  inoffensiveness  are  remarkable,  for  it  is  strong  as  well  as  large. 

821.  sounding  bows.  Reference  is  made  to  the  twanging  bowstring, 
when  the  arrow  is  shot  off. 

826.  The  passage  of  ten  lines  ending  here  is  almost  a  paraphrase  of 
Virgil's  Third  Georgic,  11.  369-375. 

827-833.  A  characteristic  bit  of  description  in  Thomson's  best 
style. 

833.  Hardens  his  heart,  &c.  The  reference  is  to  the  bear's  habit  of 
hibernation — sleeping  through  the  winter  without' food. 

835.  Bootes  (Gr.  pouTrjs,  the  ox-driver).    The  constellation  before  the 
Great   Bear,  also  called   the  Waggon,  and   the   Plough,  was  named 
Bootes — which  was  fancied  to  represent  and  occupy  the  place  of  the 
driver  of  the  Waggon.     Arctos,  as  the  whole  group  of  stars  known 
as  the  Great  Bear,  the  Little  Bear,  and  Bootes  (Arcturus)  is  called, 
moves  in  a  small  circle  round  the  pole,  and  therefore  seems  to  move 
slowly— hence  '"tardy*  in  the  text. 

836.  Cattrus.     The  north-west  wind,  which,  being  a  stormy  wind  in 
Italy,  is  here  used  to  designate  a  stormy  wind. 

836-838.  A  boisterous  race  .  .  .  Prolific  swarm.     Cp.  Milton — 
'  A  multitude  like  which  the  populous  north 
Poured  never  from  her  frozen  loins  to  pass 
Rhene  or  the  Danaw,  when  her  barbarous  sons 
Came  like  a  deluge  on  the  south,  and  spread 
Beneath  Gibraltar  to  the  Libyan  sands.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  1, 11.  35!-355- 

Thomson  pursues  the  subject  in  Liberty,  Part  III.  11.  512-543.  There 
he  describes  the  home-land  of  the  Goths  and  Scythians,  their  training  and 
early  hardships,  their  incursions  in  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries  against 
the  declining  and  falling  empire  of  Rome,  their  destruction  of  ancient 
civilisation,  and  the  long  '  night  of  time  that  parted  worlds ' — the  Dark 
Ages.  He  continues  the  subject  in  Part  IV,  and  shows  how  at  last  a 
revival  of  learning  and  arts  dawned  on  the  Dark  Ages. — The  idea  of  a 
populous  north  was  common  from  the  sixteenth  to  the  eighteenth 
century.  In  Liberty,  III.  1.  529,  Thomson  repeats  the  idea  of  the  text — 

'  And  there  a  race  of  men  prolific  swarms.* 
839.  lost  mankind.     Lost  manhood. 
C  C  2 


388  THE  SEASONS.— WINTER. 

840.  '  The  wandering  Scythian  clans.' — Note  by  Thomson. 

841.  enfeebled  south.      Italy,   Spain,    &c.,    enervated   by   luxurious 
habits. 

842.  Established  the  feudal  system. 

843-886.  The  Lapps  hardly  deserve  the  praise  here  lavished  upon 
them. 

857.  marbled  snow.  '  Glittering  snow.'  Milton  speaks  of  the 
'  marble  air.' 

860.  Referring  to  the  Northern  Lights,  or  the  Aurora  Borealis. 

862.  radiant  waste.  Either  the  starry  expanse  of  sky ;  or,  more 
probably,  the  snow-covered  stretch  of  country,  which  by  reflecting  the 
light  of  the  stars,  may  be  said  to  double  their  lustre. 

867.  dim  Aurora.  This  is  not  the  Aurora  Borealis,  but  the  glimmer 
of  the  solar  dawn. 

870.  seen  at  last  for  .  .  .  months.  Owing  to  the  inclination  of  the 
earth's  axis,  the  extreme  north  polar  regions  are  turned  away  from  the 
sun  during  the  months  of  winter,  and  are  therefore  then  in  '  the  depth 
of  polar  night '  (1.  863) ;  while  during  the  summer  they  are  constantly 
turned  towards  the  sun,  and  have  then  continual  day.  Those  regions 
are  '  the  land  of  the  midnight  sun.' 

875,  876.  On  these  two  lines,  necessarily  written  after  the  publication 
(in  1738)  of  a  certain  book  to  be  referred  to  shortly,  Thomson  has 
a  couple  of  interesting  notes :  (a)  '  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  country  call  Haltios,  and  which  they  deem  to  be  the 
guardian  spirits  of  the  mountains.  We  had  been  frightened  with  stories 
of  bears  that  haunted  this  place,  but  saw  none.  It  seemed  rather  a 
place  of  resort  for  fairies  and  genii  than  bears."  ' 

(fr)  '  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."  ' 

Pierre-Louis-Mareau  de  Maupertuis  was  born  in  1698  at  St.  Malo. 
He  abandoned  the  army,  in  which  he  held  the  rank  of  a  captain  of 
dragoons,  for  the  purpose  of  devoting  himself  to  the  study  of  mathematics 
and  astronomy.  In  1723  he  was  admitted  a  member  of  the  Royal 
Academy  at  Paris,  and  four  years  later  became  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal 
Society  of  London.  He  was  commissioned  by  the  Academy  to  proceed 
to  the  valley  of  Tornea  to  measure  an  arc  of  the  meridian  in  Lapland. 
At  the  same  time  Commissioners  were  sent  for  a  like  purpose  to  Peru 
in  the  Southern  hemisphere.  In  December,  1736,  Maupertuis  and  his 


NOTES,  840-925.  389 

party,  which  included  the  Swedish  astronomer  Celsius,  began  their  survey 
by  measuring  a  base  of  7407  toises  [a  toise,  6  pieds,  being  nearly  6-4 
English  feet]  upon  the  frozen  surface  of  Tornea.  An  account  of  this 
geodesical  survey  was  published  by  Maupertuis  in  1738 — La  Figure  de 
la  Terre,  8vo,  Paris. 

The  Lapland  village  of  Tornea  is  situated  at  the  mouth  of  the  river 
Tornea1,  at  the  head  of  the  Gulf  of  Bothnia:  the  river  in  its  lower 
course  is  the  boundary  between  Sweden  and  Russia.  At  Tornea  the 
midnight  sun  may  be  seen  for  almost  a  week  at  the  time  of  the  summer 
solstice. 

Maupertuis,  it  may  be  added,  defended  the  Newtonian  theory  of  the 
earth's  figure — that  it  is  an  oblate  spheroid — against  the  theory  of 
Descartes.  He  was  vain  even  for  a  Frenchman,  and  had  himself 
represented  in  the  attitude  of  compressing  the  poles  of  the  earth. 

887.  Torneds  lake.     In  the  far  north  of  Sweden,  not  far  from  the 
Norwegian   frontier,   and  within  the  Arctic  circle.     The  river   issues 
from  it. 

888.  Heda  flaming.     The  well-known  volcano  of  Iceland. 

891.  The  muse  .  .  .  her  solitary  flight.  The  poet's  imagination 
among  unpeopled  snow-covered  tracts  of  country  and  frozen  seas. 

893.  new  seas  beneath  another  sky.  Thomson's  note  here  is — '  The 
other  hemisphere.'  He  means  the  north  polar  regions  of  the  Western  or 
New  World  hemisphere. 

900,  901.  These  lines  answer  the  question  of  11.  113-115,  supra. 

902.  the  Tartar  s  coast.     Siberia  ;  Northern  Asia. 

912.  In  the  earlier  text  down  to  the  edition  of  1738,  this  line  read — 

'  Shake  the  firm  pole,  and  make  an  ocean  boil ' ; 
and  was  followed  by  the  following  six   lines,  dropped  in   the   later 
editions : — 

'  Whence  heaped  abrupt  along  the  howling  shore, 
And  into  various  shapes  (as  fancy  leans) 
Worked  by  the  wave,  the  crystal  pillars  heave, 
Swells  the  blue  portico,  the  Gothic  dome 
Shoots  fretted  up,  and  birds  and  beasts  and  men 
Rise  into  mimic  life,  and  sink  by  turns. 
The  restless  deep  [itself  canjnot  [resist],'  &c. 
918.  wavy  rocks.     Waves  frozen  into  rocks. 

920-925.  Miserable  they,  Who  .  .  .  Take  their  last  look,  &c.  Cp. 
Burns — 

1  Campbell's  reference  to  Tornea  is  due  to  Thomson: — 

1  Cold  as  the  rocks  on  Torneo's  hoary  brow.' 

Pleasures  of  Hope,  ii,  1.  8. 


390  THE  SEASONS. — WINTER. 

1  Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul, 

The  measured  time  is  run! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole 

So  marks  his  latest  sun.' — To  Clarinda. 

925.  the  Briiorfsfate.  The  reference  is  to  the  expedition  of  Sir  Hugh 
Willoughby,  an  Englishman,  sent  forth  at  the  instance  of  commercial 
London  in  the  year  1553,  the  last  year  of  the  reign  of  Edward  VI, 
to  find,  if  possible,  a  new  sea  route  of  trade  to  India  and  Eastern  Asia. 
The  route  of  traffic  to  India  by  the  Cape,  discovered  by  Vasco  da  Gama 
in  1498,  was  in  the  possession  of  Spain,  and  there  was  a  great  desire  on 
the  part  of  England  to  find  and  appropriate  an  independent  route. 
Willoughby  departed  on  his  mission  with  three  ships,  and  tried  the 
North-East  passage,  round  by  the  North  Cape  and  the  Northern  shores 
of  Russia  and  Siberia.  Shortly  after  rounding  the  North  Cape  one 
of  his  ships  was  separated  from  the  other  two  by  a  violent  tempest,  and 
entering  the  White  Sea,  arrived  at  Archangel.  The  commander  of  this 
vessel  was  Richard  Chancellor  ;  the  other  two,  under  the  leader  of  the 
expedition,  sailed  as  far  as  Nova  Zembla,  whence  they  were  driven  back 
to  the  shores  of  Russian  Lapland ;  and  there  the  crews  perished  of  cold. 
Their  frozen  bodies  were  subsequently  found,  much  as  Thomson  has 
described  them,  in  the  mouth  of  the  Arzina,  east  of  the  North  Cape. 
Some  other  attempts  to  force  the  North-East  passage  were  made  ; 
but  at  last  it  was  abandoned.  The  glory  of  discovering  the  passage  was 
left  to  our  own  day :  quite  recently  a  Danish  navigator,  Nordenskjold, 
still  living  (1891),  sailed  completely  round  the  Old  World.  The  route, 
however,  like  the  more  famous  North-West  passage,  is  of  interest  only  to 
geographers,  of  none  to  traders. 

937.  the  last  of  men.  The  Samoyedes,  inhabiting  between  Obi  and 
Yenisei. 

940.  wears  its  rudest  form.  In  the  earlier  text — 'just  begins  to 
dawn.'  The  Samoyedes  are  a  wretched  race  of  men,  untouched  even  by 
Russian  civilisation. 

944,  945.  Cp.  Goldsmith,  of  the  Swiss— 

1  Unknown  to  them,  when  sensual  pleasures  cloy, 
To  fill  the  languid  pause  with  finer  joy ; 
Unknown  those  powers  that  raise  the  soul  to  flame, 
Catch  every  nerve,  and  vibrate  through  the  frame  ;  .  .  . 
And  love's  and  friendship's  finely-pointed  dart 
Fall  blunted  from  each  indurated  heart.' — The  Traveller. 
947,  948.     In  the  earlier  text  (from  1726  to  1738)  these  lines  ran — 
'  Till  long-expected  morning  looks  at  length 
Faint  on  their  fields  (where  Winter  reigns  alone),'  &c. 


NOTES,  925-973.  391 

950-987.  This  passage  was  added  subsequently  to  1738.  It  consists 
of  a  laudatory  sketch — destitute  of  shading — of  the  life  and  character,  and 
political  work  of  Peter  the  Great  of  Russia.  His  death,  in  1725,  was 
a  subject  of  general  talk  in  England  when  Thomson  was  writing  his 
Winter,  but  he  deferred  all  reference  to  him  in  the  earlier  editions.  The 
introduction  here  of  his  reforms  in  Russia  is  to  the  discredit  of  the 
Samoyedes,  who  are  a  'gross  race,'  apparently  incapable  of  'active 
government.'  The  connection  in  the  poem  between  the  passage  on  the 
Samoyedes,  and  that  on  the  Russians  as  civilised  by  the  Czar  Peter,  is 
the  contrast  which  the  present  state  of  the  one  people  presents  to  that  of 
the  other. 

952.  A  people  savage.  The  Russians  consist  of  several  nationalities, 
but  the  prevailing  element  is  Slavonian. 

954.  from  Gothic  darkness.  Peter  was,  of  course,  a  Slavonian ; 
'  Gothic '  is  not  used  here  in  an  ethnological  sense,  but  as  synonymous 
with  *  barbaric.' 

956-959.  His  stubborn  country  tamed.  He  introduced  improved  methods 
of  engineering,  drainage,  agriculture ;  opened  the  Caspian  Sea  to  Russian 
commerce,  established  a  navy  on  the  Black  and  Baltic  seas,  and  disciplined 
his  armies  according  to  the  military  system  of  Western  Europe  by 
persistent  warfare  with  the  Swedes.  He  organised  schools  ;  invited 
teachers  of  the  arts  from  Austria,  Italy,  and  Holland  to  Russia ; 
commanded  the  young  nobility  of  Russia  to  acquaint  themselves  by 
travel  with  the  civilisation  of  Western  and  Southern  Europe  ;  controlled 
and  developed  the  press ;  and  caused  translations  of  the  most  important 
works  of  foreign  authors  to  be  made  and  published.  When,  in  1698,  he 
left  England,  whither  he  had  been  invited  by  William  III,  and  where  he 
took  practical  lessons  (at  Deptford)  in  the  art  of  ship-building,  &c.,  he 
carried  with  him  to  Russia,  it  is  said,  five  hundred  English  artificers, 
engineers,  surgeons,  &c.  to  act  as  teachers  of  their  respective  arts  and 
crafts  to  his  own  subjects. 

960.  Ye  shades,  &c.  See  1.  438,  supra.  Lycurgus,  Solon,  Servius, 
are  here  apostrophized. 

967.  roaming  every  land.  He  set  out  on  his  travels  in  1697  (he  was 
then  in  his  25th  year)  and  visited  Prussia,  Hanover,  Holland,  England, 
and  Austria. 

in  every  port,  e.  g.  Amsterdam,  Saardam,  Deptford,  London, 
&c.  A  prime  object  of  his  policy  was  the  establishment  and  maintenance 
of  a  Russian  navy.  To  the  art  of  ship-building  he  gave  in  his  own 
person  practical  attention — working  as  a  common  ship -carpenter  both 
at  Saardam  and  at  Deptford. 

973.  cities  rise  amid  the  .  .  .  waste.      Notably,   his  new  capital, 


392  THE  SEASONS.  —  WINTER. 

St.  Petersburg,  founded  in  May,  1703,  on  an  appropriated  portion  of 
Ingria,  which  was  then  a  Swedish  province.  In  a  few  years  it  was  the 
great  commercial  centre  of  the  Baltic  trade. 

975-  flood  to  flood.     By  canals.     Volga  and  Don  were  so  joined. 

980.  Alexander  of  the  north.     Charles  XII,  King  of  Sweden.     The 
Swedes  were  at  first  successful  in  their  encounters  with  the  Russians, 
winning  the  great  battle  of  Narva  in  1700,  but  were  at  last  defeated  with 
overwhelming  loss  at  Pultava,  in  1 709. 

981.  Othmarfs  shrinking  sons.      The  Turks,  or  Osmanlis  as  they  call 
themselves.   Peter's  ambition  was  to  possess  the  Black  Sea.     Achmet  III, 
the  Sultan  at  this  time  (1710-1711),  was  dragged  into  war  with  the 
Russians  by  Charles  XII,  who  was  then  residing  in  exile  at  Bender. 

988.  Thomson  returns  to  his  subject  proper.  A  temporary  thaw  and 
its  effects  and  dangers  are  described  in  the  following  lines. 

988-990.     These  three  lines  stood  originally,  down  to  1738 — 
'  Muttering,  the  winds  at  eve  with  hoarser  voice 
Blow  blustering  from  the  south.     The  frost  subdued 
Gradual  resolves  into  a  trickling  thaw.' 

'  Muttering '  and  '  blustering '  well  describe  the  sound  of  the  strong 
south  wind,  by  which  the  snow  is  driven  from  the  winter  landscape,  and 
the  country  flooded  with  slush. 

resolves  into  a   .    .  thaw.     Cp.  Shakespeare's   '  melt,    thaw,   and 
resolve  itself  into  a  dew '  in  Hamlet's  well-known  soliloquy. 

991.  Spotted,  the  mountains  shine.  With  lingering  patches  of  un- 
thawed  snow.  Cp.  Burns's — 

'Aroused  by  blustering  winds  and  spotting  thowes.' 

Brigs  of  Ayr. 

993-  Of  bonds  impatient.  In  the  earlier  text  '  Impatient  for  the 
day.'  In  the  same  line,  for  '  Sudden  '  the  earlier  text  has  '  Broke.' 

1 002.  For  '  deep '  the  original  text  gives  '  main  ' — which,  on  the  score 
of  cadence,  is  to  be  preferred. 

1004.  the  bark  with  trembling  wretches  charged.  In  the  earlier 
editions — '  the  bark,  the  wretch's  last  resort.' 

1005-1008.  moors  Beneath  the  shelter  .  .  .  While  night,  &c.  Con- 
structed on  Miltonic  lines  : — 

'Moors  by  his  side  under  the  lee,  while  night 
Invests  the  sea,  and  wished  morn  delays.' 

Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I.  11.  207,  208. 

1014.  embroil  the  deep.  Produce  a  scene  of  greater  confusion. 
'  Embroil '  is  from  P"r.  brouiller,  to  jumble  or  confuse.  Cf.  1.  247, 
supra. 


NOTES,  975-1069. 


393 


1014-1016.  Leviathan  And  his  unwieldy  train  .  .  .  Tempest  the,  &c. 
This  too  is  a  distinct  echo  of  a  passage  in  Paradise  Lost,  Bk.  VII. — 

'  Part,  huge  of  bulk, 

Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait, 
Tempest  the  ocean.     There  leviathan,     .     .     . 
Stretched  like  a  promontory,  sleeps  or  swims.' — 11.  410-414. 
1016-1023.  Campbell  has  caught  up  the  situation,  and  elaborated  it 
in  his  Pleasures  of  Hope,  in  the  well-known  passage  descriptive  of  the 
hardships  endured  by  '  the  hardy  Byron  ' ;  see  Part  I,  11.  102-120.    See 
also,  of  the  same  Part  of  the  poem,  11.  61-66,  ending — 

'  And  waft,  across  the  waves'  tumultuous  roar, 
The  wolf's  long  howl  from  Oonalaska's  shore.' 

