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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. by errata ned to lent une pelure, faqon i 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 A Thb THOMSONS SEASONS. AUTUp AND WINTER, WITir AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY H. I. STR A NG, B. A.. Head Master, atid A. J. MOORE, B. A., Matfutiuttical Master i,j GODJMllCH HIGH SCHOOL. FOR THK irSK OF CANDIDATES 1>RK1'AU1N(J FOR UNIVKRSITY MATRICIIJ, ATION AND TKACIIEHS' CFRTIFICATES. TORONTO: Th« Copp-Clauk Company, (Limttkt)). Publ.hhku«. Front Street VVc^t 1886. Entered iiccordiiii; to A(!t of tliu r;ii liaiiu:iit of Ciiiiada, in the year one thousand oiu:ht hnndroii and ei;,'lity-si\, hy TnK Coi'I'-Clakk (Jomtany, (Limiteu), in the Oltice of ttie Minister of Aic.scril»t'(l for next year's tixjiiiiiuutioiis, W(! ;ir(3 not sani^Miijio (.'nonj.;li t(t expect tiiut it will esciipo unfuvoimiWle criticism. We h;iv(; foll(»\v«'tl our own judK'iK'nt in regard to the niituit- iind amount of tlit; lielp to lu- furnished, and while we liiiv«' neither hoped nor desire/<'. iiiiniHt paii.sli ilistric i toi" pi*' iJients, posscsi' im "Tf IJI'l- OF IIIOMSON. ■'>* 44^ .lA.MKS Thomson, the iintlior of tlu; S('a.vith its gi-ecn hills and its blooming heather, whil(! the shuider stream of the crystal Jed winding through the whole adds a look of life by its niovin" waters *'\ n. LIFE OF THOMSON. th(! upliiml Holitmlc." 'I'lii.s n.itiiriil luvcIincsH, and the Ic^hmuIs and .songs in wliicli Ko,\l)ui';.;li i« licli, jnoved in tlu'. case of 'riioinsoii to he uu!ct nurses for tlie poetic spirit within. A fragment preserved— l»y accident we supiM>se from the periodical burnings, shows considerahh' jiowtsrs of fancy and felicity of expression, and sliows, toy vs eoiisideiiildc t«K), the (ijirly d(!S(;j'i|)ti(>iis ot lyed in tlieni : p; ibnrgh College, s tlm nuiins of id of Murdoeh, he students in fair mark for ither suddt^nly 1 Thoin.son wa.s ler, vv'iio had rtgai,'(!y his mother, and by the praises bestowed by others oi iM)etry Ite had written at eoUege, iispecially a paraphrase of the l()-kh j)salm, Thomson ting about him in the streets he had his p(H;kets picked of most of his letters, and in this strait he Kouj^ht out his old frientl Mallet, tlien in London and tutor to the sons of the Duke of Montrose. He advised him to com|»lete Winter and connect the individual scenes int(» a regidar ]M)em. While iloin;^ thi.-, 'J'hoiiison received news of his mother's deatli, and it was under the burden of this allliction nnd amid the unconi^cnial labour of a tutor, that^^ the |MK!m was tinishtMl and made its appearance in March, 17'2(). With dilliculty lie obtained from Millan, the publisher, three tjuineas for the eopyiij^ht, and for a winle there were no buyers, lint owing to the good ollices of a Kev. Mr. W'hatley, who by accident t(M)k it up in the shop, approve), wliicli is iiotliiii;^' Imt a fati.^iiiii^f iiivtuitivc aijainst the ^'ovoniincnt for tluMi- slackiuis.s in tin; Sj)anisli war, Thomson, with most of tliu iniiM of letter's, lioiiii,' in opposition. A (|uai'to edition of th(5 SaiMnix (Auhimn now first appearing) wa.s issmid l)y snitsc.-iption in I7*iO. Tn thi; samo volnino ap])(;aro(l the pooni in nusnioi'y of N^nvton, anil tln' worU cIoschI with that ma<.;nificont hymn whi(!h has lKt;n (lallt'd 'rhftnison's finest production. Among the snl»- scrihiM's, of wliDiii ilicrc; wcr*; three hundred and ei^dity-seven, taking four hnndrel and lifty-tour copies, were the leading men of letter.s, and besides, many jter.sons of high social rank. Thomson's lirst tragedy was iS'o/^//o///".s7ya,, acted in 1729-30; hut, al though its rehearsal drew to.,'ether a H[>l(!ndid critical audienci!, yet when [)erfoiincd it evoked no enthusiasm. 'J'he story goes tliat one weak line : ( ), S'lplii.nislta ! Sn|)hiinisl)a, O 1 was pai'odied by a wag into (), Jeimny Tliomson ! Jemmy Thomson, O ! This set th(! town adaugliing, ami the play after a short time was with, drawn. Tliomson wrer, 173.3, his young fellow-travoller ditid, and 'J'homson's tribute to his memory in sincere but not very felicitous verse, M^as the cause of his being given ])y Sir Clias. Talbot, nf)W Lord Chancellor, the post of Sec- retary of liriefs in Chaiuiery, wliei'e the pa,y was good and the work was nothing. In consetpience we find him removed to Richmond, in a cot- tage close to the river's edge, and with a garden attached so that he could indulge his taste for gardening. His prosperity seems to have mad(! him imlolent, but showed at the san)e time his kindness of heart an ty-seven, takiiii^' 1 of letters, and 29-80 ; l)ut, al ieiKH!, yet when / one weak Hue : ; time was witl>. latoiy styh; anr ('upioint- ment, lost his place. I'cnforce he betook himself to woik .ind ]>i()dueed the tragedy of A(jamemvoii, a classical pie(.;e, and a ycai- afterwards Kilicard ai\(l Ehdnora, dealing with early Knglisji history. 