Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 390 Inly disturb'd, and wond'ring what this wild Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints The country fill; and, tost from rock to rock, Incessant bleatings run around the hills.

At last, of snowy white, the gather'd flocks 395 Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd, Head above head: and, rang'd 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. 400 One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd,

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.

AUTUMN
(1730)

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more, Well pleas'd, I tune. Whate'er the Wintry frost 5 Nitrous prepar'd, the various-blossom'd Spring Put in white promise forth; and Summer's suns Concocted strong; rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.

But see, the fading many-colour'd 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, illumin'd wide, 960 The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, And thro' their lucid veil his soften'd 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 thro' the sadden'd grove, where scarce is heard

One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil. Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, Far, in faint warblings, thro' the tawny copse; 975 While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,

And each wild throat, whose artless strains so
late

Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades,
Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit
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, aim'd 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 thro' the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams;
Till chok'd, and matted with the dreary shower,
995 The forest-walks, at every rising gale,

Roll wide the wither'd 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 remain'd 1000 Of stronger fruits fall from the naked tree;

And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around
The desolated prospect thrills the soul.

WINTER
(1726)

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, 5 And heavenly heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms!

Congenial horrors, hail! With frequent foot,
Pleas'd have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nurs'd by careless Solitude I liv'd,

And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,— 10 Pleas'd have I wander'd through your rough domain;

Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure; Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst; Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd, In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time, 15 Till through the lucid chambers of the South Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smil'd.

The keener tempests come: and fuming dun From all the livid East, or piercing North, 225 Thick clouds ascend; in whose capacious womb A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congeal'd. Heavy they roll their fleecy world along,

And the sky saddens with the gather'd storm. Thro' the hush'd air the whitening shower descends,

230 At first thin-wavering; till at last the flakes
Fall broad and wide, and fast, dimming the day
With a continual flow. The cherish'd fields
Put on their winter-robe of purest white.
'Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts
235 Along the mazy current. Low the woods

Bow their hoar head; and, ere the languid Sun
Faint from the West emits his evening ray,

Earth's universal face, deep-hid, and chill,

Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide
240 The works of Man. Drooping, the labourer-ox
Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven,
Tam'd by the cruel season, crowd around
The winnowing store, and claim the little boon
245 Which Providence assigns them. One alone,
The red-breast, sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky,
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man
250 His annual visit. Half afraid, he first

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: 255 Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, Though timorous of heart, and hard beset

By death in various forms-dark snares, and dogs, 260 And more unpitying men-the garden seeks, Urg'd on by fearless want. The bleating kind Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth,

With looks of dumb despair; then, sad-dispers'd.
Dig for the wither'd herb thro' heaps of snow.

Ah! little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, pow'r, and affluence surround;
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth
325 And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;-

Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death
And all the sad variety of pain.

How many sink in the devouring flood,
330 Or more devouring flame; how many bleed,
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
335 Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty: how many shake

With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,340 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse; Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, They furnish matter for the tragic Muse: Ev'n in the vale where wisdom loves to dwell, With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation join'd,

345 How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop In deep-retir'd distress: how many stand

Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish. Thought fond

man