1024.  'Tis  done  !  &c.    The  year  is  ended.   In  the  earlier  text  the  line 
ran — 

'  'Tis  done  !    Dread  Winter  has  subdued  the  year.' 

1025.  the    conquered  year.       '  The    desert    plains,'   in   the   earlier 
editions. 

1028-1045.  Cp.  Book  of  Job,  chap.  xiv.  1-15.     (The  Paraphrase  by 
Michael  Bruce  is  full  of  echoes  from  Thomson.) 

1028.  In  the  earlier  editions,  down  to  that  of  1738 — 

'  His  solitary  empire.     Here,  fond  man  ! ' 

1029.  thy  pictured  life.    A  Latin  idiom;  meaning  'the  picture,  or 
emblem  of  thy  life.' 

1033-1041.   This  reads  like  a  part  of  Young's  Night  Thoughts.    The 
reflections  are  in  the  same  strain  as  those  at  1.  209,  supra. 

1055.  gall  and  bitterness.     An  adaptation  of  a  Scriptural  phrase,  see 
Acts  viii.  23.     «  Gall '  is  the  Greek  x°Al7>  bile. 

1058.  straining  her.     In  the  earlier  text  *  prompting  his.' 
1 06 1.  why  licensed  pain,  &c.     The  mystery  of  the  existence  of  pain 
is  here  referred  to.     Thomson's  conclusion  is  Longfellow's — 
'It  must  be  for  some  good 
By  us  not  understood.' — The  Golden  Legend. 
1065-1067.  Enlarged  from  the  earlier  text,  which  ran — 

'  Yet  a  little  while, 

And  what  you  reckoned  evil  is  no  more.' 

1069.  Thus  to  the  cheerful  nature  of  Thomson,  Winter  ends  with  a 
promise  of  Spring. 


394  ^  HYMN. 


A   HYMN. 

[The  Hymn,  which  now  consists  of  118  lines,  originally  consisted  of 
121  :  every  alteration  made  on  the  text  of  1738  is  noted  below.] 

1.  These.     The  seasons  of  the  year. 

2.  Are  but  the  varied  God.    Are  manifestations  of  the  power,  bounty, 
beauty,  benevolence,  and  other  attributes,  of  the  Deity.     The  idea  is 
pantheistic.     The  material  world  in  its  various  and  varying  forms  is 
the  expression   of  the   divine   mind   appealing  to  the   mind   of  man 
through   the   bodily  senses.     Cp.  Pope's   Essay  on   Man,    Bk.    I.   11. 
267-274  (published  two  years  subsequently  to  the  Hymn), — '  All  are 
but  parts,'  &c. 

4.   Thy   beauty   walks,  &c.     In   flowers   and   blossoms,  universally 
diffused.     Cp.  Longfellow's  poem  on  Flowers  : — 
'  In  the  bright  flowerets  under  us 
Stands  the  revelation  of  his  love. 
Eright  and  glorious  is  that  revelation 
Written  all  over  this  great  world  of  ours.' 

Voices  of  the  Night. 

6.  the  forest  smiles.  In  the  earlier  editions,  down  to  that  of  1738,  'the 
forests  live.' 

9.  refulgent.  See  Summer,  1.  2.  In  the  earlier  text  the  word  used 
was  '  severe ' ;  and  the  metre  was  made  up  by  beginning  the  next  sen- 
tence with  the  word  '  Prone.' 

ii.  dreadful.  Substituted  for  '  awful,'  being  more  suggestive  of  the 
sound  of  thunder. 

14,  15.  For  these  two  lines  the  edition  of  1738,  and  all  previous 
editions,  give  the  following  five  lines — 

'  A  yellow-floating  pomp,  thy  bounty  shines 
In  Autumn  unconfined.     Thrown  from  thy  lap 
Profuse  o'er  Nature,  falls  the  lucid  shower 
Of  beamy  fruits  ;   and,  in  a  radiant  stream, 
Into  the  stores  of  sterile  winter  pours.' 

1 6.  awfitl.  Substituted  for  'dreadful.'  See  Note,  1.  n,  supra. 
These  slight  alterations  show  the  fineness  of  Thomson's  ear  for  verbal 
melody.  '  Awful '  is  a  better  sequence  to  '  Winter  '  than  '  dreadful.' 

18.  Majestic  darkness.     Substituted  for  '  Horrible  blackness.' 

19.  adore.     Substituted  for  '  be  low.' 

23-26.  In  the  edition  of  1738,  and  previous  editions — 


NOTES,  1-67.  395 

'Yet  so  harmonious  mixed,  so  fitly  joined, 
One  following  one  in  such  enchanting  sort, 
Shade  unperceived  so  softening  into  shade, 
And  all  so  forming  such  a  perfect  whole,'  &c. 

30.  the  silent  spheres.     The  orbs  of  the  stars.     There  is  probably  no 
reference   here   to   the   Ptolemaic,   or    pre-Copernican   system   of    the 
starry  universe,  as  set  forth  in  Paradise  Lost,  and  implied   in    many 
previous  poems. 

31.  the  secret  deep.     Not  the  sea,  but  the  earth,  where  are  the  roots, 
'  the  dark  retreat  of  vegetation.' — Spring,  11.  79,  80. 

steaming  thence.     Referring  to  the  sap  which  in  spring  ascends 
from  the  roots  in  stem  and  stalk.     See  Spring,  Note,  11.  79,  80. 

40.  One  general  song.     Substituted  for  *  An  universal  hymn.' 
40-88.  These  lines  include  the  Hymn  proper.     They  are  modelled 

on  the  Psalm  cxlviii  of  David.  Coleridge's  Hymn  before  Sunrise  in  the 
Vale  of  Chamouni  (in  Sibylline  Leaves,  published  in  1817)  is  on  the 
model  of  both. 

41 .  in  your  freshness  breathes.     Substituted    for    '  teaches  you   to 
breathe.' 

42-44.  Such  a  passage  as  this,  full  of  a  fine  feeling  for  the  super- 
natural, and  eminently  characteristic  of  the  religious  sentiment  of 
Thomson — which  here  and  there  anticipates  the  teaching  of  the  great 
high  priest  of  Nature,  William  Wordsworth — helps  to  explain,  or  at 
least  to  illustrate,  the  beautiful  elegy  which  Collins  wrote  on  the  death 
of  Thomson—'  In  yonder  grave  a  Druid  lies.' 

44.  the  brown  shade.     Less  felicitous  than  the  original  '  the  brown 
void.' 

45.  whose  bolder  note.   Cp.  Psalm  cxlviii.  7,  8  :  '  Praise  the  Lord  from 
the  earth, stormy  wind  fulfilling  His  word.' 

54.  stupendous.     Originally  '  tremendous.' 

56.  Soft  roll.     Originally  '  Roll  up.' 

57.  exalts.     Preferred  to  '  elates.' 

58.  breath.     In  the  1738  edition,  'hand.' 

60.  Breathe  your  still  song  [ye  harvests !]  into  the  reaper's  heart. 
One  of  the  most  beautiful  lines  in  Thomson's  poetry — fraught  with  the 
heart-felt  tranquillity  of  a  typical  autumn  evening. 

61.  In  the  early  editions  (down  to  and  inclusive  of  the  edition  of 
1738) — 'Homeward  rejoicing  with  the  joyous  moon.' 

62-65.  Cp.  Addison's  well-known  hymn — '  The  spacious  firmament 
on  high.' 

66,  67.  Great  source  of  day,  best  image  here  below,  &c.  Cp.  Milton, 
in  the  well-known  Address  to  the  Sun,  Book  IV.  of  Paradise  Lost : — 


396  A  HYMN. 

'Thou  that     .... 

Look'st  from  thy  sole  dominion  like  the  god 
Of  this  new  world.' — 11.  32-34. 

67.  pouring.     In  the  earlier  text,  '  darting.' 

68.  the  vital  ocean.     The  air  enveloping  the  hemispheres. 
71.  solemn.     Substituted  for  '  dreadful  '  in  the  earlier  text. 

75.  For  this  line  the  earlier  editions  give — 

'  And  yet  again  the  golden  age  returns  ' ; 
and  add — 

'  Wildest  of  creatures  !   be  not  silent  here, 
But,  hymning  horrid,  let  the  desert  roar.' 

Line  75  of  the  finally  settled  text  contains  references,  implied  or  expressed, 
to  various  Scriptural  texts  — to  the  second  petition  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  ; 
to  the  doctrine  of  St.  Paul,  '  The  creature  itself  also  shall  be  delivered 
from  .  .  bondage '  (Rom.  viii.  21} ;  and  to  the  prophecy  of  Isaiah,  '  The 
wolf  and  the  lamb  shall  feed  together  .  .  .  They  shall  not  hurt  nor 
destroy  in  all  my  holy  mountain '  (Isaiah  Ixv.  25). 

76.  boundless.     '  General '  in  the  earlier  text. 

79.  sweet  Philomela.     The  nightingale.     Philomela  was  one  of  the 
two  daughters  of  King  Pandion  of  Athens,  and,  being  changed  into  a 
nightingale,  gave  her  name  to  that  bird.     (See  the  story  of  Tereus  in 
Ovid's  Metam.  Bk.  VI.) 

80.  teach   the  night  His  praise.     A  condensation   of  the   original 
text— 

'  Through  the  midnight  hour, 
Trilling,  prolong  the  wildly  luscious  note. 
That  night  as  well  as  day  may  vouch  his  praise.' 

81.  Ye  chief.     Mankind. 

82.  tong^te.     '  Mouth  '  in  the  earlier  editions. 

84.  Assembled  men.     '  Concourse  of  men  '  in  the  earlier  editions. 
84-86.  to  the  deep  organ  join,  &c.     Cp.  Milton's  II  Penseroso — 
'  Let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below 
In  service  high  and  anthems  clear.' — 11.  161-163. 
at  solemn  paiises.     '  At '  for  '  after.' 

90.  Originally  '  To  find  a  fane,'  &c.    See  Note,  11.  42-44,  supra. 

91.  the  virgin's  lay.     Originally  '  the  virgin's  chant.' 

92.  The  prompting  seraph.     The  muse  of  religious  lyrical  poetry. 
Cp.  Milton's  '  Heavenly  Muse,'  and  '  Spirit,'  in  the  opening  lines  of  his 
great  epic. 

94.  the  darling  theme.     Praise  to  God ;  '  His  praise '  in  11.  48,  54, 
69,  80. 


NOTES,  67-116.  397 

1  Gentle  Thomson,  as  the  Seasons  roll, 
Taught  them  to  sing  their  great  Creator's  praise 
And  bear  their  poet's  name  from  pole  to  pole  ' 

Michael  Bruce,  Elegy  written  in  Spring  (of  1766). 
Young  Michael  Bruce,  a  Scots  poet  of  great  promise,  was  one  of  the 
most  devoted  of  the  followers  of  Thomson. 

96.  Russets  the  plain.     Said,  not  of  autumn  but  summer :  referring 
to  the  effect  of  summer  drought  upon  the  grass.     See  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence, I.  1.  16. 

inspiring.  In  the  original  text  '  delicious.'  The  reference  here  is 
to  poetical  inspiration.  Thomson  found  the  autumn  season  most 
conducive  to  poetical  thought  and  composition.  Cp.  Shenstone's  Verses 
to  W.  Lyttelton — 

'  Thomson,  sweet  descriptive  bard, 

Inspiring  Autumn  sung.' — 11.  29,  30. 

Autumn  gleams.  In  fields  of  yellow  corn — the  reflected  light  from 
which  is  strong  enough  to  illumine  the  evening. 

97.  blackening.     '  Reddening  '  in  the  earlier  text. 
100-104.  Cp.  Horace — 

'  Pone  me  pigris  ubi  nulla  campis 
Arbor  aestiva  recreatur  aura,'  &c. — Car.  I.  22. 
101.  distant.     '  Hostile  '  in  the  earlier  text. 

105-107.  The  same   sentiment  is  more  fully  expressed  in  Paradise 
Lost  :— 

'  Yet  doubt  not  but  in  valley  and  in  plain 
God  is,  as  here,  and  will  be  found  alike 
Present ;  and  of  his  presence  many  a  sign 
Still  following  thee,  still  compassing  thee  round 
With  goodness  and  paternal  love,  his  face 
Express,  and  of  his  steps  the  track  divine.' 

Bk.  XI.  11.  349-354- 
107-113.  Substituted  after  1738  for — 

'  Rolls  the  same  kindred  seasons  round  the  world, 
In  all  apparent,  wise  and  good  in  all ; 
Since  he  sustains  and  animates  the  whole,'  &c. 

113.  their  sons.     Their  inhabitants. 

114.  edticing.    '  Educes'  in  the  earlier  editions.    The  line  is  Miltonic 
in  sentiment.     Cp.  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  VII.  11.  615,  616  : — 

'  His  evil 

Thou  usest,  and  from  thence  creat'st  more  good.' 
See  Winter,  1.  1061,  and  Note. 

115.  116.    and  better  still,  In  infinite  progression.   Thomson's  theory 


39«  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

of  spiritual  evolution,  often  referred  to  in  his  poetry,  was  an  essential 
part  of  his  religious  belief. 

'  Heirs  of  eternity,  y-born  to  rise 
Through  endless  states  of  being,  still  more  near 
To  bliss  approaching,  and  perfection  clear.' 

Castle  of  Indolence,  II.  st.  Ixi. 

See  also,  and  compare,  Liberty,  III.  11.  69,  70;  Spring,  11.  375-377  ; 
Winter,  11.  357,  358,  &c.  In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Cranstoun,  of  date  Oct.  20, 
1735,  Thomson  writes  :  '  This  I  think  we  may  be  sure  of,  that  a  future 
state  must  be  better  than  this  ;  and  so  on  through  the  never-ceasing  suc- 
cession of  future  states,  every  one  rising  upon  the  last,  an  everlasting  new 
display  of  infinite  goodness.' 


THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

The  Castle  of  Indolence  was  published  early  in  the  summer  of  1748, 
the  last  year  of  Thomson's  life  :  his  death  occurred  on  the  27th  of 
August,  about  four  months  after  the  publication  of  the  poem.  The 
work  was  the  slow  and  leisurely  composition  of  nearly  fifteen  years. 
Writing  in  the  middle  of  April,  1748,  to  his  friend,  and  successor  in  the 
office  of  Survey  or- General  of  the  Leeward  Islands,  William  Paterson, 
then  resident  at  Barbadoes,  the  poet  announces  *  that  after  fourteen  or 
fifteen  years  the  Castle  of  Indolence  comes  abroad  in  a  fortnight.'  He 
goes  on,  '  It  will  certainly  travel  as  far  as  Barbadoes.  You  have  an 
apartment  in- it  as  a  night-pensioner  [see  1.  521,  Canto  I],  which,  you 
may  remember,  I  fitted  up  for  you  during  our  delightful  party  at  North 
Ham.'  The  composition  of  the  Castle  of  Indolence  thus  covered  more 
than  the  entire  period  of  Thomson's  residence  at  Richmond,  where  he 
lived  in  a  garden-house  in  Kew-foot  Lane,  in  comparative  retirement 
and  moderately  luxurious  ease  from  1736  to  the  day  of  his  death.  The 
publisher  was  his  old  friend,  '  good-natured  and  obliging  Millar,'  the 
bookseller,  who  had  taken  a  house  at  Richmond  to  be  near  Thomson. 
The  first  edition  was  in  quarto ;  the  second,  published  in  the  same  year, 
in  octavo.  The  text  of  the  latter  has  been  faithfully  followed  in  the 
present  edition. 

The  origin  of  the  poem  is  of  amusing  interest.  Thomson's  indolent 
habits,  both  of  life  and  composition,  were  notorious  — 


INTR OD UCTOR  Y  NOTE.  399 

'  His  ditty  sweet 

He  loathed  much  to  write,  ne  cared  to  repeat ; ' 
and  they  were  often  made  the  butt  of  the  good-natured  banter,  and 
remonstrance,  of  his  friends.  He  did  not  seek  to  deny  the  soft  impeach- 
ment ;  but  he  ventured  to  retaliate  upon  his  friends  that  they  were 
equally  inclined  in  their  own  way  to  ease  and  idleness,  and  took  his 
revenge  by  gently  caricaturing  in  a  few  disconnected  stanzas  the  peculiar 
phases  of  their  common  failing.  The  poem  grew  out  of  those  stanzas. 
In  its  finished  state  it  may  be  regarded  as  an  apology  and  a  warning. 
The  apology,  mostly  playfully  urged,  is  for  his  own  indolence ;  the 
warning  is  meant  to  discourage  the  indulgence  of  indolence  in  others. 
The  warning  is  eloquent,  with  outbursts  of  true  poetry,  but — as  is 
usually  the  fate  of  warnings — is  likely  to  continue  to  be  neglected  for 
the  more  engaging  charms  of  the  apology.  And  yet  there  is  much 
sympathetic  writing  on  the  pleasures  of  an  industrious  life  very 
capable  of  inspiring  and  directing  the  energies  of  healthy  youth. 