'J'his last was a greater failure tlian Ai/ftmc/finon, which is saying a good deal. Just a little before the ])oet had been arrested for debt, and eonvctyed to a sponging-house, from which he Wiis released by the actor (i)uin, who out of admiration for tlu; author of tlu' S( ((sons visitiwl him theri\ ordered in a good supper (which Thomson likid) and in the; course of the eveni?ig gave him €100. Immediately after he was introductid by Lytti^lton to th«; I*i-ince of Wales, who being out of favour at (!oui"t and anxious for populai'ity, gave Thomson a pension of a hundred a year. 'I'hi'ough these two windfalls of fortune and the sahis of his published works, which now were considerable, 'J'homson was able to retain his suburbati cottage and garden on the Thames, where he lived in a sort of rural retii-enumt, attending to his garden and fi'uit trees, revising t\\v. Seasons, and at odd monuiuts adding a stan/a to the lUistle of Inilolnire. In 1744, his friend Littelton, being in the m.-w Ministry as a Commis- sioner in the Treasury, lost no time in appointing Thomson Surveyor- (Jeneral of the Leeward Islands. The enudununits, after paying a de])uty to pcrfoi-m the active duties, amounted to about £.'}()() a year. This to Thomson was almost allluence, and made him independent of the pension which the Prince had given him, but four years later had rather shabbily withdrawn. The snug cottage in Kew Lane was comfortably, even elegantly furnished, and became the scene of nnich social enjoyment with his friends. Lyttleton's scat was also a favoi-itc resort of his in those days. Tana^ed and S}(jismund(i, his most successful ti-agedy, camtt out in 1745, and for a while it was a public fa\'orite. Some have thought that its popularity was due less to its intrinsic merits than to the celebrated actors, (Jarrick and Mrs. Cibber, wlio took parts in it. l>ut that such was not wholly the ease, is apparent from the favjt that Jolmson speaks of it in his time as still keephig its turn upon the stage. The CciHth of Indolence, on whieli he had been engaged at intervals during fifteen years, appeared in May, 174S, and must be considered as his greatest work, if judged as a work of art, though if excellence be gauged by the number of readers, the .SVrrsrw.v will easily bear away the palm. Thomson has been accused of negligence of style, perhaps with X. LIFI-: UF I'lIOMSON. justice, but the Caxtlc of Indoltnct shows no faults of this kind, each stanza and phrase being polished with consummate care. It is an allegory, written in the Spenserian measure, and happily conceived in the style and spirit of the Fairy Queen. On such a theme as Indolence Thomson wrote con amori, and for a picture oi lazy luxury set forth in tlie most melodious verse, the opening stan/.as of the first canto have no ecjual in the language. Thomson's death resulted from a neglected cold. He had walked into town, as was usual for him to do, and in the evening feeling tired and overheated, took the boat. The night air brought on a chill. Next day he was in a high f jver, and i" "prudently venturing out before he had fully recovered, sufl'ered a relapj&c. This time medical aid was of no avail, and he dic^d at four o'clock in the morning of Saturday, 27th August, just two weeks before completing his forty -eighth year. He was buried in the clnirch at Uiclunond. His loss was severely felt by a large circle of friends. Collins, the poet, who lived near him, left Richmond and re- fused to return. (»>uin, who spoke the prologue to his last play, Coriolantis, was allected to tears. Millun, liis publisiier, marked his esteem by de- voting the prolits of a splendid editicm of the poet's works to the erection of a monument in Westndnistcr Abbey, where it was placed between those of Shakespeare and Kowe. Never was man more sincerely mourned. Murdoch, his old friend and biographer, speaks of him as "our »)ld, tried, amiable, open