The  poem  is  allegorical,  and  was  professedly  written  in  imitation  of 
The  Faerie  Queene.  The  Advertisement  prefixed  to  the  poem  runs  as 
follows  : — '  This  poem  being  writ  in  the  manner  of  Spenser,  the  obsolete 
words,  and  a  simplicity  of  diction  in  some  of  the  lines  which  borders  on 
the  ludicrous,  were  necessary  to  make  the  imitation  more  perfect.  And 
the  style  of  that  admirable  poet,  as  well  as  the  measure  in  which  he 
wrote,  are,  as  it  were,  appropriated  by  custom  to  all  allegorical  poems 
writ  in  our  language ;  just  as  in  French  the  style  of  Marot,  who  lived 
under  Francis  the  First,  has  been  used  in  tales  and  familiar  epistles  by 
the  politest  writers  of  the  age  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.'  Notwithstanding 
this  explanation  of  his  employment  of  the  Spenserian  stanza  for  The 
Castle  of  Indolence,  Thomson's  avoidance  of  the  measure  which  Pope 
had  so  popularized  and  perfected  is  significant  of  the  robustness  of  his 
genius  in  refusing,  even  in  respect  of  verse-form,  to  own  allegiance  to  the 
artificial  school.  Neither  in  The  Seasons  nor  in  The  Castle  of  Indolence 
did  he  adopt  the  heroic  couplet.  It  may  have  been  that  the  popular 
taste  was  beginning  to  be  cloyed  with  the  monotonous  sweetness  and 
smoothness  of  Pope's  art,  which  seemed  incapable  of  further  development ; 
at  all  events  the  change  of  form  accompanying  the  more  important  change 
of  theme  in  poetical  literature  which  Thomson  instituted,  and  in  which 
others  followed  his  example,  was  relished  from  the  very  first.  At  the 
same  time  it  must  be  owned  that  Thomson's  ideas  on  the  subject  of 


400  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

verse-forms  had  been  greatly  modified  by  the  influence  of  the  artificial 
school  during  the  period  of  his  residence  in  England.  When  he  sat 
down  in  1725  to  write  his  Winter  it  was  with  a  contempt  for  rhyme 
only  less  pronounced  than  that  of  Milton  in  the  later  period  of  his  life. 
He  lived  to  entertain  worthier  ideas  of  form ;  and  few  will  doubt  that 
his  poetical  genius  was  improved  by  the  discipline  of  art,  and  that  it 
shines  on  the  whole  to  better  advantage  in  the  elaborate  setting  of  the 
Spenserian  stanza  than  in  the  rough  though  rich  accumulations  of  The 
Seasons.  Thomson  manages  the  Spenserian  stanza  with  an  easy  grace 
of  art  which  is  not  constantly  reminding  you  of  the  artist.  In  his  hands 
the  measure  seems  the  natural  expression  of  the  sentiment.  There  is 
probably  as  much  redundancy  of  phraseology  in  The  Castle  of 
Indolence  as  in  The  Seasons  ;  but  there  is  an  absence  of  tumidity  : 
the  diction  is  more  natural  in  the  sense  that  it  is  less  conventional. 
The  archaic  and  rustic  words  with  which  the  poem  is  sprinkled  help 
to  withdraw  the  imagination  of  the  reader  out  of  the  work-a-day  present 
into  an  ideal  world  of  the  romantic  past ;  but,  it  must  be  said,  they  are 
not  always  correctly,  nor  even  systematically,  employed.  The  poet 
breaks  away  now  and  again  for  whole  stanzas  from  the  use  of  these  old 
forms;  then,  as  if  reminded  of  the  omission,  suddenly  scatters  a 
handful.  The  style  shows  more  variety  than  The  Seasons.  Now  it  is 
'  serious,  grave,  even  solemn  ;  now  it  is  cheerful,  lively,  and  gay.  It 
borders  frequently  on  burlesque,  mostly  of  a  genially  brisk  and  airy 
character;  once  or  twice  it  drops  into  downright  inanity  (see  1.  383, 
Canto  II)  ;  there  are,  however,  numerous  descriptive  passages  of  clear- 
ringing  and  exalted  melody  sufficient  in  themselves  to  rank  Thomson 
as  a  genuine  singer  of  commanding  rank.  It  might  be  possible  to  trace 
in  the  poetry  of  Keats  and  Shelley  the  influence  of  those  passages. 

The  poem  is  less  popular  than  The  Seasons,  but  it  is  the  most 
exquisite  of  all  Thomson's  works.  It  consists  of  two  Cantos  :  the  first, 
which  might  almost  be  entitled  The  Pleasures  of  Indolence,  describes 
the  '  fatal  valley  gay,'  the  enchanting  castle  and  its  luxurious  appoint- 
ments, its  wizard,  and  its  willing  inmates.  The  second  follows  the 
career  of  a  certain  Knight  of  Arts  and  Industry,  who,  with  his  friend 
the  bard  Philomelus,  invades  the  valley,  snares  the  wizard,  and  offers 
freedom  to  the  captives — which  they  are  all  at  first  reluctant,  and  some 
at  last  unable  or  unwilling,  to  accept.  These  irreclaimable  victims  of 
Indolence  are  punished  by  being  hunted  through  the  world  by  Beggary 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  401 

and  Scorn.  They  are  compared  to  a  strayed  herd  of  the  swine  of 
Comus,  driven  by  dogs  and  sticks  through  the  miry  thoroughfare  of 
a  provincial  town  j  and  with  the  unsavoury  simile  the  poem  rather 
abruptly  ends. 

The  four  medical  stanzas  at  the  end  of  the  first  canto  were  written  by 
Dr.  Armstrong,  author  of  The  Art  of  Preserving  Health ;  and  the 
description  of  the  indolent  bard  '  more  fat  than  bard  beseems '  (Canto 
I,  st.  Ixviii)  is  the  Hon.  George,  afterwards  Lord,  Lyttelton's  portrait  of 
Thomson  himself. 

In  May,  1802,  Wordsworth  wrote  a  set  of  eight  Spenserian  stanzas  in 
his  pocket  copy  of  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  which  may  briefly  be 
noticed  here.  They  are  written  in  a  style  that  is  in  wonderful  harmony 
with  that  of  Thomson,  except  that  it  is  more  diffuse.  They  offer  two 
additional  portraits  to  the  series  of  the  Castle  inmates,  representing  more 
or  less  faithfully  Wordsworth  himself  and  his  friend  Coleridge.  The 
latter  is  thus  presented  : — 

'  With  him  there  often  walked  in  friendly  guise, 

Or  lay  upon  the  moss  by  brook  or  tree, 

A  noticeable  man  with  large  gray  eyes, 

And  a  pale  face  that  seemed  undoubtedly 

As  if  a  blooming  face  it  ought  to  be  : 

Heavy  his  low-hung  lip  did  oft  appear, 

Depressed  by  weight  of  musing  phantasie ; 

Profound  his  forehead  was,  though  not  severe, 
Yet  some  did  think  that  he  had  little  business  here.' 
And  the  two  together  are  thus  described  in  the  last  stanza  : — 
'  He  would  entice  that  other  man  to  hear 

His  music,  and  to  view  his  imagery  : 

And,  sooth,  these  two  did  love  each  other  dear 

As  far  as  love  in  such  a  place  could  be ; 

There  did  they  dwell,  from  earthly  labour  free. 

As  happy  spirits  as  were  ever  seen  : 

If  but  a  bird,  to  keep  them  company, 

Or  butterfly  sate  down  they  were,  I  ween, 
As  pleased  as  if  the  same  had  been  a  maiden  queen.' 


Dd 


402  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 


CANTO  I. 

The  short- lined  quatrain  of  doggerel  with  which  each  of  the  two 
Cantos  is  introduced,  and  which  briefly  indicates  its  contents,  is  in 
imitation  of '  my  master  Spenser '  (Canto  II,  st.  lii,  1.  9).  The  first  canto 
of  the  first  Book  of  The  Faerie  Queene,  for  example,  has  for 
prelude— 

'  The  Patrone  of  true  Holinesse 

Foule  Errour  doth  defeate  : 

Hypocrisie,  him  to  entrappe, 

Doth  to  his  home  entreate.' 

The  '  alas  ! '  of  the  third  line  is  in  sorrow  for  the  transitoriness  of  the 
pleasures  of  indolence.  It  is  well  named  a  Castle,  for,  though  the 
description  conveys  rather  the  idea  of  a  palace,  the  inmates  were  really 
captives  with  small  chance  of  regaining  their  freedom. 

The  first  stanza  points  the  moral  of  the  Allegory.  The  story  com- 
mences at  the  second  stanza. 

1.  here.     Not  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence,  of  course,  but  in  this  world. 

2.  Do  not  complain  of  this >  i.  e.  of '  living  by  toil ' — '  thy  hard  estate.' 

3.  emmet.     Doublet,  '  ant '  ;  from  A.-S.  eemete,  shortened  in  Middle 
English  into  amte,  whence  '  ant.'     The  ant  has  long  been  proverbial  for 
its  industry.     See  Proverbs  vi.  6. 

4.  sentence  of  an  ancient  date.     Pronounced  upon  Adam   on   the 
occasion  of  his  expulsion  from  the  Garden  of  Eden  : — '  In  the  sweat  of 
thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,  till  thou  return  unto  the  ground'  (Gen. 
iii.  19). 

7.  curse  thy  stars.     Thy  ill  fortune— an  expression  that  has  survived 
belief  in  the  superstition  of  astrology.     Cp.  '  disaster,'  '  consider,' '  influ- 
ence,' &c. 

8.  an  heavier  bale,  i.  e.  heavier  than  toil.     For  '  bale,'  see  Glossary. 

9.  Illustrated  at  some  length  in  the  last  five  stanzas  of  this  Canto. 

10.  ii.  Cp.  the  opening  lines  of  Keats's  Hyperion.      And  see  Faery 
Queene,  Bk.  I,  Canto  I,  st.  xxxiv. 

1 6.  with    summer    half  imbr owned.       So   in    the    Hymn    on    the 
Seasons — 

'  The  summer  ray 
Russets  the  plain.' — 11.  95,  96. 

17.  A  listless  climate.     A  warm   enervating   climate   inducing  list- 
lessness. 

22.  From  poppies  breathed.  Exhaled  from  poppies.  The  common 
poppy  (papaver  somnifertim)  yields  the  well-known  opium,  a  powerful 
narcotic  formed  of  the  dried  juice  of  its  unripe  capsules. 


NOTES,  I   1-43-  403 

26.  as  they  bickered.     The  original  Celtic  meaning  of  '  bicker'  is  '  to 
skirmish.'     It  comes  from  '  peak  '  or  '  peck,'  and  signifies  ( to  keep  on 
pecking  ' ;  applied  to  a  stream  it  suggests  the  rapid  tremulous  movement 
of  the  current.      Thomson  uses  it  in  the  last  sense  in  Winter,  1.  725,  in 
speaking  of  the  frost  (  arresting  the  bickering  stream.' 

27.  #  lulling  ?mirmur  made-.     The  sense  here  is  aptly  aided  by  the 
sound,  and  the  monotony  is  produced  by  the  repetition  of  the  liquid  /*s 
and   m's.     For  the   same   effect  of  monotony  produced   by  the  same 
cause  of  repetition,  see  1.  45  infra. 

28-30.  Cp.  Spring,  11.  197-200 — 

*  Full  swell  the  woods :    their  every  music  wakes, 
Mixed  in  wild  concert  with  the  warbling  brooks 
Increased,  the  distant  bleatings  of  the  hills, 
And  hollow  lows  responsive  from  the  vales.' 

3 1 .  vacant  shepherds.    Free  from  care.    Cp.  Goldsmith's  '  loud  laugh 
that  speaks  the  vacant  mind.' — Deserted  Village. 

32.  Philomel.     Philomela,  one  of  the  two  daughters  of  King  Pandion 
of  Athens,  having  been  transformed  into  a  nightingale,  her  name  is 
poetically  given  to  the  bird. 

33.  'plain.   For  '  complain.'   Referring  to  the  low,  soft,  plaintive  note 
of  the  wood-pigeon. 

35.  a  coil  the  grasshopper  did  keep.  A  sharp  grating  sound  with 
pleasant  associations  of  sunshine  and  green  fields,  accentuating  the 
repose  and  stillness  of  rural  life.  '  Coil,'  which  means  '  noise '  or 
'  bustle,'  is  Celtic — goil,  rage,  battle.  The  word  recurs  in  Shakespeare 
— in  Hamlet's  soliloquy,  '  this  mortal  coil ' ;  in  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
'  Here's  a  coil,'  &c. 

38  and  41.     See  1.  n,  supra. 

39.  shadowy  forms  were  seen   to   move.       See   Autumn,   11.    1029- 

1033— 

'Oh  bear  me  then  to  vast  embowering  shades  .  .  . 

Where  angel-forms  athwart  the  solemn  dusk 
Tremendous  sweep,  or  seem  to  sweep,  along.' 
42,  43.  blackening  pines,  aye  waving  .  .  .  Sent  forth  a  sleepy  horror. 
The  '  horror'  was  from  the  'blackening  pines,'  the  sleep  was  induced  by 
the  monotony  of  the  'waving.'     Cp.  Genesis  xv.  12,  *  A  deep  sleep  fell 
upon  Abram ;  and,  lo,  an  horror  of  great  darkness  fell  upon  him.'     Cp. 
also — 

'  Through  every  joint  a  gentle  horror  creeps, 
And  round  you  the  consenting  audience  sleeps.' 

Thomson's  Soporific  Doctor. 
D  d  2 


404  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

45.  The  distant  undertone  and  monotone  of  the  sea  is  finely  brought 
out  in  this  alliterative  line.  See  Note,  1.  27,  supra. 

46-49.  These  are  lines  of  singular  beauty,  descriptive  of  the  pleasures 
of  day-dreaming. 

55.   The  landskip  such.     Such  was  the  landscape. 

60.  unceasing.     Unfailing,  constant.  - 

61.  The  palm  is  the  product  of  a  summer  climate.     In  poetry  it  may 
grow  in  the  same  soil  with  the  pine,  as  in  Milton's  Eden *,  Shakespeare's 
Arden,  the  forests  of  the  Faery  Queene,  &c. 

62.  Was  placed.     Was  seated  ;  placed  himself. 
cruel  fate.     The  'labour  harsh'  in  the  next  line. 

65.  that  pass  there  by. 

1  The  moon,  sweet  regent  of  the  sky, 

Silvered  the  walls  of  Cumnor  Hall, 

And  many  an  oak  that  grew  there  by.' — Julius  Mickle. 
Milton  has  ' that  passed  that  way'  (Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV,  1. 177)  to  express 
the  same  idea. 

66.  chaunced  to  breathe.    Happened  to  rest — take  breath  from  toil. 
Contrast  this  with  its  older  meaning  '  to  exert '  or  '  exercise ' : — '  I  am 
not  yet  well  breathed.' — As  You  Like  It,  Act  I,  sc.  ii. 

70.  syren  melody.     Thus  described  in  Comus  : — 

'  I  have  oft  heard 

My  mother  Circe  with  the  Sirens  three,  .  .  . 
Who,  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prisoned  soul, 
And  lap  it  in  Elysium  :    Scylla  wept 
And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention, 
And  fell  Charybdis  murmured  soft  applause. 
But  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lulled  the  sense, 
And  in  sweet  madness  robbed  it  of  itself.' 

According  to  Homer  the  Sirens  (Secprjva')  were  sea-nymphs,  who  had  the 
power  of  luring  to  destruction,  by  the  charm  of  their  songs,  all  who 
heard  them.  The  island  on  which  they  lived  was  between  Aeaea  and 
the  rock  of  Scylla,  near  the  south-west  shore  of  Italy.  Homer  says 
nothing  about  their  number. 

76.  her    wintry  tomb.     The  chrysalis    (aurelia),    or  gold-coloured 
sheath  of  butterflies,  &c. 

77.  What .  .  .  bride  can  equal  her  array  ?   Cp.  Thomson's  Paraphrase 
of  the  latter  part  of  the  sixth  chapter  of  Matthew  : — 

'  What  regal  vestments  can  with  them  compare  ? 
What  king  so  shining,  and  what  queen  so  fair  ? ' 

1  '  Cedar  and  pine  and  fir  and  branching  palm, 
A  sylvan  scene.' — Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV,  1.  139. 


NOTES,  7.   45-97.  405 

82-90.  Cp.  Thomson's  Paraphrase  of  part  of  Matthew  vi : — 
*  See  the  light  tenants  of  the  barren  air ! 
To  them  nor  stores  nor  granaries  belong, 
Nought  but  the  woodland  and  the  pleasing  song.  .  . 

To  Him  they  sing 

He  hears 

And  with  inspiring  bounty  fills  them  all.' 

83.  careless  grove.    The  grove  where  they  have  no  cares.    Cp.  '  listless 
climate,'  1.  17,  supra. 

84.  the  flowering  thorn.    So  Burns,  in  Banks  and  Braes  o'  Bonnie 
Doon : — 

'  Thou'll  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling  bird, 
That  wantons  thro'  the  flowering  thorn.' 

85.  86.  So  Chaucer  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales  : — 

'  Smale  fowles  maken  melodic,  .  .  . 
So  priketh  hem  nature  in  here  corages.' — 11.  9,  n. 
87,  88.   They  neither  plough,  nor  sow,  &c.      Cp.  Matthew  vi.  26 : 
'  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air ;  for  they  sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap, 
nor  gather  into  barns.' 

fit  for  flail.     Ready  for  threshing :  the  reference  is  to  the  sheaves. 
nodding  sheaves.     Cp.  Autumn,  11.  I,  2 — 

'  Crowned  with  the  sickle  and  the  wheaten  sheaf, 

While  Autumn,  nodding  o'er  the  yellow  plain,'  &c. 
drove.      The  tense  here  is  present ;   an  archaic-looking  form   for 
'  drive.' 

89,  90.     theirs  each  harvest,  &c.     Cp.  Pope's  Essay  on  Man — 
'  Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the  plain  ? 
The  birds  of  heaven  shall  vindicate  their  gram.' 

Epist.  Ill,  11.  37>  38- 

91,  92.  the  wretched  thrall  Of  bitter-dropping  sweat.     The  slave  of 
toil.     '  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread '  (Gen.  iii.  19). 
93.  cares  that  eat  away  the  heart.     Cp.  Milton's  L' Allegro — 

'Ever,  against  eating  cares, 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs.' — 11.  135,  136. 

95.  savage  thirst  of  gain.     Cp.  Virgil's  '  auri  sacra  fames.' 

96.  Interest.     Self-interest ;  selfishness. 

97.  Astrcea  left  the  plain.     In  the  golden  age  this  star-lovely  divinity 
lived  on  earth,  and  blessed  mankind  with  her  presence ;  but  when  the 
golden   age  was  over,  she   too,  with  other  divinities  that  loved   the 
simplicity  of  primitive  man,  at  last  reluctantly  withdrew,  shocked  at  the 
crimes  and  vices  which  were  polluting  the  early  world.     She  represented 
Justice. 


406  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

97-99.  Cp.  Campbell's  Pleasures  of  Hope — 

'Murder  bared  her  arm,  and  rampart  War 
Yoked  the  red  dragons  of  her  iron  car, 
[And]  Peace  and  Mercy,  banished  from  the  plain, 
Sprung  on  the  viewless  winds  to  Heaven  again.' 

99.  for.    Instead  of. 

100.  cumbrous   load  of  life.     Here   compared  to   the   stone  which 
Sisyphus  was  condemned  to  roll  up  hill  in  the  infernal  world,  and  which, 
as  soon  as  he  had  pushed  it  with  great  labour  to  the  top,  always  rolled 
down  again. 

109.  Thomson's  own  habit  latterly  was  to  rise  at  noon. 

1 10.  To  pass  the  joyless  day.     Cp.  Burns — '  And  pass  the  heartless 
day.' — Winter,  a  Dirge. 

in.  upstart  fortune.     Fortunate  upstart. 

113-116.  Thomson  seems  to  have  cherished  an  ineradicable  hatred 
and  contempt  for  pettifogging  lawyers.     Cp.  Autumn,  1.  1287 — 
'  Let  this  through  cities  work  his  eager  way 
By  legal  outrage  and  established  guile,  .  .  . 

Let  these 

Ensnare  the  wretched  in  the  toils  of  law, 
Fomenting  discord  and  perplexing  right, 
An  iron  race ! ' 
Also  Winter,  1.  384— 

'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  ! ' 
1 1 8.  No  cocks  .  .  .  to  rustic  labour  call.     Cp.  Gray's  Elegy — 
'The  cock's  shrill  clarion 

No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed.' 
But  see  1.  690,  infra, — '  Gout  here  counts  the  crowing  cocks.' 
118-124.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task,  Bk.  1, 1.  225— 

'  Hidden  as  it  is,  and  far  remote 
From  such  unpleasing  sounds  as  haunt  the  ear 
In  village  or  in  town, — the  bay  of  curs, 
Incessant  clinking  hammers,  grinding  wheels, 
And  infants  clamorous,  whether  pleased  or  pained — 
Oft  have  I  wished  the  peaceful  covert  mine.' 

126.  Sybarite.  A  voluptuary.  Literally,  an  inhabitant  of  Sybaris, 
a  Greek  town  in  Lucania  in  southern  Italy.  The  prosperity  of  the 
town  induced  in  the  inhabitants  an  indolent  and  luxurious  habit 
of  life. 


ATOTES,   I.    97-163.  407 

133.  With  milky  blood  the  heart  is  over  flown.  Cp.  Shakespeare's 
Macbeth — 

'  It  [thy  nature]  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness/ 

Act  I,  Sc.  v. 

136.  What,  what  is  virtue?  The  repetition  of  'what'  more  em- 
phatically challenges  any  other  answer  to  the  question  than  that  given 
by  the  sophist. 

140.  a   protid  malignant  worm !      The   factitive    object ;   supply 
1  making  him.' 

141.  But  here,  instead,  soft  gales  of  passion  play.     See  11.  50-52, 
supra. 

145.  The  best  of  men.  149.  Even  those  whom  fame,  &c.  Such  as 
Scipio  Africanus  the  younger,  cited  by  Thomson  himself  at  1.  152,  infra. 
See  Winter,  11.  517-520,  and  Note  :— 

'  Scipio,  the  gentle  chief,         . 
[Who],  warm  in  youth  to  the  poetic  shade 
With  friendship  and  Philosophy  retired.' 

The  '  friends '  and  '  philosophers,'  to  whose  society  he  is  represented  as 
'  retiring '  from  warfare  and  politics,  included  Polybius,  Laelius  (his 
friendship  with  whom  is  the  subject  of  Cicero's  De  Amicitia),  Lucilius, 
and  Terentius.  (See  Liberty,  Part  V,  11.  419-421.) 

152.  the  soft  Cumcean  shore.  The  ancient  town  of  Cumae  stood  on 
the  coast  of  Campania,  a  few  miles  to  the  west  of  Neapolis  (Naples), 
and  not  far  from  Cape  Misenum.  It  was  at  Cajeta  (Gaeta)  on  the 
border  of  Campania,  but  in  Latium,  where  Scipio  found  retirement. 
Its  bay  is  inferior  only  in  beauty  to  that  of  Naples.  Both  Virgil  and 
Horace  have  celebrated  it. 

1 54.  The  '  exercise '  congenial  with  an  indolent  life  is  here  made  to 
include  the  composition  of  poetry,  gardening,  and  angling.  Compare 
the  pastimes  of  Cowper  in  his  Olney  retirement — which  chiefly  consisted 
of  gardening  and  '  the  poet's  toil.' 

'  How  various  his  employments  whom  the  world 

Calls  idle ! 

Friends,  books,  a  garden,  and  perhaps  his  pen.' 

The  Task,  Bk.  III. 

157.  deck  the  vernal  year.     Have  a  fine  display  of  flowers  in  Spring- 
time. 

158.  with  your  watery  gear.     In  Spring  'thy  slender  watery  stores,' 
—flies,  rod,  line,  &c.     (See  Spring,  11.  383-386.) 

159.  crimson-spotted  fry .     '  The  speckled  captives'  of  Spring,  1.  421. 
163.  estate.     Here  it  means  '  fortune  '  or  '  possessions ' ;  the  original 


408  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

meaning  is  'condition  of  life,'  and  the  word  is  used  in  this  sense  in  1.  2, 
supra. 

164.  beneath  the  sun.      '  Under   the   sun ' — a   recurring   phrase   in 
Ecclesiastes ;  see  chap.  viii.  15:'  The  days  of  his  life  which  God  giveth 
him  under  the  sun.' 

165.  comes  blind  unrelenting  fate.     Cp.  Milton's  Lycidas — 

'  Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.' — 11.  75,  76. 

165-169.  This  passage  seems  to  present  various  recollections .  of 
Horace,  e.  g. — 

'  Linquenda  tellus  et  domus     .     .     . 
Absumet  heres  Caecuba  dignior 
Servata  centum  clavibus  et  mero 

Tinget  pavimentum  superbo.' — Car.  II.  14. 

'Jam  te  premet  nox  fabulaeque  Manes 
Et  domus  exilis  Plutonia.' — Car.  I.  4. 

172,  173.  He  ceased.  But  still,  &c.  Cp.  Milton's  Par.  Lost,  Bk 
VIII.  11.  1-3:— 

'  The  angel  ended,  and  in  Adam's  ear 
So  charming  left  his  voice  that  he  a  while 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fixed  to  hear.' 

177-180.  This  in  itself  is  an  exquisite  simile,  charming  the  imagina- 
tion with  both  picture  and  melody ;  but  it  is,  in  respect  of  application, 
hardly  in  harmony  with  a  throng  entering  pell-mell  and  pouring  in  heaps 
on  heaps.  True,  Thomson  describes  this  same  throng  as  slipping  along 
at  the  same  time  in  silent  ease  ;  but  the  mind  refuses  to  blend  two  descrip- 
tions that  are  so  contradictory.  See  1.  208,  infra. 

The  simile  suggests  a  scene  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  The 
'gleam'  of  1.  179  is,  of  course,  the  reflected  light  of  summer-moons. 
The  entrance  of  the  fairy  train  into  the  natural  world  from  their  super- 
natural home  is  finely  suggested  by  the  concluding  line  of  the  stanza. 

1 8 1.  the  smooth  demon.  The  wizard,  Indolence.  His  character  is 
evidently  modelled  on  that  of  Archimago  in  the  Faery  Queene,  whose 
tongue  was  '  filed  as  smooth  as  glass/  and  who  '  of  pleasing  wordes 
had  store'  (I.  i.  xxxv).  See  Canto  II,  1.  281,  infra,  for  confirmation  of 
this  idea. 

195,  196.  the  giant  crew,  Who  sought,  &c.  The  Titans,  or  rather 
the  Gigantes,  who  are  often  confounded  with  the  Titans. 

209.  A  comely  full- spread  porter,  swoln,  &c.  Cp.  with  Morpheus  in 
the  Faery  Queene,  I.  i.  xl-xliv. 

215.  black  staff.     His  rod,  or  wand  of  office. 


NOTES,   I.    164-249. 


409 


his  man.     His  servant.     Cp.  Shakespeare's  Tempest  : — 

'  Caliban 

Has  a  new  master  ; — get  a  new  man ! ' 

221,  222.  each  band  ....  Garters  and  buckles.  Of  the  inmates  of 
the  Castle. 

223.  But  ill.  'But'  is  here  an  adverb,  with  an  intensive  force  on 
'ill.' 

225.  performed  it.  The  pronoun  '  it '  here  represents  the  disengage- 
ment of  the  bands,  buckles,  &c. 

229,  230.  The  downs  of  Hants  and  Dorset  were  well-known  to 
Thomson.  He  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Eastbury  House,  and  had 
lived  at  Twiford.  '  When  Evening/r^wwj,'  i.  e.  '  darkens.' 

234.  and  turned  to  sleep  agam.  So  Morpheus  in  the  Faery  Queene 
(I.  i.  xliv). 

240.  nepenthe.  A  drug  which  lulled  sorrow,  or  freed  from  sorrow. 
From  Gr.  VTJ-,  negative,  and  irevOos,  grief. 

'Not  that  Nepenthes     .... 

Is  of  such  power  to  stir  up  joy.' — Comus,  11.  675,  677. 
241-243.  as  Dan  Homer  sings.  For  '  Dan '  see  Glossary.  Homer 
refers  to  the  pain-lulling  property  of  a  certain  drug  which  when  cast 
into  wine  brought  oblivion  of  every  sorrow.  In  the  Odyssey  he  traces 
its  origin  to  Egypt,  '  where  earth,  the  grain-bestower,  yields  abundance  of 
herbs,  many  medicinal  and  many  baneful,'  and  describes  the  use  which 
was  made  of  it  by '  Helena,  daughter  of  Zeus.'  Milton  also  refers  to  this 
passage  in  the  Odyssey  : — 

'  Nepenthes,  which  the  wife  of  Thone  [Polydamna] 
In  Egypt  gave  to  Jove-born  Helena.' — Comus,  11.  675,  676. 
242.  oblivion  of  .  .  earthly  care.      Cp.  '  And  all  their  friends   and 
native  home  forget.' — Comus,  1.  76. 

244.  This  line  consists  of  two  absolute  clauses. 

247.  through  hall  or  glade.  In  the  Castle,  or  in  the  Castle  grounds. 
'  Hall '  is  usually  associated  with  '  bower ' — both  words  signifying 
rooms  in  a  house,  the  '  hall '  the  public  room,  and  '  bower '  a  private 
room. 

4 1  will  tell  you  now 

What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song, 
From  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower.' 

Comus,  11.  43-45. 

It  is  impossible  that  Thomson  has  mistaken  the  meaning  of  '  bower '  by 
offering  '  glade,'  with  its  woodland  bowers,  as  a  translation. 

249.  as  likes  him  best.     The  verb  is  impersonal,  and  is  followed  by  a 


410  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

dative.  Literally, '  As  it  is  likest  or  most  suitable  for  him.'  So,  '  if  you 
like,'  is  '  if  to  you  it  be  suitable  or  pleasing.' 

250.  his  neighbours  trade.  His  neighbour's  affairs,  whether  of 
business  or  pastime. 

257.  blank  area.  Empty  by  reason  of  their  departure.  The  metaphor 
is  a  white  page,  having  nothing  printed  on  it. 

261.  'So  that  one  was   almost   constrained  to  think  that  one  was 
dreaming.'     The  '  singular '  use  of  *  you '  is  to  be  noticed  here. 

262.  The  beautiful  simile  beginning  here  is  in  the  manner  of  Milton  ; 
see  e.g.  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV,  11.  159-165,  and  11.  183-191;  only  it  is 
more  loosely  connected  with  the  passage  (in  the  preceding  stanza)  which 
it  is  meant  to  illustrate,  than  are  any  of  Milton's  with  their  context 
Milton's  '  as '  is  usually  followed,  though  at  a  long  interval,  by  a  corre- 
lating '  so  '  which  makes  application  of  the  simile  to  the  scene  or  action 
described.     There  is  here  no  such  final  application  of  the  simile ;  the 
introductory  '  as '  is  the  sole  connection,  and  it  seems  to  introduce  an 
afterthought.      The   simile   is   intended,   of  course,    to   illustrate   the 
suddenness   and   completeness   of  the   change  from  'endless  numbers 
swarming  round '  to  '  solitude  and  perfect  silence ' ;  but  the  reader  is 
less  concerned  with  the  thing  illustrated  than  with  the  illustration,  and 
his  imagination  is  inclined  rather  to  stay  with  the  shepherd  on  that 
sunset-illumined  isle  '  placed  far  amid  the  melancholy  main '  than  to 
return  to  the  blank  area  of  the  Castle  courtyard. 

the  Hebrid  Isles.     The  Western  islands  of  Scotland,  from  Lewis  to 
Islay. 

263.  amid  the.  melancholy  main.     A  musical  and  suggestive  phrase. 
Cp.  Autumn,  11.  861-864:— 

'  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.' 

264.  Whether  it  be   lone  fancy   him   beguiles.     Cp.    Wordsworth's 
Excursion — 

'  By  creative  feeling  overborne, 
Or  by  predominance  of  thought  oppressed.' — Bk.  I. 
268.  Phcebus  dips  his  ^vain.     The  sun  sets.     Cp.  Milton's  Comus— 

'The  gilded  car  of  day 
His  glowing  axle  doth  allay 
In  the  steep  Atlantic  stream/ — 11.  95-97. 

271.  Here,  after  an  apology  to  the  very  vice  of  Indolence  which  it  is 
the  object  of  his  poem  to  expose  (see  also  1.  3  of  the  quatrain  which 
introduces  this  canto),  Thomson  commences  a  series  of  stanzas — ending 


NOTES,  7.    250-290.  411 

with  stanza  Iv. — which  might  very  well  be  entitled  The  Pleasures  of 
Indolence.  But  for  his  having  himself  been  a  votary  of  Indolence,  he 
thinks  he  could  have  done  justice  to  the  subject!  It  will  hardly  be 
denied  that  the  indolent  habit  of  Thomson  well  qualified  him  both  to 
appreciate  and  to  express,  as  he  has  done,  the  pleasures  of  an  idle  and 
easy  life. 

275.  '  What  never  yet  was  heard  in  tale  or  song.' — Comus,  1.  44. 

276.  attempt  such  ardtious  string.     'Essay  a  strain   so  difficult — a 
subject  so  much  beyond  my  power.'    The  metaphor  is  taken  from  the  art 
of  the  musician  whose  instrument  is  the  harp. 

277.  nightly   days.     Days  turned  into  nights  by  sleeping  or  idling 
through  them.     Thomson's  normal  hour  of  rising  was  noon. 

279.  uprear  my  moiilted  wing.  Rouse  my  imagination  which  has  not 
been  exercised  for  a  long  time.  The  image  is  a  falcon  confined  to  a 
mew. 

281.  imp  of  Jove.     For 'imp,' see  Glossary.     The  nine  Muses  were 
the  daughters  of  Zeus,  or  Jupiter,  and  Mnemosyne,  or  Memory. 

282,  283.    Thou  yet  shalt  sing,  &c.     And  so  he  has,  in  Rule  Bri- 
tannia.    Cp.  Milton's  Epitaphium  Damonis  (1.  162) — 

'  Ipse  ego  Dardanias  Rutupina  per  aequora  puppes 
Dicam  .  .  .  .' 

284.  There  is  no   reference  here  to   any  intended  translation   from 
classical  authors — for  which,  indeed,  Thomson  had  not  the  necessary 
scholarship ;  but  to  a  revival  of  the  old  approved  methods  and  themes 
of  poetry. 

285-288.  Thomson's  dramas  were  Sophonisba  (1730),  Agamemnon 
(1738),  Edward  and  Eleanora  (1739),  Tancred  and  Sigismunda  0745)* 
and  Coriolanus  (1749 — the  year  after  his  death).  The  Masque  of  Alfred 
(1740)  may  be  added,  for  the  sake  of  the  lyric,  Rule  Britannia — though 
most  of  the  piece  was  the  composition  of  Malloch. 

This  stanza  is  interesting  as  containing  a  sketch  of  Thomson's  literary 
plans.  See,  for  a  reference  to  other  plans  of  a  like  nature,  the  concluding 
lines  of  his  Autumn,  and  the  Note. 

285.  in  tragic  pall.     Cp.  the  '  inky  cloak  '  in  Hamlet.     Lat.  palla,  a 
mantle.      '  Thespis  was   succeeded    [in   representations   of  the  tragic 
drama]  by  ^Eschylus,  who  erected  a  permanent  stage,  and  was  the 
inventor  of  the  mask  [persona],  of  the  long  flowing  robe  [pal/a],  and 
of  the  high-heeled  shoe  or  buskin  [cothurnus],  which  tragedians  wore  ; 
whence  these  words  are  put  for  a  tragic  style  or  for  tragedy  itself.' — 
Adam's  Roman  Antiquities. 

289,  290.  no  shrill  .  .  .  bell,  Ne  cursed  knocker.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task, 
Bk.  IV— 


412  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

4  No  powdered  pert,  proficient  in  the  art 
Of  sounding  an  alarm  assaults  these  doors 
Till  the  street  rings.' — 11.  145-147. 

292.  expand.     Used  transitively  here  in  the  first  edition. 

293.  The  pride  of  Turkey,  &c.     Carpets,  introduced   into   Europe 
from  the  East,  where  the  custom  among  Orientals  of  sitting  cross-legged 
on  the  floor  suggested  their  invention. 

297.  each  spacious -room  was  one  full-swelling  bed.  '  The  first  canto/ 
says  Johnson,  'opens  a  scene  of  lazy  luxury  that  fills  the  imagination.' 
Much  of  '  the  lazy  luxury  '  is  caught  in  this  one  line. 

298-300.  These  lines  remind  one  of  the  banquetting  hall  in  the 
*  stately  palace '  of  Comus — '  set  out  with  all  manner  of  deliciousness  : 
toft  music,  tables  spread  with  all  dainties.' 

'See,  here  be  all  the  pleasures 
That  fancy  can  beget  on  youthful  thoughts,     .     . 
And  first  behold  this  cordial  julep  here 
That  flames  and  dances  in  his  crystal  bounds 
With  spirits  of  balm  and  fragrant  syrups  mixed.' 

Comus,  11.  668-674. 

Thomson's  music  is  not  provided  till  we  come  to  1.  343  ;  and  then  he 
devotes  three  stanzas  to  it. 
300-302.  Cp.  Comus — 

'  Wherefore  did  Nature  pour  her  bounties  forth, 
Covering  the  earth  with  odours,  fruits,  and  flocks, 
Thronging  the  seas  with  spawn  innumerable, 
But  all  to  please  and  sate  the  curious  taste?'— 11.  710-714. 
3°3-3°6.  .  .    You   need  but  wish  ...      A  refinement  of  the  well- 
known  device  to  be  found  in  fairy  and  Oriental  tales  of  purveying  a 
feast  by  the  utterance  of  a  few  magical  words.     Even  '  signs '  are  dis- 
pensed with  in  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  as  being  too  fatiguing. 

306.  thick  the  glasses  played.  The  light  glanced  on  innumerable 
glasses.  '  Thick '  almost  always  signifies  '  numerous '  in  The  Seasons. 

308.  ancient  maiden.    The  modern  '  old  maid ' — popularly  supposed 
to  be  the  source  of  all  the  scandal  that  disturbs  a  neighbourhood. 

309.  saintly  spleen.     The   ill-nature,  or   spite,  of  clerical   bigotry ; 
or,  it  might  be,  the  interference  of  '  the  unco  guid ' — as  they  are  called  in 
Scotland. 

310.  Poisoning   one's   pleasures,  and   making   them   'pall,'   by  de- 
nouncing them  as  sinful.    '  Pall '  here  is  used  '  causatively.'     The  use  of 
'  our '  is  to  be  noted :    Thomson  frankly  classes  himself  amongst  the 
votaries  of  Indolence. 

316.  Tapestry — said  to    have   been   invented   by  the  Saracens,  and 


NOTES,   /.   292-333. 