ard honest-hearted Thomson, whom we never parted from but unwillingly, and never met but with fresh transport; in whom we found ever the same delightful companion, the same faithful depository of our inmost i-houghts, and the same sensible, sympathizing adviser." In youth Thomson was thought handsome, but with age his figure became ungainly, and his countenance gross and unanimated. He was, as is said in the C(v<)ccacio and Chaucer, lint iiowever we may lament his indi'cenci"s, his knowledge of English was exquisite and wonderful. He was the greatest living writer in prose or verse. Po[)e, his inniiediate siiccessor, " Whom I )ryden taught to join I'he varying vrvsc, the full resoiinding line, The long majestic march, and energy divine," acknowledges him as his master and model inth(;artof versi'icutum. Poj'.', howevei', i • proved on Dryden, if l)y imjirovement be meant great* t smooth- ness iind I'egularity ; a more jtolished and balanced antithesis ; a more bit- ing sarcasm ; a more stinging and pointed wit. He brought ihally ignorant and coarse with tlieir parishioners. The picture Thomson has given of their habits in " Autunm," h[\i\ {>, was unfortunately too often tru«^ Under Walpolc, th(! policy of (lovernment patronage, of lucrative sinecures for literary men, was entirely changed. Aft<'r this the litr-rary life became one of indigence and obsciu'ity -oftena struggle bu' b.ire existence' begins the generation of Crub street hacks. In no other If (fro age were the xu. LIFE OF THOMSON. writers so beggarly and vile, so fierce and rancorous. Pope has immortal i/ed Homi! of them in his inimitable satire. There were a few exceptions |o tlie usual misery. Poi)e from the profits of his Homer was snug in Twicken- ham ; Swift got his deanery by raitin(j ; Young, his pension, by flattery; Richardson lived by his printing ; Addison was especially fortunate. The mission ;)f the poetry of Anne and George I. was not to delineate external nature, but to satirize or eulogize human nature. Wordsworth makes the rather strong statement " that, excepting a passage or two in the * Windsor Forest' oi Pope, and some delightful pictures in the ' Poems of Lady Winchelsea,' the poetry of the period between the publication of ' Paradise Lost ' and the 'Seasons' does not ccmtain a single new image of external nature." The whoh; world of letters was engaged in satirizing, in translating, in arguing, in declaiming, in uttering maxims, in sf'ntim(;ntal reflecting. The poetry is a reflex of the time ; it is correct ; it is brilliant with wit ; it perhaps convinces, lint it does not stir the emotions. Sarcasm is much oftener found than honest, passionate indignation. Comedy is a much greater favorite than tragedy. Of prjlish and afl'ectation there was plenty ; of deep passiim of any kind there was v(;ry little. Fi'om the public cation of "Winter" we must go forward twenty years to find the fancy and pathos of Collins. About twenty years more brings us to the publication of Percy's '^ lieliqucs," which is an epoch in the slowly reviving taste for what is natm-al and simple and unaffected. Our older poets again began k) b(! studied and imitated. New subjects were chosen, a new treatment adopted. And here it is proper to notice; that religious awakening in the middle of the 18th century, which had such profound moral results, and which no doubt C(mtributed not a little to affect tlie form and substance of lit(!rature. The Pin-itanism which had successfully resistiid the; tyranny of the first two Stuarts, developed a tyranny of its own, more galling perhaps by reason of its aust(U'ity. When in lOGO England was released from the gloomy reign of the Saints, the great principles of morality and of religious liberty seemed for awhile to have dei)arted with them. But tlii\y soon reapp(>ar. TIh! moral force of Puritanism, its chief and abiding glory, assents itself in the revolution of KkSS, and shows itself in the Methodist revival, which was but a protest against the apatliy of the Church. It is seen in the jtleaof Burke for the Hindoo, in th(! philanthropy of Howard, in the work of Clarkson and Wilberforoe for the black man. It is seen in the evangelic mcwement which took plac(> within the pale of the English Ciuu'ch itself. The gentle Cowi)er took a part with Mr. N(!wton, its leader, in reclaiming the irreligi- ims of Olney. No other poem breatlies a purer si)irit of piety and Christian |>hilosophy