413 


early  introduced  into  Europe  as  a  decorative  hanging  for  the  walls  of 
rooms.  The  famous  Bayeux  tapestry  contains  embroidered  representa- 
tions of  battle,  and  military  movements,  connected  with  the  Norman 
invasion  and  conquest  of  England.  It  belongs  to  the  eleventh,  at  latest 
the  twelfth  century,  and  is  the  oldest  piece  in  existence.  The  Flemings 
brought  the  highest  decorative  art  to  the  weaving  of  tapestry.  Even 
Raphael  furnished  carefully  prepared  designs  for  the  tapestry-weavers. 
Historical  and  ideal  sylvan  and  pastoral  scenes  were  favourite  subjects 
of  the  tapestry  designers. 

317.  inwoven  many  a  gentle  tale.     The  incidents  of  many  a  love 
history,  and  pastoral  romance,  were  represented. 

318,  319.  the  rural  poets   [of  old],    &c.     Theocritus,   a  native   of 
Syracuse,  represented  in  his  Idyls — which,  for  dramatic  simplicity  and 
fidelity  to  nature  have  never  been  equalled — scenes  in  the  ordinary  life 
of  the  people  of  Sicily.     Virgil  imitated  him,  but  he  wants  the  force 
and  naturalness  of  Theocritus.     Cowper,  in  The  Task,  Bk.  IV,  refers  to 
'  those  Arcadian  scenes  that  Maro  sings.' 

327.  the   Chaldee  land.     '  Ur  of  the  Chaldees,'  Gen.  xi.  31.     For 
an  account  of  Abram's  wanderings  see  the  immediately  succeeding  chap- 
ters.    What  time,  a  Latinism,  quo  tempore,  used  also  by  Milton  and 
other  poets. 

328.  The  word  'nomad'  (Gr.  voids')  exactly  expresses  the  meaning 
of  this  line — '  roaming  in  search  of  pasture.'     Cp. — 

'From  plain  to  plain  they  led  their  flocks, 
In  search  of  clearer  spring  and  fresher  field.' 

Liberty,  II,  11.  5,  6. 

329.  engage.     'Promise'  (or  'pledge' — the  original  meaning,  from 
Fr.  gage,  Lat.  vas,  vadis]  ;   '  where  water  and  pasture  were  most  pro- 
mising.'    The  secondary  meaning  of  '  engage  '  is  '  allure '  or  '  attract.' 

333.  true  golden  age.  It  is  the  indolence  of  the  patriarchal  age,  its 
large  leisure,  and  immunity  from  the  cares  of  city  and  political  life,  that 
so  charm  Thomson,  and  that  make  the  representations  of  that  primitive 
mode  of  life  adorn  the  tapestried  rooms  of  the  Castle  so  appropriately. 
As  for  '  the  golden  times '  of  the  ancient  poets  (see  a  description  of  them 
in  Ovid's  Metam.  lib.  i),  in  the  words  of  Cowper — 
'  Those  days  were  never ;  airy  dreams 

Sat  for  the  picture  ;    and  the  poet's  hand, 

Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 

Imposed  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth.' — The  Task,  Bk.  IV. 
It  is  to  be  noted  that  it  is  not  the  golden  age,  nor  the  patriarchal  age, 
which  Thomson  has  described  in  Spring,  11.  241-270,  but  the  age  of 
innocence — what  he  calls  '  those  prime  of  days.' 


4  M  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

334.  the  pencil.  The  word  is  used  here  in  the  old  sense — a  small 
hair-brush  for  painting  with.  Old  Fr.  pincel,  from  Lat.  penecillus,  a 
brush,  or  small  tail ;  from  penis,  a  tail.  '  Sometimes '  in  this  line 
signifies  '  in  some  of  the  rooms  ' — the  cool  airy  galleries. 

336.  Here  autumn  figures  in  a  brown  dress  ;  but  the  colour  is  given 
to  summer  (1.  16,  supra)  ;  and  in  an  illustrated  enumeration  of  the 
seasons,  in  The  Hymn,  11.  95,  96,  Thomson  describes  '  the  summer  ray 
as  russetting  the  plain.' 

341,  342.  Lorrain  light-touched  .  .  .  savage  Rosa  .  .  learned  Poussin. 
These  descriptive  epithets  are  all  well-chosen.  Claude  Gelee,  named 
Lorraine  from  his  birthplace,  was  born  in  1600,  and  studied,  and  finally 
settled,  at  Rome.  He  died  in  1682.  'His  tints  have  such  an  agreeable 
sweetness  and  variety  as  to  have  been  imperfectly  imitated  by  the  best 
subsequent  artists,  and  were  never  equalled.'  He  studied  Nature  in  the 
open  fields,  '  where  he  frequently  continued  from  sunrise  till  the  dusk  of 
the  evening,  sketching  whatever  he  thought  beautiful  or  striking.'  One 
critic  describes  his  '  skies '  as  '  warm,  and  full  of  lustre,'  with  every 
object  '  properly  illumined ' — the  '  distances  '  admirable,  and  in  every 
part '  a  delightful  union  and  harmony.'  Another  writes — '  No  one  could 
paint  with  greater  beauty,  brilliancy  and  truth  the  effects  of  sunlight  at 
various  hours  of  the  day,  of  wind  on  foliage,  the  dewy  moisture  of 
morning  shadows,  or  the  magical  blending  of  faint  and  ever-fainter  hues 
in  the  far  horizon  of  an  Italian  sky.'  In  the  National  Gallery,  London, 
are  excellent  specimens  of  Claude's  art,  of  which  may  be  mentioned 
'  Cephalus  and  Procris '  and  '  Embarkation  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba.' 
Salvator  Rosa  was  born  in  the  vicinity  of  Naples  in  1615.  He  settled 
in  Rome  when  he  was  twenty-three,  and  died  there  in  1673.  His  fame, 
like  that  of  Claude,  rests  on  his  landscapes.  His  subjects  are  '  generally 
representations  of  wild  and  savage  scenes  executed  with  a  freedom  and 
decision  remarkably  appropriate.'  Nicolas  Poussin,  the  most  popular 
figure  and  landscape  painter  of  his  time,  though  a  Frenchman — having 
been  born  at  Andelys  in  Normandy,  in  1594 — owed  his  education  in  art, 
and  the  patronage  he  ultimately  so  abundantly  received,  to  Italy.  He 
was  thirty  before  he  acquired  the  means  of  visiting  Rome.  Here  he 
settled  ;  and  died  here  in  1665.  He  was  a  most  accomplished  painter  ; 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  said  of  him  that  '  no  works  of  any  modern  have  so 
much  the  air  of  antique  painting  as  those  of  Poussin.'  His  designs  are 
often  pagan,  not  to  say  impure ;  -but  his  execution,  says  Hazlitt, 
'  supplies  the  want  of  decorum.'  Ponssin  the  elder  better  deserves  the 
epithet  '  learned '  than  his  brother-in-law  Caspar  Dughet,  commonly 
referred  to  as  Poussin  the  younger. 

Thomson  had  a  refined  taste  in  pictures,  and  during  his  Italian  tour 


NOTES,    I.    334-380-  415 

made  a  collection  of  antique  drawings  and  engravings  from  the  old 
masters,  which,  to  the  number  of  some  eighty,  were  sold  with  his  other 
effects  in  the  cottage  at  Kew-foot  Lane,  Richmond,  in  1748,  the  year  of 
his  death.  The  walls  of  his  cottage  were  also  adorned  with  numerous 
pictures. 

356.  the  well-tuned  instrument.  An  ^olian  harp,  thus  described  in 
Chambers's  Encyc. :  '  It  is  formed  by  stretching  eight  or  ten  strings  of 
catgut,  all  tuned  in  unison,  over  a  wooden  shell  or  box,  made  generally 
in  a  form  sloping  like  a  desk.  The  sounds  produced  by  the  rising  and 
falling  wind,  in  passing  over  the  strings,  are  of  a  drowsy  and  lulling 
character  ....  the  most  suitable  kind  of  music  for  The  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence.' Thomson  has  an  Ode  on  Bolus's  Harp.  See  Collins's  Ode  on 
the  Death  of  Thomson — stanza  second. 

358.  each  mortal  touch,  &c.     The  fingers  of  the  most  accomplished 
player. 

359.  The  god  of  winds.      yEolus.      See  Virgil's   Aeneid,   Bk.   I, 
11.  56-67,  for  a  description  of  his  cave- castle  and  his  unruly  subjects. 

362.  up  the  lofty  diapason.  'Through  all  the  notes  of  an  octave.1 
From  Gk.  5ia  -rraowv  (xopSah'),  through  all  the  chords. 

364.  Then  let  them  down  again  into  the  soul.     Cp.  Shakespeare's 
Twelfth  Night—'  That  strain  again  !   it  had  a  dying  fall,'  &c.  (Act  I. 
sc.  i). 

365.  pleasing  dole.     '  Sweet  sorrow' — as  Juliet  says  of  lovers  parting 
(Act  II.  sc.  ii). 

368.  E.g.  the  hymn  of  the  Angels  on  the  night  of  the  Nativity;  or, 
Psalm  cxxxvii.     (See  Thomson's  Ode  on  bolus's  Harp.) 

369.  Wild  warbling.     Cp.  Milton's  L' Allegro — 

'  [If]  sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild.'— 11.  133,  134. 

Burns,  in  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  has — '  Dundee's  wild-warbling 
measures.' 

371.  Caliphs.      Fr.  calife,   from  Arab,  khalifa,   successor  (of  the 
prophet). 

372.  Baghdad-,   the  scene  of  many  of  the  stories  of  The  Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments. 

375.  the  bard  in  waiting.  Thomson  has  the  following  note  :  '  The 
Arabian  Caliphs  had  poets  among  the  officers  of  their  court,  whose 
office  it  was  to  do  what  is  here  mentioned.'  See  Moore's  Oriental 
Romance,  Lalla  Rookh — where  '  the  young  poet  of  Cashmere '  '  cheers 
the  [long  journey]  with  the  Muses'  lore.' 

379,  380.  Cp.  George  Peele's  King  David  and  Fair  Bethsabe— 


4l6  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

Til  build  a  kingly  bower 
Seated  in  hearing  of  a  hundred  streams  .     . 

That  shall 

In  oblique  turnings  wind  the  nimble  waves 
And  with  their  murmur  summon  easeful  sleep 
To  lay  his  golden  sceptre  on  her  brows.' 
See  also  Faerie  Queene,  I.  i.  xli. 

385.  demons  of  the  tempest.  See  Winter,  1.  193 — 'the  demon  of  the 
night.' 

388.  Morpheus  sent  his  kindest  dreams.     Morpheus  was  the  son  of 
Sleep,  and  the  god  of  Dreams — literally,  '  the  shaper '  or  '  creator '  (of 
dreams),  from  Gr.  noptyrj,  shape.     We  learn  from  the  next  stanza  that 
the  dreams  were  sent  by  the  hand  of  angel-forms.     So  Spenser — 
'And  forth  he  cald  out  of  deepe  darknes  dredd 

Legions  of  sprights 

Of  those  he  chose  out  two 

The  one  of  them  he  gave  a  message  to.     . 

He,  making  speedy  way  through  spersed  ayre, 
To  Morpheus'  house  doth  hastily  repaire.    .     .     . 

The  God  obayde ;  and,  calling  forth  straightway 
A  diverse  Dreame  out  of  his  prison  darke 

Delivered  it  to  him 

He,  back  returning  by  the  Yvorie  dore, 
Remounted  up  as  light  as  chearefull  Larke ; 
And  on  his  litle  winges  the  dreame  he  bore 
In  hast  unto  his  Lord.' — I.  i.  xxxviii-xliv. 

390.  shadowy  cast  Elysian  gleams.  The  Elysium  here  referred  to  is 
that  of  Virgil,  the  residence  of  the  shades  of  the  Blessed  in  the  lower 
world, — '  a  pensive  though  a  happy  place.'  To  the  Elysium  of  Homer 
heroes  passed  without  dying  :  it  was  no  part  of  the  regions  of  the  dead, 
but  situated  on  the  west  of  the  earth,  near  the  ocean  stream. 

392.  '  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land '  (Wordsworth's  Elegiac 
Stanzas  on  a  Picture  of  Peele  Castle  in  a  Storm). 

393.  Titiarfs  pencil.     Vecelli  Tiziano  (better  known  as  Titian)  ranks 
with  Raphael,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  and  Michael  Angelo,  as  one  of  the 
great  Italian  masters  of  painting.     He  was  born  of  a  noble  family  at 
Capo    del   Cadore,  among  the    Friulian   mountains   in   the   Venetian 
territory,  in  1480.     He  was  educated  at  Venice,  where  he  had  Giorgione, 
famous  as  a  colourist,  for  one  of  his  instructors.     Titian  lived  to  a  great 


NOTES,   1.  385-447.  417 

age — 96,  and  produced  upwards  of  six  hundred  works.  The  splendour  of 
his  colouring,  which  is  equally  bold  and  true,  is  the  great  attribute  of  his 
style.  '  The  luxury  of  light  did  never  so  enrich  a  painter's  canvas.' 
The  best  specimen  of  his  art  in  the  National  Gallery  is  his  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne. 

404.  Poured  all  tJi  A  rabian  heaven.  In  visions  of  fair  women  (see 
11-  395>  396,  supra] — houris,  or  nymphs  of  Paradise.  '  Arabian  '  = 
'  Mohammedan.' 

409.  those  fiends.  The  bringers  of  horrible  dreams,  in  contrast  to 
the  'angel-seeming  spirits'  of  1.  402. 

413.  beetling.  Derived  by  Prof.  Skeat  from  'bite' — a  beetling  cliff 
resembling  a  projecting  lower  jaw.  Cp.  '  beetle-browed.' 

415.  Ye  guardian  spirits.  Guardian  angels — as  distinct  from  'the 
angel-seeming  spirits  '  of  1.  402  as  from  the  '  fiends'  of  1.  409.  See  a 
description  of  the  ministry  of  holy  angels  on  earth  in  Spenser's  Faerie 
Queene,  Book  II,  Canto  vii,  stanzas  i  and  ii,  '  And  is  there  care  in 
heaven  ? '  &c. 

419.  See  Winter,  1.  438,  where  begins  a  long  enumeration  of  '  the 
sacred  shades '  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome. 

422.  Those  long  lost  friends.  Such  as  his  mother  (see  Thomson's 
Lines  on  his  Mother's  Death)  ;  Miss  Stanley  (see  Summer,  11.  564-575, 
and  see  also  the  Epitaph — especially  the  concluding  lines,  given  in  the 
Note  on  Summer,  1.  564) ;  Hammond  (see  Winter,  11.  555-571);  and 
Aikman  the  painter  (see  his  Lines  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Aikman, 
beginning — 

'As  those  we  love  decay,  we  die  in  part'). 

The  memory  of  dear  departed  friends  is  here  fittingly  introduced  as  a 
safeguard  of  virtue. 

424.  Or  are  yozi  sportive? — bid  the  morn  of  youtht  &c.  The 
'  guardian  spirits '  of  1.  415  are  addressed.  The  memories  of  childhood 
and  youth  are  summoned  as  a  preservative  against  vice  and  vain 
imaginations,  which  come  to  an  indolent  life. 

428-431.  Recollections  of  his  native  Teviotdale. 

433-436.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task,  Bk.  IV  :— 

*  'Tis  pleasant,  through  the  loopholes  of  retreat 
To  peep  at  such  a  world;   to  see  the  stir 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  the  crowd,'  &c.— 11.  88-90. 

437.  idly  busy.     Cp.  Goldsmith's  Traveller — 
'  Thus  idly  busy  rolls  their  world  away.' 

441.  greater  waste,     Sc.  '  of  energy  and  time/ 

447.  In  Scotland  this  proverb  runs. — '  A  penny  hained  's  a  penny 
gained.' 

E  e 


41 8  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

450.  Till  it  has  quenched  his  fire,  and  banished  his  pot.     Till  he 
becomes  a  confirmed  miser,  who   at  last  denies  himself  both  fire  and 
food.     Thomson  had  not  only  a  great  detestation  of  the  mere  money- 
grubbing  spirit,  but  practised  himself  with  his  modest  means  a  careless 
liberality.     He  was  indifferent  about  money  all  his  life. 

45 1 .  this  low  grub.    The  afore-mentioned  '  muckworm.'    The  contrast 
beginning  here  has  been  often  pointed — not  always  for  the   purpose 
of  conveying  the  same  moral.     (See  11.  163-169  supra,  and  Note). 

455.  Cp.  the  opening  stanzas  of  Byron's  Childe  Harold. 

456.  Thomson  is  persistently  severe  upon  lawyers.     See  1.  116  supra, 
and  Note. 

458,  459.  Limbo,  or  limbus,  the  borders  of  hell.  The  imagery  of 
these  lines  is  taken  from  the  second  scene  of  the  Parable  of  the  Rich 
Man  and  Lazarus.  '  Him  '  in  the  concluding  line  of  course  refers  to  the 
'  father's  ghost.' 

463.  in  a  Thespian  rage.  The  reference  to  ambitious  authorship  in 
stanza  lii.  is  not  confined  to  dramatic  writers  :  the  words  quoted  here 
probably  signify  '  in  a  frenzy '  or  '  in  a  tragic  rage.'  Thespis  was  the 
father  of  Greek  tragedy,  and  the  first  to  give  it  a  strictly  dramatic 
character:  before  his  time  (he  flourished  535  B.C.),  there  was  no  actor; 
everything  was  undertaken  by  the  chorus. 

466.   'Losing  the  present  in  order  to  gain  the  future  age.' 

468.  when  useless  worldly  store.  l  When  fame  is  of  no  personal  use 
to  you.' 

472,  473.  At  every  door,  &c.  Cp.  Cowper's  Task,  Bk.  IV,  11. 
144-147  :— 

'No  rattling  wheels  stop  short  before  these  gates,'  &c. 
See  also  1.  290  supra,  and  Note. 

474-477.  Calls,  scandal,  and  invitations — the  pastimes  of  the  world 
of  fashion. 

478.  sons  of  party.  Party  politicians.  The  whole  of  the  stanza 
commencing  here  is  a  humorously  ludicrous  account  of  our  English 
mode  of  government  by  party.  *  We  keep  it  going  like  an  hour-glass  ; 
when  one  side's  quite  run  out  we  turn  up  the  other  and  go  on  again  ' 
(Jerrold).  Cp.  Cowper's  account,  under  a  more  dignified  figure  than 
Thomson's,  in  The  Task,  Bk.  IV,  11.  57-62. 

483.  Lucifer.  Thomson  himself  is  careful  to  state  in  a  note  that  by 
Lucifer  he  means  '  the  morning  star.' 

487.  Thomson  passes  from  the  pursuit  of  politics  to  the  game  of 
war — '  a  game  which,  were  their  subjects  wise,  Kings  would  not  play 
at.'— Cowper,  The  Task,  Bk.  V. 

498.  those  who  at  the  helm  appear.     Rulers,  statesmen  in  office,  &c. 


NOTES,  I.  450-551.  419 

501.  Cp.  Chaucer's  line — 

'And  yit  he  seemede  besier  than  he  was.' — Prol.,  1.  322. 

502.  tape-tied  trash,  and  suits  of  fools.    Papers  and  documents,  useless 
but  looking  very  important ;  and  applications  and  supplications  that  will 
never  be  granted. 

506.  a  man  of  special  grave  remark.  The  original  of  this  character- 
sketch  was  almost  certainly  William  Paterson,  Thomson's  intimate 
friend,  occasionally  his  amanuensis,  his  deputy,  and  successor  in  1746. 
in  the  Surveyor- Generalship  of  the  Leeward  Islands,  and  the  translator 
of  the  historian  Paterculus.  Not  much  more  is  known  about  Paterson, 
except  that,  as  Murdoch  says,  '  he  courted  the  tragic  muse,  and  had 
taken  for  his  subject  the  story  of  Arminius  the  German  hero.'  The 
Censor  refused  it  licence,  because  it  was  in  the  handwriting  of  Edward 
and  Eleanora !  There  is  a  long  and  interesting  letter  from  Thomson 
(of  date,  middle  of  April,  1748,  addressed  to  Paterson  at  Barbadoes) 
which  reveals  the  intimacy  between  the  two  friends.  The  letter  is 
sufficient  to  prove  that  Thomson  could  write  beautiful  prose ;  but  it  is 
too  long  to  quote  at  length.  Part  of  it  runs  : — 

'Now  that  I  am  prating  of  myself,  know  that  after  fourteen  or 
fifteen  years  The  Castle  of  Indolence  comes  abroad  in  a  fortnight.  It 
will  certainly  travel  as  far  as  Barbadoes.  You  have  an  apartment  in  it 
as  a  night  pensioner.'  The  description  would  suit  Collins.  \ 

516.  Dan  Sol.     The  sun,  the  lord  of  day. 

527.  the  cerulean  field.  The  heavens — '  the  azure  deep  of  air '  of  Gray 
(Progress  of  Poesy)  ;  'the  broad  fields  of  the  sky'  of  Milton  (Comus, 
1.  979). 

534.  One  shyer  still.  The  prototype  of  this  character  was  John 
Armstrong,  son  of  a  Roxburghshire  minister,  and  M.  D.  (1732)  of 
Edinburgh  University.  He  went  up  to  London,  and  first  attracted  notice 
by  his  verses.  In  1744  appeared  his  Art  of  Preserving  Health.  He  was 
a  skilful  physician,  but  his  shy,  caustic,  indolent  manner  kept  him  out  of 
a  very  lucrative  practice.  He  died  in  1779.  Thomson  was  his  senior 
by  some  nine  years.  In  the  letter  to  Paterson,  referred  to  above, 
Thomson  writes  thus  of  Armstrong :  '  Though  the  doctor  increases  in 
business  he  does  not  decrease  in  spleen  ;  but  there  is  a  certain  kind 
of  spleen  that  is  both  humane  and  agreeable,  like  Jacques  in  the  play : 
I  sometimes,  too,  have  a  touch  of  it.' 

541.  a  wretch,  who  had  not  crept  abroad  (for  forty  years).  The 
'  wretch  '  of  this  stanza  is  said  to  have  been  a  '  Henry  Welby,  Esquire, 
an  eccentric  solitaire  of  the  period.' 

551.  A  joyous  youth.  The  original  of  this  character  was  John 
Forbes,  only  son  of  Duncan  Forbes  of  Culloden,  President  of  the  Court 

E  e  2 


420  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

of  Session,  Scotland.  (See  Autumn,  Note,  1.  944.)  Writing  to  a  frieml 
(George  Ross)  in  1736,  Nov.  6,  '  Remember  me,'  says  Thomson,  'to  all 
friends,  and  above  them  all  heartily  to  Mr.  Forbes.  Though  my 
affection  to  him  is  not  fanned  by  letters,  yet  it  is  as  high  as  when  I  was 
his  brother  in  the  virtu,  and  played  at  chess  with  him  in  a  post-chaise.' 
Again,  on  Jan.  12,  1737,  he  writes  to  Ross — 'Forbes  I  hope  is  cheerful 
and  in  good  health.  .  .  .  Remember  me  kindly  to  him  with  all  the  zealous 
truth  of  old  friendship.'  But  the  description  would  suit  Hammond. 
See  Winter,  11.  566-569. 

558.  See  1.  289,  supra. 

568.  a  burnished  fly.  Thomson  used  good-humouredly  to  call 
Hammond,  whom  Dr.  Robertson  of  Richmond  knew  as  '  a  very  pleasant 
man,'  'a  burnished  butterfly.'  Compare  the  simile,  in  its  loose  attach- 
ment to  stanza  Ixiii,  with  that  of  stanza  xxx. 

577.  Another  guest.  George,  Lord  Lyttelton.  See  Spring,  Note,  1.  905. 

594.  Hagley  Park.     The  seat  of  Lord  Lyttelton,  in  Worcestershire. 
See  Spring,  Note,  1.  907.     The  following  stanza,  which  is  supposed  to 
refer  to  the  wife  of  the  future  Lord  Lyttelton,  is  said  to  be  by  Thomson, 
but  it  has  nothing  to  recommend  it  as  his,  except  the  rhymes  and  the 
compliment  to  the  lady.     It  was  never  printed  in  Thomson's  lifetime. 

*  One  nymph  there  was,  methought,  in  bloom  of  May, 
On  whom  the  idle  fiend  glanced  many  a  look 
In  hopes  to  lead  her  down  the  slippery  way 
To  taste  of  pleasure's  deep  deceitful  brook : 
No  virtues  yet  her  gentle  mind  forsook, 
No  idle  whims,  no  vapours  filled  her  brain ; 
But  prudence  for  her  youthful  guide  she  took, 
And  goodness,  which  no  earthly  vice  could  stain, 
Dwelt  in  her  mind:   she  was  ne  proud,  I  ween,  or  vain.' 

595.  th'  Esopus  of  the  age.      James  Quin,  the  actor.      He  was  of 
Irish  descent ;  born  in  London  in  1693,  he  began  his  career  as  a  player 
in  Dublin  at  the  age  of  twenty-one ;    proceeded  to  London,  where  he 
made   his   mark,   in    1716,  in   the   character  of  Bajazet  in  Marlowe's 
Tragedy  of  Tamerlane  ;  and  from  1735  to  1741  was  regarded  as  the 
first    actor    in    England,    delighting    Drury  Lane   Theatre   with    his 
impersonations  of  Falstaff  and  Captain  Macheath.     On  the  appearance 
of  Garrick  he  gradually  ceased  to  be  the  popular  favourite.     He  died  in 
1 766.     Quin's  relations  to  Thomson  were  of  the  friendliest.     About  the 
year  1737  Thomson  was  arrested  for  a  debt  of  some  £70  :  Quin  came  to 
his  relief,  and  insisted  on  the  astonished  debtor's  acceptance  of  £100  as 
payment  of  the  pleasure  he  had  derived  from  Thomson's  works.     Quin 
was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Thomson's  cottage  at  Richmond,  where,  indeed, 


NOTES,   I.  558-628. 


421 


his  convivial  habits  rather  scandalized  the  neighbourhood.  He  was  one 
of  the  four  intimate  friends  who  attended  the  funeral  of  Thomson 
in  1748.  When  Thomson's  posthumous  play  of  Coriolanus  was  first 
acted  in  1 749,  Quin,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  mourning,  spoke  the  Prologue 
(which  had  been  written  by  Lyttelton)  with  such  genuine  feeling  and 
eloquence  that,  at  the  line  '  Alas  !  I  feel  I  am  no  actor  here ! '  there 
was  scarcely  a  dry  eye  in  the  theatre.  It  may  be  added  that  Shenstone 
thought  Thomson's  '  manner  of  speaking  not  unlike  Quin's.' 

The  ^Esopus,  to  whom  Thomson  compares  Quin,  was  Clodius 
jEsopus,  the  greatest  Roman  actor  of  tragedy,  the  friend  and  con- 
temporary of  Cicero,  and  of  Roscius — the  greatest  Roman  actor  of 
comedy. 

604.  This  line,  descriptive  of  his  own  disposition  and  habit  of  body,  is 
the  only  part  of  stanza  Ixviii  which  Thomson  composed.  The  rest  was 
written  by  Lyttelton.  Thomson's  figure  in  youth  was  handsome. 

613,  614.  A  gentle  satire  on  the  indolent  lives  of  the  clergy. 

615.  oily  man  of  God.  The  original  of  this  character  was  Thomson's 
old  and  intimate  friend  and  countryman — afterwards  his  kindly  bio- 
grapher— the  Rev.  Patrick  Murdoch.  Murdoch  was  tutor  to  John 
Forbes,  'the  joyous  youth'  of  1.  551,  and  afterwards  to  the  son  of 
Admiral  James  Vernon  of  Great  Thurlow.  By  the  latter  he  was 
presented  to  the  living  of  Stradishall  in  Suffolk  in  1737-8.  Writing 
on  the  1 2th  Jan.,  1738,  Thomson  refers  to  'Pettie's'  settlement  as 
follows  :  '  Pettie  came  here  two  or  three  days  ago  :  I  have  not  yet  seen 
the  round  "  man  of  God  "  to  be.  He  is  to  be  parsonified  a  few  days 
hence.  How  a  gown  and  cassock  will  become  him !  and  with  what 
a  holy  leer  he  will  edify  the  devout  females  !  There  is  no  doubt  of 
his  having  a  call,  for  he  is  immediately  to  enter  upon  a  tolerable  living 
[£ioo  a  year]  !  God  grant  him  more,  and  as  fat  as  himself!  It  rejoices 
me  to  see  one  worthy  excellent  man  raised  at  least  to  an  independency.' 
Murdoch  was  afterwards  promoted  to  the  living  of  Kettlebaston^ 
and  finally,  in  1760,  to  the  vicarage  of  Great  Thurlow.  It  was  here 
he  wrote  his  Memoir  of  Thomson.  He  died  in  1774. 

622.  A  variety  of  the  genus,  the  village  politician,  has  been  immor- 
talised by  Wilkie. 

625.  on  their  brow  sat  every  nations  cares.  The  line  comically 
recalls  the  sublime  description  of  Milton  : — 

'Care 

Sat  on  his  faded  cheek,  but  under  brows 
Of  dauntless  courage.' — Par.  Lost,  Bk.  I,  11.  601-603 

627,  628  The  references  are  to  tobacco-smoking  and  coffee-drinking. 


422  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

628.  sage  berry .  . .  Mocha  bears.  Coffee-bean  (Arab,  burnt},  not  a  berry. 
Mocha  is  in  Arabia. 

630.  mysterious  as  of  old.  '  Ambiguously  expressed,  so  as  to  apply 
equally  well  to  contradictory  results ; '  or  '  expressed  definitely  enough, 
but  with  an  air  of  confidence  in  their  infallibility  that  is,  in  the  absence 
of  knowledge,  rather  "  mysterious." ' 

632.  Bevies  of  dainty  dames.  Cp.  Milton,  'A  bevy  of  fair  women, 
richly  gay'  (Par.  Lost,  Bk.  XI,  1.  582).  For  'bevies/  see  Glossary. 

638.  To  knit,  and  make  up  bouquets  ;  perhaps  embroider. 

640-648.  See  Young's  Love  of  Fame,  Sat.  V — '  The  languid  lady 
next  appears,'  &c. 

644.  with  tottering  step  and  slow.  Goldsmith  has  '  With  fainting 
steps  and  slow.' — Hermit. 

648.  the  vapoury  god.  Sleep,  with  its  opiate  fumes.  See  11.  21,  22, 
supra. 

657.  As  foretold  at  1.  414,  supra. 

658-693.  These  thirty-six  lines,  forming  the  four  concluding  stanzas 
of  Canto  I,  and  consisting  of  an  enumeration  of  the  diseases  which  are 
fostered  by  an  indolent  life,  were  the  composition  of  Thomson's  friend, 
Dr.  Armstrong  (see  Note,  1.  534  supra}.  They  afford  a  gloomy  contrast 
to  the  rest  of  the  Canto — which,  but  for  them,  might  almost  be  entitled, 
The  Pleasures  of  Indolence,  over  the  motto  '  Dolce  far  niente? 
Armstrong's  stanzas  remind  one  of  the  lazar-house  in  the  eleventh  book 
of  Paradise  Lost,  11.  477-492. 

660.  Lethargy.     From  Gr.  \r)0apyia,  drowsiness  ;  AT^J;,  oblivion. 

668.  Hydropsy.    Dropsy — in  O.  F.  hydropisie ;  from  Gr.  vdwp,  water 

672.  Hypochondria.  Melancholy.  '  Named  from  the  spleen  (which 
was  supposed  to  cause  it)  situate  under  the  cartilage  of  the  breast-bone : 
Gr.  UJTO,  under ;  and  x^fyoy,  cartilage  of  the  breast-bone '  (Prof. 
Skeat).  Cp.  '  hipped  '  =  '  melancholy.'  Armstrong  could  well  write 
about  the  spleen,  both  as  a  physician,  and  a  patient.  (See  Note,  1.  534.) 

689.  the  Tertian.     Fr.  tertiane,  a  tertian  ague — recurring  every  third 
day  ;  Lat.  ter,  thrice. 

690.  Gout :  Lat.  gtitta,  a  drop  ;  the  disease  having  been  supposed  to 
be  owing  to  defluxion  of  humours.     See,  for  'crowing  cocks,'  1.  118 
supra. 

692.  Apoplexy.     From  Gr.  OTTO,  off,  and  irX^ffffoo,  I  strike. 


A7OT£S,   I.  628-692 — II.  1-24. 


423 


CANTO  II. 

i.  the  sire  of  sin.  Indolence.  Cp.  the  homely  motto  of  Dr.  Isaac 
Watts,  '  Satan  finds,'  &c. 

TO.  the  Muse.  The  poet  is  indirectly  meant.  Milton  is  more  direct 
— '  So  may  some  gentle  muse,'  Lycidas,  1.  19. 

ii.  Parnassus.  A  double-headed  mountain  mass  a  few  miles  north 
of  Delphi  in  Greece,  sacred  to  Apollo  and  the  Muses,  and  '  an  inspiring 
source  of  poetry  and  song.'  Divested  of  its  mythological  imagery  the 
question  of  this  line  is  simply  '  Are  there  no  means  of  securing  for  the 
poor  poet  the  profits  arising  from  his  poetry  ? ' 

14.  a  fell  tribe.     The  middleman — in  the  poet's  case  the  publisher. 

the  Aonian  hive.  Aonia  was  part  of  Breotia  in  which  stood  Mount 
Helicon,  also  sacred  to  the  Muses.  The  Muses  were  sometimes  called 
'  Aonides.'  In  the  metaphor  the  poet  is  the  bee,  poetry  the  honey,  the 
publisher  the  wasp. 

16.  that  noblest  toil.  The  making  of  poetry.  Cowper,  too,  speaks  of 
<  the  poet's  toil '  in  Bk.  IV  of  The  Task  (1.  262). 

1 8.  starve  right  merrily.  Poets  have  from  time  immemorial  been 
notorious  for  their  poverty.  For  the  manner  ('  merrily')  in  which  they  bear 
their  poverty,  cp.  Cowper's  description  of  the  English  poor  in  Bk.  IV 
of  The  Task  (467,  468)  :  '  this  merry  land,  though  lean  and  beggared.' 

19-27.  This  stanza  contains  the  poet's  noble  protest  against  the 
belief  that  money  can  confer  happiness.  So  Goldsmith,  in  the  midst 
of  obscurity  and  poverty,  could  exclaim — 

'Creation's  heir,  the  world,  the  world  is  mine.' — Travelle'r. 
And  so  Burns — 

'  What  though,  like  commoners  of  air, 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where, 

But  either  house  or  hall  ? 
Yet  Nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales,  an'  foaming  floods, 
Are  free  alike  to  all.     .     .     . 

It's  no'  in  titles  nor  in  rank, 

It 's  no'  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest,'  &c. 

Epistle  to  Davie,  11.  43-59. 

23,  24.  to  trace  the  .  .  lawns  by  living  stream  at  eve.     Cp.  Milton- - 
'Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream.' 

L?  Allegro,  11.  129,  130. 


424  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

And  Burns — 

'  The  muse,  nae  poet  ever  fand  her 
Till  by  himsel'  he  learnt  to  wander 
Adoun  some  trotting  burn's  meander.' 

Epistle  to  William  Simson,  11.  85-87. 

25.  finer fibres.     Brains;  poetical  powers. 

26.  And  I  their  toys  to  the  great  children  leave.     Burns  has  the  same 
sentiment — 

'The  warly  race  may  drudge  an'  drive, 
Hog-shouther,  jundie,  stretch,  an'  strive  : 
Let  me  fair  Nature's  face  descrive, 

And  I,  with  pleasure, 
Shall  let  the  busy  grumbling  hive 

Bum  owre  their  treasure.' 

Epistle  to  W.  Simson, \\.  91-96. 

27.  fancy.     The  poetical  faculty. 

28.  a  bolder  song,  i.e.  than  her  , praise  of  Indolence,  in  Canto   I. 
With  the  apostrophe  to  his  Muse  in  this  line,  cp.  that  of  1.  280  in 
Canto  I. 

30.  This  alliterative  line  is  a  good  instance  of  Pope's  maxim — 'The 
sound  should  be  an  echo  of  the  sense/ 

31.  The  poem  itself,  The  Castle  of  Indolence,  was  good  evidence  of 
the  truth  of  this  confession  :  it  was  some  fourteen  or  more  years  on  the 
way. 

33.  imp  of  fame.      The  Knight   of  Arts  and   Industry  (see   1.  58 
infra] . 

34.  sons  of  softness.     The  votaries  of  Indolence. 

36.  the  slumbering  flame.     Of  industry  or  enterprise. 

38.  Selvaggio.  A  savage;  denizen  of  the  woods  (see  1.  45  infra). 
The  same  character  figures  in  Autumn,  where  he  is  called  (1.  57)  '  a  sad 
barbarian,'  (1.  59)  'a  shivering  wretch,'  and  (1.  69)  'the  rugged  savage.' 
Indeed  the  whole  passage  in  Autumn,  from  1.  43  to  1.  140,  is  the  germ 
of  this  second  Canto.  It  will  be  found  extremely  interesting  to  compare 
the  finished  picture  with  the  first  study. 

43.  in  November  steeped,  i.  e.  in  the  rains  of  that  wet  or  misty  month 
(see  1.  437  infra). 

69.  Minerva  pity  of  him  took.  An  archaic  idiom  for  '  on  him.' 
Minerva  (connected  with  mens,  mind),  the  embodiment  of  the  thinking 
power.  She  was  one  of  the  three  leading  divinities  of  ancient  Rome, 
and  the  goddess  of  wisdom  and  war,  i.  e.  she  '  guided  men  in  the 
dangers  of  war  where  victory  is  gained  by  cunning,  prudence,  courage, 
and  perseverance.' 