than the "T;isk," and this poem is generally taken to be the culniin:;tion and eomplelioii of that rebellion against the reign of the false and affected, and of that return to the simple ans by reason of loomy reign of iberty seemed >api)('ar. The s itself in the hich was but tleaof Burkt! of Clarkscm tlic movement The gentle ^' the irndigi- uid Christian cen to be the :n of the false lich Thomson I t J CMARACTKR OF THOMSON'S POETRY. PoKTiiY, like painting, or sculpture, i.s inutaticm, and is finest and most 8UCC(!S8ful when it produces on the mind the effect of the original. If the object of descrijjtive poetry is to create tlirough tlie imaginative; faculty the liveliest images of the real objects from which tliey arc drawn, then. Thomson is the greatest of our descriptive poets. As we read him, we see the green fields, the trees covered with white blossoms, and the bees hum. ming amorg them, the flowers that grow by the brook and give out their fragrance as it goes jmrling by. We see the shadows chasing each other over the yellow cornfields, w(; hear the sighing of the autunm winds and the groaning of the winter's tempest, and W(; seem to see befort; our very eyes, away out on the bleak snowy waste, the po«jr lost wretch i)lunging through the shapeless drifts. There is no other writer that has drunk in more of the soul of his subject. •' He looks on nature with the eye that nature bestows only on a poet, with a mind that ct)mpi"eliends the vast and attends t«) tin; minute." Nature was his first love, when lie saw her in the valleys of Soutlidean ; and years after, in the gardens of Kew, lie again exclaims : " I care not Fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Thnmgh which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my ct instant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living streams at eve ; Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave." It is common to make comparisons between Thomson and Cowper. In chastenessof language and harmony Cowper is the superior, yet it is thought the former possessed a greater share of the true spirit of poesy. Thomson loves to paint with bold sweei)ing strokes, and makes a grand general im- press on the mind. Cowper delights us by a series of minute and delicate touches, which make his picture stand out in exquisite clearness and beauty. Thomson loves images of i>ower and energy ; Cowper those of grace and quiet — his life was passed among scenes of less rugged character. (See W. 729, n.) Thomson seems to have lK>en fortunate in his choice of a subject, and even its very title seems a happy one. There existed in his time very little descriptive poetry worthy of the name. Si)encer was forgotten, and Milton had been neglected. "From Drydcm to Thomson there is scarcely a rural image drawn from life to be found in any of the English poets excej)t (Jay." Thomson's suViject admitted of being treated in tht) digressive and dasul- tory manner suited to his indolent temperament, and gave ample scoi)e for diffuseuess of description, as well as for gorgeous colouring and unlimited epithet, XIV. I! LIFE OF THOMSON. POETICAL FORM. TiiK "S(^'isons" arc writtt-M in Tuiribic IVntannter, or lilank Verso— th. -it i.s in lines which do not rhyme— luiil which cnntuin regularly ten sylhihles, or five iiunbic f<'et, the nnniber of the accents beinf?. however, of more im- portance than the number of tfu; syllables. The genexal rule that every line shall end with some important word, Thomson has ])retty strictly observed. The terminal words are nearly always nouns or verbs, occasion- ally a pronoun, an adjective, or an adverb, never a pure prei)ositiou or con- junction. The scansion is, fj^enerally speaking, regular and easy. A Iroclicc sometimen occurs in i)lacH' of an iambus, i;sually in the first foot, and unajKtds or amjikihi-tieha are not ui.connuon, but these are the oidy changes neces- sary to make tlie accents of tlie line fall on the proixjrly accented syllables of the words. . . . In form as well as subject the " Seasons '' may be con- sidered a new departun;. The causes of Thomson's adoi)tion of blank verse are not far to seek. His ministerial nurture and training, and on that ac- count greater familiarity with pro Restoration and I'uritan authors, no doubt inclined him toward the verse in which Milton wrote. The form of liis boyish efforts, of which a siKJcimen is given in the Life, will sliow best