NOTES,   II.  25-142. 


425 


70.  all  the  gods  that  love  the  rural  wonne.     Such  as  Pan,  Pales, 
Vertumnus,  Silvanus,  Ceres,  &c.     For  '  wonne,'  see  Glossary. 

71.  rule   the   crook.      One   would   have   expected    'sway,'   or    'rule 
with.' 

72.  The  Muses  ;  a  country  life  naturally  instilling  poetical  ideas  into 
an  intelligent  mind. 

73-  Of  fertile  genius.  Naturally  possessed  of  great  capacity  for 
development. 

76.  or  use,  or  joy,  or  grace.     The  first  '  or '  is  equivalent  to  ;  either.' 

77,  78.  His  education  was  of  that  complete  kind  which  develops  the 
intellectual,  moral,  and  physical  powers. 

84.  dreiv  the  roseate  breath,  &c.  Inhaled  the  morning  air  while  it 
was  yet  flushed  with  the  red  splendours  of  sunrise. 

88.  Foot-racing  is  referred  to. 

89.  wheeled  the  chariot,  i.  e.  adroitly  deflected  its  course  while  the 
horses  were  racing  at  full  speed.     This  was  a  favourite  Roman  exercise  ; 
see  Horace  (Car.  I.  i)  : — 

'  Snnt  quos     .... 
.     .     .     metaque  fervidis 
Evitata  rotis  palmaque  nobilis 
Terrarum  dominos  evehit  ad  Deos.' 

92.  the  ethereal  round.  The  heavens,  with  their  various  phenomena 
of  stars,  meteors,  clouds,  birds,  &c. 

94.  It   was  usual,  till  lately,  to  speak  of  '  the  three  kingdoms   of 
nature ' — the  animal,  the  vegetable,  and  the  mineral. 

95.  scanned  the  globe.     Studied  the  geography  of  the  various  states — 
political  and  physical. 

98,  99.  Studied  mental  and  moral  philosophy. 

107.  Neptune's  school.     The  water  of  lake  or  river,  as  well  as  of  sea. 
For  Milton's  limitation  of  Neptune's  '  sway'  see  Comus,  11.  18-21. 
no.  Cp.  Goldsmith's  line  in  The  Traveller — 

'  The  canvas  glowed  beyond  e'en  Nature  warm.' 

113.  Pygmalion's  wife.     The   original   story  is  to   the   effect   that 
Pygmalion,  king  of  Cyprus,  made   in   ivory  the  image  of  a   maiden 
which  was  of  such  surpassing  loveliness  that  he  became  enamoured 
of  it,  and  prayed  Aphrodite  (Venus)  to  make  it  live.     His  prayer  was 
granted,  and  he  married  the  maiden. 

114.  with  varied  f-re.     With  enthusiasm  of  a  different  sort. 

117.  that  ^veU  might  wake  Apollo's  lyre.  Worthy  to  be  sung  with  the 
accompaniment  of  the  best  music.  Apollo  was  both  the  sun-god  and 
the  god  of  poetry  and  music. 

142.  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome.   For  the  history  of  the  rise  and  progress 


426  THE  CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

of  the  liberal  arts  and  virtues  in  these  countries,  see  Thomson's  great  but 
neglected  and  under-rated  poem  Liberty,  Parts  II  and  III. 

143.  ruins  grey.  Burns  has  '  ruined  castles  grey '  in  his  Address  to 
the  Deil. 

146.  made  for  Britain's  coast.  See  Liberty,  Part  IV,  11.  382-388; 
also  11.  626-642. 

159.  the  genius  of  the  land.     The  natural  disposition  of  the  people. 

160-162.  Compare  this  with  the  eulogy  in  Summer,  11.  1467-1478. 

165,  166.  agriculture  .  .  Fair  Queen  of  Arts !  Thomson  never 
wearies  of  crying  up  the  rural  industries  and  virtues.  In  Spring,  it  is 
'  the  sacred  plough,'  which  '  employed  the  kings  and  awful  fathers  of 
mankind '  (11.  58,  59) ;  and  at  1.  66  he  exclaims — 

'  Ye  generous  Britons,  venerate  the  plough.' 

177.  either  Ind.     Both  the  East  and  the  West  Indies. 

1 80.  Britannia's    thunder.      So    in    Campbell's    Ye    Mariners    of 
England : 

'  With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 
She  quells  the  floods  below.' 

181,  182.  The  reference  is  to  the  revival  of  learning  that  began  on 
the  downfall  of  Constantinople  in  1453.     Propontis,  now  the  Sea  of 
Marmora. 

185.  Castalie.   A  spring  on  Parnassus  sacred  to  Apollo  and  the  Muses. 

1 86.  Isis.      The    Upper    Thames— the   Thames    at  Oxford.     The 
reference  in  the  line  is  to  the  fame  of  Oxford  University  for  classical 
learning. 

187.  old  Cam  soft-paces  o'er  the  lea.     The  reference  here  is  to  Cam- 
bridge University.     Cp.  Milton's  Lycidas — 

'  Next  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow.' — 1.  103. 
187-189.  These  lines  were  evidently  inspired  by  the  pastoral  spirit  of 
Milton's  Lycidas.     See  more  especially  of  that  poem,  11.  23-36  ;  11.  103, 
104;  and  11.  186-189. 

190-192.  Cp.  Liberty,  Part  V,  11.  374~377— 

'  To  softer  prospect  turn  we  now  the  view, 
To  laurelled  Science,  Arts,  and  Public  Works, 
That  lend  my  finished  fabric  comely  pride, 
Grandeur,  and  grace,'  &c. 

194.  the  coy  sisters.  The  Fine  Arts — Sculpture,  Painting,  Poetry, 
Music,  Architecture,  &c. 

202.  Maecenas.  A  noble  Roman,  the  friend  and  patron  of  Horace, 
Virgil,  &c.  Bubb  Dodington  was  ambitious  of  figuring  as  the  Maecenas 
of  his  time  ;  he  is  commonly  known  as  the  last  of  the  patrons— for  the* 


NOTES,   II.  143-249. 


427 


most  part  a  degrading  class  in  English  literature.     (See  Summer,  Note, 

I.  29.) 

204.  Unbroken  spirits,  cheer!  An  exhortation  to  his  brother-poets 
who  have  not  allowed  their  ardour  to  cool  because  of  national 
neglect. 

207.  toil-created  gains,  i.  e.  '  honestly  earned.' 

216.  vacant  eve  [of  life].     Free   from   business  and   other  cares — 
excepting   only  '  the   amusing  care    of  rural   industry '   (1.    236).     For 
the  sentiment  of  the  whole  stanza  ending  here,  see  Liberty,  Part  IV, 

II.  1177-1186. 

217.  he  chose  a  farm  in  Devds  vale.     The  Latin  name  of  Chester,  on 
the  Dee. 

220.  '  Blended  the  various  duties  of/  &c. 

222.  sided  by  the  guardians  of  the  fold.      Accompanied    by  his 
sheep-dogs.     The  scene  here  depicted  will  remind  the  classical  reader 
of  the   Idyl   of    Theocritus  which    describes,   with    a   charm   simply 
inimitable,  the  visit  of  Hercules  to  the  farm  of  Augeas  in  Elis. 

223.  'Made   happy   by   his   presence.'      The   fashionable   habit   of 
absenteeism — which   has   been    rather   increasing  since   Cowper   (The 
Task,  Bk.  IV,  11.  587-590)  and  Burns  (The  Twa  Dogs,  11.   173-176) 
lamented  it — deprives  our  landlords  of  the  happiness  depicted  in  this 
and  the  following  stanzas. 

229-231.  the  nodding  car,  &c.  The  harvest-wain,  loaded  with 
sheaves,  on  its  way  to  the  stackyard.  (See  Autumn,  11.  1-3.)  The 
scene  here  described  is  known  as  '  leading  the  field ' — a  pleasant  part 
of  the  labours  of  harvest  time,  which  Thomson  strangely  omitted  to 
notice  in  his  Autumn.  (See  that  poem,  11.  151-176.) 

233.  ruffian  idleness.     The  parent  of  War.     Those  who  wage  war 
are,  agreeably  with   this  view,  called   'honourable   ruffians'    (1.   491, 
Canto  I). 

234.  this  life.     Of  rural  industry.     The  origin  of  agriculture  is  also 
traced  to  heaven  at  1.  166  supra. 

240-243.  References  to  drainage,  irrigation,  reclamation,  and  planta- 
tion of  the  land. 

246,  247.  These  lines  are  interesting  as  showing  Thomson's  ideas  of 
the  proper  relation  of  Art  to  Nature. 

248,  249.  In  graceful  dance  .  .  .  Pan,  Pales  .  .  .  played.  Imitated 
probably  from  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV,  11.  266-268  :— 

'  Universal  Pan, 

Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance 
ed  on  the  eternal  Spring.' 


428  THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

But  the  figure  is  a  common  one  in  the  classical  poets,  e.  g.  Hor.  Car. 

L4. 

Pan,  the  great  Greek  god  of  flocks  and  shepherds ;  Pales,  a  Roman 
divinity  of  flocks  and  shepherds  ;  Flora,  the  Roman  goddess  of  flowers 
and  spring  ;  and  Pomona,  the  Roman  goddess  of  the  fruit  of  trees — these 
are  among  '  the  gods  that  love  the  rural  wonne '  referred  to  at  1.  70  ante. 
251.  A  happy  place.     Already  so  described  (11.  64,  65  supra). 
261.     The   line   does  not  contain  a  contradiction   or  correction   of 
traditional  report,  but  accepts  it :  'as  old  Fame  reports '  is  parentheti- 
cal;  '  as '  = '  so,'  '  this.' 

264.   To  his  .  .  .  wish.      '  Up  to,'  '  agreeably  to,'  &c.     Cp.  Burns — 
'  Bless  him,  thou  God  of  love  and  truth, 
Up  to  a  parent's  wish  ! ' 

Prayer  for  a  Rev.  Friend's  Family. 

266,  267.  Vice  leads  the  van,  bearing  the  standard ;  Corruption 
commands  the  rear.  '  Arriere-ban,'  lit.  '  proclamation  made  in  the 
rear '  or  '  to  the  rear.' 

268.  mind  yourselves .     The  motto  of  selfishness. 
276.  the  noble  colour.     The  flush  of  righteous  anger.     This   stanza 
(xxxi)   may   be   compared   with    stanzas   vii    and   viii    of    the    noble 
fragmentary  Scots  ballad  Hardyknute,  with  which  Thomson  must  have 
been  acquainted : — 

'The  little  page  flew  swift  as  dart 

Flung  by  his  master's  arm  ; 
Cum  down,  cum  down,  Lord  Hardyknute, 
And  rid  zour  king  frae  harm. 

Then  reid,  reid  grew  his  dark-brown  cheiks, 

Sae  did  his  dark-brown  brow ; 
His  luiks  grew  kene,  as  they  were  wont 

In  dangers  great  to  do,'  &c. 

281.   That  villain  Archimage.     See  Note,  Canto  I,  1.  181  supra. 
285.  the  sisters  three.     The  Weird  Sisters,  or  Sisters  of  Destiny  ; 
called  Moirae  by  the  Greeks,  Parcas  by  the  Romans ;  the  Fates.     They 
were — Clotho,  who   spun   the   thread   of  human   life;    Lachesis,  who 
measured  it ;  and  Atropos  the  inevitable,  who  cut  it. 

289.  the  bard,  a  little  Druid  wight  [Of  withered  aspect .  .  .  In  russet 
brown  bedighf}.     Cp.  Milton's  Comus,  11.  619-621 — 
'  A  certain  shepherd  lad 
Of  small  regard  to  see  to,  yet  well  skilled 
In  every  virtuous  plant  and  healing  herb.' 
A  druid  was  a  priest  of  the  ancient  Britons.     Here  it  means  a  poet  who 


NOTES,   II.  251-385.  429 

loved  nature  and  frequented  woods.    In  this  sense  it  is  used  of  Thomson 
himself,  in  Collins's  melodious  lines  to  his  memory  : — 
'  In  yonder  grave  a  druid  lies,'  &c. 

292.  his  sister  of  the  copses.     The  nightingale  ;  Philomela. 

293.  He  crept  along,  unpromising  of  mien.     The  description  would 
have   suited   Thomson   himself  in   his   later   years.      He    stooped    in 
walking,  was  slovenly  in  his  dress ;  was  '  neither  a  petit  maitre  nor  a 
boor— he   had   simplicity  without   rudeness,  and  a  cultivated  manner 
without   being   courtly.'     (Testimony   of  Dr.   Robertson,   Richmond.) 
This  is  the  bard  of  Canto  I,  st.  Ixviii,  reformed  of  his  one  vice. 

295.  Angels  are  meant. 

303.  those  wretched  men,  who  will  be  slaves.  The  line  reminds  one 
of  the  chorus  of  Thomson's  Rule  Britannia. 

306.  Thrice  happy  he  who,  &c.  The  persuasive  poet,  happier  than 
the  coercive  statesman. 

307-312.  The  knight  on  a  red  horse,  emblematic  of  war  ;  the  bard 
on  a  milk-white  palfrey,  emblematic  of  persuasion  and  peace. 

325.  that  fatal  valley  gay.  See  its  description  fully  set  forth  in 
Canto  I,  st.  ii,  and  st.  v. 

336.   The  frail  good  man.     The  victim  of  Indolence. 

345.  of  this  avail.     An  archaic  idiom  ;  'take  advantage  of  this.' 

351.  In  purgatorial  fires.     Cp.  Hamlet,  Act  I,  sc.  v,  11.  10-12. 

352.  '  Beneath  a  spacious  palm.' — Canto  I,  1.  61. 
367.   With  magic  dust  their  eyne,  &c.     Cp.  Comus — 

'  Thus  I  hurl 

My  dazzling  spells  into  the  spongy  air, 
Of  power  to  cheat  the  eye  with  blear  illusion.  .  .  . 

Her  eye 

Hath  met  the  virtue  of  this  magic  dust.' — 11.  153-165. 
380.  The  wary  retiarius.  Thomson  has  a  note  on  this:  'A 
gladiator,  who  made  use  of  a  net  which  he  threw  over  his  adversary.' 
He  carried  the  net  (rete)  in  his  right  hand,  and  a  three-pointed  lance 
(tridens]  in  his  left.  If  he  missed  his  aim,  by  either  flinging  the  net  too 
short  or  too  far,  he  at  once  took  to  flight,  preparing  his  net  the  while  for 
another  cast.  Meanwhile  his  adversary  (Sectitor]  followed ,  and  attempted 
to  dispatch  him  with  a  sword,  or  a  ball  of  lead.  (See  an  account  of  the 
ancient  gladiatorial  shows  in  any  book  of  Roman  Antiquities.) 

383.  The  weakest  line  in  the  poem — '  bordering,  indeed,  on  the 
ludicrous.' 

385.  floundd  to  and  fro.  See  Spring,  1.  434,  and  Note.  Cp.  Savage's 
Wanderer,  Canto  IV— 

'  Where  [in  the  net]  flounce,  deceived,  the  expiring  finny  prey.' 


430  THE   CASTLE   OF  INDOLENCE. 

387.  his  .  .  .  nail.  For  the  sing,  form,  cp. '  Dick,  the  shepherd,  blows 
his  nail? — Shakespeare. 

398.  Avernus.  A  lake  filling  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano,  round 
(in  circumference  about  a  mile  or  more),  very  deep,  and  girt  with  high 
banks.  It  was  near  Cumae,  and  the  Cumsean  Sibyl  lived  near  it  in 
a  cave  which  had  connection  with  the  infernal  world  (see  ^Eneid).  The 
Cimmerians  lived  in  the  perpetual  gloom  of  its  banks. 

405.  Touch  soul  with  soul.  '  Speak  from  the  heart,  and  touch  their 
hearts  with  the  sincerity  of  your  appeal.' 

410.  Till  tinkling  in  clear  symphony  they  rung.  A  singularly  expres- 
sive line,  suggesting  by  its  very  sound  the  peculiar  tones  of  a  harp- 
Cp.  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel — 

'Till  every  string's  according  glee 
Was  blended  into  harmony.' — Introd.  Canto  I. 

415-567.  The  song  of  Philomelus,  contained  in  these  lines,  matches 
at  every  point  the  Song  of  Indolence  in  the  first  Canto.  It  is  as 
poetical,  as  powerful  in  its  appeal,  and  is  animated,  of  course,  by  a 
higher  morality. 

423.  Cp.  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  Ep.  I,  11.  267-280,  ending  with  the 
line  which  so  closely  resembles  this  one — 

'  He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all.' 
See  also  Spring,  1.  854. 

426-429.  The  theory  of  spiritual  evolution  here  briefly  expressed  was 
the  firm  belief  of  Thomson  throughout  his  life.  He  makes  numerous 
references  to  it.  See  Spring,  Note,  11.  374-377  ;  Liberty,  III,  11.  68-70  ; 
The  Hymn,  Note,  11.  115,  116;  and  11.  562,  563  infra. 

432,  433.  '  That  cosmos  excels  chaos.' 

443.  the  brighter  palm.  Because  excellence  in  Art  is  of  a  superior 
kind  to  excellence  in  feats  of  bodily  strength,  &c.,  for  which  also  the 
palm  was  given. 

448.  tfer  the  nations  shook  her  conquering  dart.     The  pilum.     Cp. 
Milton,  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  XI,  11.  491,  492 — 

'  Over  them  triumphant  Death  his  dart 
Shook.' 

449.  '  The  laurell,  meed  of  mightie  conquerours 

And  poets  sage.' — Faerie  Queene,  Bk.  I,  Canto  I,  st.  ix. 

456.  cities  .  .  .  their  towery  fronts.  '  Pherae  deckt  with  towers ' 
(Chapman's  Homer). 

460.  Great  Homer's  song.  The  Iliad.  (See  Winter,  1.  533,  and 
Note.) 

462.  Sweet  Maro's  muse.  The  poet  Virgil.  (See  Winter,  1.  532, 
and  Note.)  Virgil  regarded  Mantua,  on  an  island  in  the  Mincius,  as  his 


NOTES,   II.  387-655. 


431 


birthplace,   but  he   was  born   rather   at   the  village  of  Andes  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

463.  the  Mincian  reeds.     Milton's  Lycidas — 

'  Thou  honoured  flood, 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crowned  with  vocal  reeds.' — 11.  85,  86. 

464.  The  wits  of  modern  time.     The  poets  after  the  Renaissance. 

466.  Paradise  Lost  would  not  have  been  written. 

467.  Stratford-on-Avon  is  in  Warwickshire.     Shakespeare  would  have 
been  merely  a  happy  and  companionable  peasant. 