the force of his early associations. He seems all ahmg to have been conscious (See A. (M(), and n.), no<^ only that an entire poem in the rhyming measure of the day would weary by tlie regularity of its cadence, but that Ijlank vi-rse would better suit his theme, and would have besides tin; added charm of novelty. THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT IN THE SEASONS. Thk religion of the Seasons is Vmt that religion which nature alone might teach ; it recognizes a Supreme Architect ; it has a lofty and moral tone, and has a i)leasing harmony, and a disposition towards sweetness and light vv^iiich Matliinv Arnold might envy, liut its character is very indefin- ite ; it has little reference to the iiualiti/ of our Ix-liefs, or to the real remedy for the evil tendencies of the heart, the acceptance of Clirist and the infiu- enee of the Holy Spirit. In only a very few passages we discover with souje difficulty any recognition of the revealed character of God. Some have thought that the speculations of the English Deists, the i)lausible advocates of natural religion, may have had some influence with Thomson, as we know they had with Voltaire.* The more charitable view is that the poet, not altogether wanting in that shrewdness inherent in the Scottish character, * Voltaire visitod Eiif^land in T7'2G, and reuiaiued two years. lie thus became familiar with the writin-fs of ShaftoslMiry, Ito injjrbroko, Collins, Tiiidall, Wollaston, etc. It must be remembered that only i^iioriuiee attributes atbeism to Voltaire. In fact Diderot was disfjfusted with liim for not I'eini,'- sufficiently advanced, and thoiij,'ht him a ment.il weakling for still adhering to the belief of (Jod. ada]l SI hoi rei)e dictil ten 11 seciil the ft LIKK OF TIloMttuN. XV. c Verso— thiit II HylliilJo.s, or of more iin- If Uiat every retty strictly rb.s, occtisicm- isitioii or con- y. A Irocluc. and (inapoists liinges neces- ■dsylliihlos of ' may he con- f blank verse I on tliat ac- author.s, no leform of his iliovv best the ■en conscious liny measure t bhink verse ied charm of NS. atnre alone y and inoijil v^eetness ;ind ^ery indefin- real rt'nmdy ikI the influ- ir vvitli some Some have le advocates as we know It) ])oet, not 1 character, thus became 11, Wollaston, Voltaire. In and thought adapted his religious sentiments to the prevjiihny taste. Pope and his sihool then ruled the republic of letters, and this of itself may explain the rejH'ated moral platitudes, who.se weari.someness the ornate and splendid diction caimot always conceal. In a transition ]»eriod we must expect some temporizing, and this cautious treatment no doubt .secured and still does securt! a wider circle of readers. None but an atheist could tind fault with the theology of the ^Seasons, lovp: and the domestic relation. Savage, who was an intimate «>f Thomson's, says he knew no love but that of the sex. IJnt one could hardly get such an opinion from his works — certainly not from tin? "Seasons." We see, indeed, that love as presented by him is not of the highest order ; is, in fact, a little prosaic ; althotigh for every day wear, a solid, servicea])le sort of article. His women have a cer- tain robustn<^ss, a blowzy healthfulness about them, which our hiter poets tacitly deny t(t their highest types. Tliey seem to lack that delicacy, that simi»le grace, that indefinable charm, with which tlie magic numbers of Teimyson and Coleridge invest th ir female creation.s. We give Thomson the highest praise when we say that he is jmrity itself in comparison with his contemporaries. Here and there may be a lint; in which a little coarseness is suggested rather than expressed. Yet the " S(;a- bons " contain no expression that need rai.se the blush of modesty, excei)t in those tot) easily consci(»us, or of priuient hnagination. His i)ictures of domestic happiness, and his estimate of the conjugal relation do him honor ; for th(! i»ublic conscience on these to])ics was not too tender. The comedy of intrigue, whicli 15eaumont and Fletcher introduced, foimd congenial soil in the dissolute court of Charles II. It was still common in Thomson's time for ladies to wear masks when hciaring for the first time a new i)lay. Howe's *' Eair Penitent," who.se " gay L(»thario " has become a synonym for an un princii)led rake, was still in the fidl tide of its ifojmlarity. Congreve, who had defiled the s]>lend(»ur .f his wit in the grossest dialogue, and scoffed at the sacredness of the marriag(! tie, lived till 1721>. He had produced notiiing butsonu' miscellMueous poetry sinci' the failure of his " Way of the World " but he and his i)lays were still famous. Farqidiar died in 1707, while all London was roaring with delight at his liaaix' Stnitat/fni, the female char- actei-s of which aie . '^B 10. '^IH 11. ^m 12. * 13. ■ 't^ 14. V 15. 1 10. Jb 18. <^^H 19. '^'H 20. ^^0 21. •1 23. '^fl 24. fl 25. '^9 2(). ■'~^H 27. 'v^n^^B 28. ^m 29. m 30. "m 31. 32. hB 3:^. H^B 35. tS^^m 30. 'I 37. 13 38. xvni. CHRONOLOGICAL PARALLEL. TllOMSON'fS LiKK. ;o;), 903-009, 015, 740 751, 70L 2. 3. 4. 0. 7. S. 'X 10. 11. 12. 13. Thomson b. • • • • • • • • ;it .lit|liui;^li .■^chtuil ■ • • • I 14. 15. 10. 18. 19. 20. 21. 23. 24. 25. 20. 27. 2H. 29. 30. 31. 32. 35. 30. 37. 38. fronn to If of the World," Act of Scittlenumt. War of Spanish Succession. VVi'sley b., The Fair Penitent. r.lenheim, Locke d., Talc of a Tub. Ivamilies. I'nion Act, Farquhar d., The Jieaux'' Stratagem. Oudenarde. Malplacjuet, Tatler, Johnson b. ■^achevenill's Trial. Sjiestator, EKnaii on Criticism. \Iarlb( >rou^'h dismissed . Treaty of l^tn^cht, (^ August . . j Cwiolanus W»'.sl«!y'wreal conversion, begins his Itinerancy, War with Sj)ain. Pamela, Wesley and Whitefield separate. Tl haistrcss, Joseph Andrews^ Hume'a i „2/s. Resignation of Walpole. J )ettingen. Pope d. , The Night Thoughts. Swift d., Walix)lc d., Fontenoy. Ode on the Passions, Culloden. Roderick Random, Clarissa Harlowe, Treaty of Aix-la-Chai3elle. Vanity of Human Wishes, Irene. I. THE SEASONS. BNBUAL. lis Itinerancy, separate. Irews, Hume'fl irlowo, Treaty AUTUMN. Cuown'd with tlie sickle and the whcatoii sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Conies jovial on, the Doric reod once more. Well ploas'd, T tune. Whate'er the wintry frost Nitrous propar'd — the vai'ious-blossomed Spring Put in white promise forth — the Summer suns Concoc't(!d strong —rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme. Dedication. Onslow ! the muse, ambitious of thy name, To grace, inspirt;, and dignify her song, Would from the public voice thy gentle ear Awhile engage. Thy noble care 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, 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, Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame. The Fiel 's Ready for Harvest. When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, And Libra veighs in equal scales the year. 10 20 5 THE SEASONS. From lnvivon's hii^fi cope tlio fiorcn cfTulgcnce shook Of p.'irtiiii^ Suinnuir, a scn;nor blue, With gokU;ii light enliveii'd, wide invests The h!i})i)y world. Attemper'd suns arise, Sweot-htNun'd, and sh(!(lding oft, through lucid clouds, A pleasing calm; wliile, broad and brown, below, go Extensive harvests hang tiie heavy head. Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a galo liolls its liglit billows o'er the bending plain ; A calm of plenty ! till the ruliled air Falls from its poise, and gives tlie breeze to blow. Uent is the ileecy mantle of the sky ; The clouds lly dillerent ; and the sudden sun By iits eliulgent gilds th' illumin'd field ; And black by tits the shadows sweep along. A gaily-cheut is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. Tliouglitless of l)eauty, she was beauty's self, llecluse amid the close-embowering woods. As, in the hollow l^reast of Apennine, lieneatli tlu; slielter of encircling hills, A myrtle rises, far from human eye, And bi'j'athes its l)almy fragrance o'er the; wild ; So llourish'd, blooming, and unseen by all, The sweet Lavinia ; till, at length, coinpell'd By strong necessity's supreme command. With smiling patiences in her looks, slie went To gl(Min Palemon's lields. The pride of swains Palemon was, the geiuu'ous, mikI th(^ ricii. Who led tiie rural lif(^ in all its joy And (Hc^iiance, such as Arcadian soiii; Transmits from ancient, uncorrupUul times, When tyrant custom liad not sluickled man, 100 200 m 8 TliK SEASONS. M 111 But free to follow nature was the mode. He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes Amusinj^, chanc'd beside his reaper train To walk, wlien poor Lavinia drew his eye. Unconscious of h(;r power, and turning quick With unaiiectod blushes from his gaze, He saw hei charming, but lie saw not h-.iU Tlui cliarms her d(jwncast modesty conceal'd. Tliat very nu^ment, love and chaste