468.  my   master  Spenser.     Cp.  Lydgate's  'My  mayster  Chaucer '  in 
his  Prol.  to  The  Falls  of  Princes.     The  Castle  of  Indolence  was  written 
professedly  in  imitation  of  Spenser's  style.  (See  Thomson's  Advertisement 
prefixed  to  his  Poem.)     The  Mulla  was  Spenser's  poetical  name  for  the 
Awbeg,  a  tributary  of  the  Blackwater  of  county  Cork.     It  was  on  the 
banks  of  the  Mulla  that  Spenser  read  part  of  his  Faerie  Queene  to  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  in  1589;  the  friends  sat — 

4  Amongst  the  coolly  shade 
Of  the  green  alders  by  the  Mulla's  shore.' 

469.  the  sage  historic  muse.     Clio. 

471.  starry  lights  of  virtue.  See  a  lengthened  description  of  them  in 
Winter,  11.  439-540. 

535.    The  world  is  poised.     The  balance  of  power  is  preserved. 

554.  Resolve!    and 

557,  558.  Let  godlike  reason  .  .  .  Speak  the  .  .  .  word,  &c.  Cp. 
Young's  Night  Thoughts,  I,  11.  30,  31— 

'  On  Reason  build  Resolve, 
That  column  of  true  majesty  in  man  ! ' 
Cp.  also  Burns's  Epistle  to  Dr.  Blacklock— 

4  Come,  firm  Resolve,  take  thou  the  van, 
Thou  stalk  o'  carl-hemp  in  man  ! ' 

562,  563.     See  Note,  Canto  II,  11.  426-429  supra. 

580.  this  fleshly  den.     The  body. 

614.   That  lazar-house.     See  Canto  I,  st.  Ixxiii. 

639.  [Repentance}  rejoices  Heaven.  See  Parables  of  The  Lost  Sheep, 
Lost  Piece  of  Money,  &c.  '  There  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth,'  &c. 

653.  dolorous  mansion.     Purgatory. 

655.  soft  and  pure  as  infant  goodness.  Cp.  the  Scripture  story  of 
Naaman  the  Syrian  leper  washing  away  his  disease  in  the  Jordan :  '  And 
his  flesh  came  again  like  unto  the  flesh  of  a  little  child,  and  he  was 
clean  '  (2  Kings  v.  14). 


432  THE   CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 

685.  their  scorned  day  of  grace  was  past.  Cp.  the  Scots  Para- 
phrase, X  : — 

'  How  long,  ye  scorners  of  the  truth, 
Scornful  will  ye  remain  ?      .     .     . 

The  time  will  come  when  humbled  low 

In  sorrow's  evil  day, 
Your  voice  by  anguish  shall  be  taught, 

But  taught  too  late  to  pray. 

Prayers  then  extorted  shall  be  vain, 
The  hour  of  mercy  past.' 

697.  Auster.     The  south-west  wind,  bringing  fogs  and  rains. 

698.  Caurus.  The  north-west  wind ;  '  frosty  Caurus '  in  Winter,  1.  836. 
703.   The  first.     Beggary  personified. 

712.   The  other.     Scorn  personified. 

721.  Brentford  town,  a  town  of  mud.  The  county  town  of  Middlesex, 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Brent,  a  tributary  of  the  Thames.  There  is  a  bridge 
here  over  the  Thames,  leading  to  Kew.  Thomson  knew  the  town  well, 
but  apparently  did  not  admire  it.  From  his  description  one  might  infer 
— what  is  quite  true — that  the  town  is  one  long  street. 


GLOSSARY 

OF 

RARE  OR  OBSOLETE  WORDS,  AND  ARCHAIC  FORMS, 

IN 

THE  CASTLE  OF  INDOLENCE. 


Agen,  again. 

Apaid,  recompensed ;  cf.  Fr. 
payer,  to  pay,  to  satisfy. 

Arrier-ban,  probably  a  French 
cormption,  from  O.  H.  G.  hari, 
army,  and  ban,  proclamation : 
the  order  summoning  to  military 
service.  See  Murray's  New 
English  Dictionary. 

Atween,  between. 

Backening,  stepping  back. 

Bale,  evil,  destruction;  A.-S. 
beahi. 

Bate,  abate  ;  Fr.  bat 'I 're,  to  beat. 

Bay,  reddish-brown ;  O.  Fr.  bai ; 
Lat.  badius. 

Bedight,  fully  prepared ;  A.-S. 
dihtan,  to  set  in  order;  Lat. 
dictare. 

Behoves,  befits  ;  A.-S.  behofian. 

Benempt,  named. 

Beseems,  befits. 

Bevies,  flocks,  companies ;  Fr. 
bevee,  a  flock. 

Bicker,  to  skirmish ;  metaphori- 
cally of  a  '  brawling '  stream. 

Bides,  awaits ;  endures. 

Blazon,  proclaim,  blaze  abroad ; 
M.  E.  blasen.  Often  confused 
with  F.  Mason,  a  coat  of  arms. 

Blemished,  of  a  livid  colour ; 
O.  Fr.  blesmir,  to  wound,  stain. 

Boon,  bountiful,  good  ;   Fr.  bon. 

Breme,  cruel,  sharp. 

t 


Brewed,      concocted,     planned ; 

A.-S.  breoivan,  to  brew. 
Cabals,  intrigues,   secrets ;   Heb. 

qabbaldh,  mysterious  doctrine. 
Caitiff,  a  wretch,  a  captive;  O.Fr. 

caitif;  Lat.  captivus. 
Car-king,  causing  anxiety  ;   O.Fr. 

karke,  dialect  form  of  charge, 

load. 
Carle,   a   sturdy  rude   fellow,   a 

churl ;  A.-S.   ceorl,   a  freeman, 

but  of  the  lowest  rank. 
Casten,  false  form  for  '  casted.' 
Catacombs,    sepulchral    vaults ; 

orig.  of  the  subterranean  ceme- 
teries lying  around  Rome. 
Gates,  dainties;  Fr.   achat,   pur- 
chase.    Cog.  '  cater.' 
Certes,  certainly. 
Chaunced,  befell ;  O.Fr.  chaance  ; 

Lat.  cadens,  -tern. 
Clerks,  scholars,  the  clergy  ;  Lat. 

clericus,  one  of  the  clergy. 
Contrite,      thoroughly      bruised 

and   humbled ;    penitent ;    Lat. 

terere,  to  rub. 
Crouchen,  crouch. 
Cunning,  dexterous;  A.-S.cunnan, 

to  know. 
Dainties,     delicacies ;      O.    Fr. 

daintie,     agreeableness ;     Lat. 

dignitas,  -tatem. 
Dalliance,  pleasant  trifling  ;  cog. 

'dally,'  and  'dwell.' 


Ff 


434 


GLOSSARY. 


Dan,  Lord,  a  title  of  respect  for 

monks,  &c. ;  Lat.  dominus ;  Fr. 

dom  ;  O.  Fr.  dans. 
Delves,  digs  ;  A.-S.  delfan. 
Delves,  dales  ?  given  as  '  deserts.' 
Depeinten,  depicted  ;  Fr.  peint ; 

Lat.  pictiis. 

Dispightful,  despiteful. 
Distaff,  A.-S.  distcef;  properly  '  a 

staff  provided  with  flax  to  be 

spun  off'  (Skeat). 
Draught,  a  drawing,  or  plan. 
Drowsyhed,      drowsihead,      for 

drowsiness. 
Eath,  easy,  easily. 
Eftsoones,  soon  after,  forthwith. 

Common  in  Spenser. 
Eke,  v.,  to  join,  to  increase  ;  A.-S. 

ecan,    to    lengthen;    cog.   with 

Lat.  augere. 
Eke,  conj.,  also. 
Eld,  old  age. 

Emmet,  ant ;  A.-S.  amete. 
Emongst,  amongst. 
Emove,    move.       '  Enmove '    in 

Spenser. 

Emprise,  enterprise. 
Estate,      state      or      condition ; 

property. 
Eyne,  pi.  of  eye. 
Fain,  glad  ;  A.-S.  jfe^w,  glad. 
Pand,  found. 
Fay,  fairy;  O.Yi.fee. 
Fee,   a  grant  of  land,  payment ; 

A.-S.  feoh,  cattle. 
Fell,  cruel ;  O.  Yr.fel,  cruel. 
Felly,  in  a  cruel  manner. 
Fit,  an  attack,  or  a  turn ;  A.-S. 

Jit,  a   song,  a   struggle.     Orig. 

sense  'a  step.' 

Fone,  pi.  of  foe  ;    A.-S.  fan. 
Fray,  a  contest ;   shortened  form 

of  <  affray/ 
Fry,     fish-spawn;     a     shoal     of 

persons. 
Gallow-tree,   from   A.-S.  galga, 

cross,  gibbet ;  tre6t  timber. 


Gear,    geer,    weapons,    clothing, 

property ;  A.-S.  geai~we. 
Gelid,  cold,  frozen  :  Lat.  gelidus. 
Genders,  produces. 
Glaive,  sword ;  Lat.  gladius. 
Han,  have. 
Hight,  is  or  was  named  ;  named  : 

A.-S.  hdtan,  to  call,  to  be  called. 

Cog.  '  behest.' 
Houghs,  for  'hoes.' 
Idless,  for  '  idleness.' 
Immingle,  to  mingle  thoroughly. 
Imp,   a  graft  or  shoot,  a  child  ; 

A.-S.  impan,   pi.     Never   used 

jocularly  by  Spenser. 
Inly,  inwardly. 
Issued,  with   the   accent  on   the 

last  syllable ;  O.  Fr.  is  sir,  Lat. 

exire,  to  go  forth. 
Jot,   iota,  the   smallest  letter  in 

the  Greek  alphabet. 
Junto,  a  secret  alliance,  a  faction; 

Span. junta",  Lat.juncta. 
Keen,  v.,  to  sharpen. 
Kest,  for  '  cast.' 

Lacquey,  a  menial ;  Fr.  laqttais. 
Lad,   led.    So  in  Spenser.    A.-S. 

ladan,  pret.  Itedde. 
Lair,  den,  retreat ;  A.-S.  leger,  a 

bed. 
Landskip,  for  landscape.     So  in 

Milton.    '  -scape '  is   our    affix 

'  -ship.' 
Lank,   slender;  jointed;  and  so, 

flexible.     Cog.  '  link.' 
Lazarhouse,  a  leprosy  hospital ; 

from  Lazarus,  the  name  of  the 

beggar  in  the  parable  ;  contrac- 
tion of  the  Heb.  name '  Eleazar.' 

A  lazaretto. 
Leeches,     physicians,     healers ; 

A.-S.  Icece,  a  healer. 
Lees,  dregs ;  Fr.  lie. 
Lenient,     mild ;     Lat.     leniens, 

soothing. 
Libbard,  leopard.  Chaucer's  form 

is  <  libart.' 


GLOSSARY. 


435 


Lig,  to  lie  ;  M.  E.  liggen,  lien. 

Limber,  flexible,  supple ;  from 
'  limp.' 

Lithe,  flexible. 

Loathly, loathsome.  So  in  Spenser. 

Loll,  to  lounge  about ;  cog.  '  lull.' 

Loom,  from  A.-S.  ge-loma,  a  tool. 
Cog.  '  heirloom.' 

Losel,  worthless  fellow. 

Lout,  a  lazy  clown  ;  A.-S.  liitan, 
to  stoop.  Cog.  '  loiter.' 

Louting,  stooping,  bowing.  Still 
in  use  in  Lowland  Scots. 

Lubbard,  a  lubber  ;  cog.  '  lob,' 
'lump,'  &c.  Cf.  Milton's  lubber- 
fiend. 

Lusty  he  d,  pleasure,  enjoyment ; 
the  form  in  Chaucer  is  '  lusti- 
heed '  (Squieres  Tale,  1.  288). 

Massy,  massive. 

Meed,  reward. 

Mell,  mingle ;  O.  Fr.  mesler,  to 
mix.  Cog.  '  medley.' 

Mew,  lair  ;  from  mews. 

Moe,  more.  Older  forms  'moo' 
and  '  mo.'  A.-S.  md. 

Moil,  to  drudge  ;  O.  Fr.  mailer. 

Mold,  mould. 

Mote,  might. 

Muchel,much  ;  Scots  'meikle'  or 
'muckle.'  Chaucer  'mochel.' 
A.-S.  my  eel. 

Nathless,  nevertheless. 

We,  nor. 

Needments,  necessaries. 

Noisome,  hurtful ;  noy  is  a  con- 
traction of  annoy. 

Woursling,  child,  pupil. 

Noyance,  annoyance — found  in 
Spenser  ;  annoy. 

Painful,  industrious,  taking  great 
pains. 

Palfrey,  O.  Fr.  palefrei,  riding- 
horse  ;  Low  Lat.  paraveredtis  ^ 
an  extra  post-horse. 

Palmer,  pilgrim ;  literally,  one 
who  bore  a  palm -branch  in 


token  of  having  visited  the  Holy 

Land. 
Passen,   pass;    'I   passen '   is  a 

wrong  form. 
Pell-mell,   confusedly;  from   Fr. 

pelle,  a  peel  or  fire-shovel,  and 

mester,  to  mix  ;  pele-meler 
Penurie,  penury. 
Perdie,  weak  form  of  Fr.  pardieii. 
Plain,  complain  ;  Fr.  plaindre. 
Pleasaunce,  pleasure. 
Practised,  made ;  Gr.  irparro},  1 

make  or  do. 
Prankt,   adorned  :    from  '  prink,' 

a  nasalised  form  of  '  prick,'  to 

trim  so  as  to  look  spruce. 
Pricked,  spurred,  rode. 
Quilt,  a  coverlet;  Lat.  culcita,  a 

pillow.     Cog.  '  cushion.' 
Babblement,   mob.      From   the 

noise  of  their  chattering.    Low- 
land Scots  '  raible,'   to  chatter 

(Burns). 
Eampant,  rearing ;    Fr.  ramper, 

to  creep  up,  to  climb. 
Befel,  refute;  prove  to  be  false; 

from  \j&.fallere. 
Keplevy,  rescue  ;  O.  Fr.  replevin, 

to  give  back  detained  goods  on 

a  pledge. 
Sable,  black,  dark ;    O.  Fr.  sable, 

a  black  furred  carnivore. 
Saunter,  stroll  idly.     Derivation 

unknown ;  see  Skeat. 
Sear,  withered,  dried. 
Sheen,adj.bright ;  subs.splendour. 
Shook,  for  shaken. 
Sicker,  sure,  secure. 
Sir,   familiarly  '  sirrah ' ;   also   a 

title  of  respect.     Lat.  senior. 
Sleek,  to  make  sleek. 
Smackt,  tasted,  savoured. 
Soot,    sweet,    sweetly.     One    of 

Chaucer's  forms. 
Sort,  manner.     '  Smiles  in  such  a 

sort.' — Shakespeare. 
Spill,  Scots  for  '  spoil ' ;  to  waste. 


436 


GLOSSARY. 


Spittles,  hospitals. 

Spred,  spread. 

Spright,  sprite,  spirit.      Milton's 

form. 

Stark,  dead,  stiff,  rigid. 
Store,  a  number,  abundance. 
Stounds,  hard  hours  ;  pangs. 
Strook,  struck.  Used  by  Shelley. 
Sublime,      v.,     to     elevate     or 

ennoble. 

Sweltry,  older  form  of '  sultry.' 
Swink,  toil.     Cf.  Comus.     A.-S. 

swincan,  to  labour. 
Teem,  to  be  prolific  ;  A.-S.  team, 

a  family.     Cog.  '  team.' 
Thrall,  slave,  or  bondman.   O.N. 

thrall 

Tight,  neat  and  trim. 
Tinct,  tint :  Lat.  tinctwn,  dyed. 
Trade,  matters  whether  of  business 

or  pastime. 
Transmewed,  transmuted;    cog. 

'  mews '     and    '  moult ' :     Lat. 

mutare,  to  change. 
Traunce,  trance ;   Lat.  transire, 

to  go  over. 
Trippen,  to  trip. 
Tromp,  trump,  form    of  which 

'  trumpet '  is  the  diminutive. 
Undone,  ruined. 
Unkempt,      uncombed ;       Scots 

*  unkaim'd ';  rude. 
Vacant,  idle ;  Lat.  vacans,  -tern. 
Vild,  vile. 

Vulgar,  common  ;  Lat.  vulgaris. 
"Wain,  waggon ;  A.-S.  itxsgn. 


"Ween,    suppose,    think. 

wenan. 

Weet,  know  ;  from  « wit.' 
"Welkin,    sky.     A.-S.    woken,    a 

cloud. 
"Well-a-day,  for   'well   away,'  a 

corruption  of  A.-S.  wd  Id  wd  = 

woe  lo  !  woe. 
Whenas,  when. 
Whilom,  formerly;  A.-S.  hwlhim, 

dat.  pi.  of  hwil,  time. 
"Wight,  a  being;  A.-S.  unlit. 
Wis,  for  ywis,  certainly. 
Wise,   guise,    manner,    or   way ; 

*       r*  / 

A.-b.  wise. 

Writhouten,  without. 

Wonne,  dwelling  ;  A.-S.  wunian, 
to  dwell. 

Wot,  from  '  weet,'  supra. 

Wroke,  wreaked. 

Y-,  A.-S.  ge-,  sign  of  past  par- 
ticiple. 

Y-blent,  blended. 

Y-born,  born. 

Y-buried,  buried. 

Y-clad,  clad. 

Y-clept,  named ;  A.-S.  clepian, 
to  call. 

Y-fere,  in  company;  M.E.fere,  a 
companion  ;  far  an,  to  go. 

Y-hung,  hung. 

Y-molten,  melted. 

Yode,  went. 

Yore,  long  ago;  A.-S.  gedra,= 
in  years  past. 

Y-spring,  spring. 


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POETRY  AND  DRAMA 
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BLAKE;  Poems. 
BROWNING  (R.^:  Poems. 
COLERIDGE  :  Poems. 
COWPER:  Poems. 
CRABBE  :  Poems. 
EARLY       ENGLISH       LYRICS 

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EVERYMAN       (complete,      with 

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GOLDSMITH  :       Traveller,     and 

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KEATS  :  Poems. 
MARLOWE:  Plays. 
MARVELL:  Poems. 
MILTON:  Minor  Poems. 
MILTON  and  WORDSWORTH  : 

Sonnets. 

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SHAKESPEARE :      Songs      and 

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TENNYSON:  Poems. 
WHITMAN:  Poems. 
WORDSWORTH  :  Poems. 

PROSE 

BOSWELL  :  Life  of  Johnson. 
BUNYAN. 
DEFOE. 
HAZLITT. 
LAMB. 

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WALTON  :  Lives,  and  Angler. 


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SPENSER  :  Faerie  Queene,  Book  I, 

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THOMSON,  James. 

Thoi.son:  The  Seasons  and  The 


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