desire Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown ; For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn, Should liis heart own a gleaner in the field ; And tlius 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 Of some indecent clown ! She looks, methinks, Of old Acasto's line ; and to my mind Recalls that patron of my happy iifoj From whon^. my liberal fortune took its rise ; Now to the dust gone down ; his houses, lands, And once fair-spreading family, dissolv'd. 'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat, Urg'd by remembrance sad, and decent pride. Far from those scenes which knew their better days His aged widow and his daught-er live, Whom yet my fruitless seai'ch could never find. Romantic wish ! would this the daughter were ! When, strict imiuiring, from herself he found She was th(; same, the daughter of his friend. Of l)ountiful Acasto, who can speak The mingled passions tliat surpris'd his heart. 281 240 260 AUTUMN. And through his nerves, in shivering trans})()i't nm? Then blaz'd his smother'd flame, avow'd and bold ; And, as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er, Love, gratitude, and pity, wept at on'o. Confus'd, and frighten'd, at liis sudden teai's, Her rising beauties flusli'd a higher bloom. As thus Palemon, passionate and just, Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul : "And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ; She wliom my restless gi'atitude has sought So long in vain ? O yes ! the very same. The soften'd image of my noble friend, Alive, his every look, his every feature, More elegantly toucli'd. Sweeter than Spring ! Thou sole surviving blossom from the root That nourish'd up my fortune ! Say, ah where, In that sequester'd desert, hast thou drawn The kindest aspect of delighted heaven. Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair, Though poverty's cold wind and crushing rain Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years ? Oh let me now into a richer soil, Transplant thee safe, where vernal suns and show(M> Diffuse their warmest, largest influence ; And of my garden be the pride and joy ! It ill befits theo, oh ! it ill befits Acasto's daughter, his whose open stores, Though vast, were little to his ampler heart, The father of a country, thus to pick The very refuse of those harvest fields Which from his bounteous friendship I onjoy. Then throw that sliameful pittance from thy h.irid. But ill-applied to such a rugged task ! The fields, the master, all, my fair, are tiiine. 260 27« 28C vw^ 10 THE SEASONS, i M If to the various bl<\ssiii<^^s which tliy lioiise Has on me lavisli'd, tJiou wilt add that bliss, That deanjst bliss, the power of blessing tlu^e ! " Here ceas'd the youth ; yet still liis speaking c^ye Express'd tlie sacred triumph of liis soul, With conscious virtue, gratitude, and lov(», A])ov(i the vulgar joy divinely I'ais'd. Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm Of goodness irresistible, and all In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent ; 300 The news innnediate to her motlier brought, While, pierc'd witli anxious thought, she pin'd away The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate. Amazed, and scarce believing what slie heard, Joy seiz'd her wither'd veins ; and one bright ghvam Of setting life shone on lier evening hour's, Not less enraptur'd than the happy paii'. Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves, And good, tli(^ grace of all tiic country round. 310 A Storm in Harvest. Defeating oft the labours of the year, The sultry south collects a potent blast. Ac first, the gi-oves are scarcely seen to stir Tlieir trembling tops ; and a still murmur runs Alonut as the aerial tempest fuller swells, And in one mighty stream, invisible, ImuKMise, the wliole excited atmosphero Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world, Strained to the root, the stooping forc^st })ours o^y A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. High-beat, the circling mountains eddy in, AUTUMX. 11 300 way ail) 310 32(J Ffoiii the bare wild, the dissipated storm, And send it in a torrent down the vale. Expos'd, and naked, to its utmost rage. Through all the sea of harvest rolling round, The billowy plain floats wide, nor can evade, Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force ; Or whirled in air, or into vacant chaff" Shook waste. And, sometimes, too, a burst of rain sso Swept from the black horizon, broad, descends In one continuous flood. Still over head The mingled tempest weaves its gloom, and still The deluge deepens, till the fields around Lie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave. Sudden, the ditches swell, the meadows swim. Red, from the hills, innumerable streams Tumultous roar, and high above its banks The river lift ; before whose rushing tide, Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages, and swains, no Roll mingling down ; all that the winds had spar'd. In one wild moment ruin'd; the big hopes And well-earn'd treasures of the painful year. Fled to some eminence, the husbandman Helpless beholds the miserable wreck Driving along : his drowning ox at once Descending, with his labours scatter'd round, He sees ; and instant o'er his shivering thouglit Comes winter unprovided, and a train Of clamant children dear. Ye masters, then, jj,f, 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 gracnful pridn ; And, oh be mindful of that sparing board, Which covers yours with luxury profuse. 12 THE SEASONS. Makes your glass sparkle, and your sense rejoice ; Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains And all-in'^olving winds have swept away. Description of Shooting ; Its Cruelty. Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy, The gun fast- thundering, and the winded horn, Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game : How, in his mid-career, the spaniel, struck Stifl", by the tainted gale, with open nose. Outstretched, and finely sensible, draws full, Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey. As in the sun the circling covey bask Their varied plumes, and, watchful every way, Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat Their idle wings, entangled more and more ; Nor on the surges of the boundless air, Though borne triumphant, are they safe : the gun, Glanc'd just and sudden from the fowler's eye, O'ertakes their sounding pinions, and again. Immediate brings them from the towering wing. Dead to the ground, or drives them wide-dispers'd, Wounded, and wheeling, various down the wind. These are not subjects for the peaceful muse. Nor will she stain with such her spotless song. Then most delighted, when she social sees The whole mix'd animal creation round Alive and happy. 'Tis not joy to lier. This falsely cheerful, barbarous gamo of death ; This rage of pleasure, which the rest^ s youth Awakes, impatient, with the gleaming morn When beasts of prey retire, that, all night long, Urg'd by necessity, had rang'd the dark, 860 370 880 AUTUMN. 13 As if tlieir conscious ravage shunn'd the light, Asham'd. Not so the steady tyrant, man, Wlio, with the thoughtless insolence of power Inflam'd, beyond the most infuriate wrath Of the worst monster that e'er roara'd the waste, For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, Amid the beaming of the gentle days. Upbraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage, For hunger kindles you, and lawless want, But, lavisli fed, in Nature's bounty roll'd, To joy at anguish, and delight in blood. Is what your horrid bosoms never knew. The Chase of the Hare. Poor is the triumph o'er the timid Iiare, Scar'd from the corn, and now to some lone seat lletir'd ; the rushy fen ; the ragged furze Stretch'd o'er the stony heath ; the stubble chapp'd The thistly lawn ; the thick-entangled broom ; Of the same fi-iendly hue, the wither'd fern ; The fallow ground laid open to the sun, ConcGctive ; and the nodding sandy bank, Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain brook. Vain is her best precaution, though she sits Conceal'd, with folded ears, unsleeping eyes. By Nature rais'd to take the horizon in, And head couch'd close betwixt her hairy feet, In act to spring away. The scented dew Betrays her early labyrinth ; and deep. In scatter'd, 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 amaz'd, and all The savage soul of game is up at once : 800 400 410 420 14 THE SEASONS. M The pack full-opening, various ; the shrill horn Resounded from the hills ; the neighing steed, Wild for tlie chase ; and the loud Imnter's shout O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature ; all Mix'd in mad tumult and discordant joy. The Chase of the Sta^. The stag, too, singled from the herd, where long He rang'd the branching monarch of the shades. Before the tempest drives. At first in speed He, sprightly, puts his faith ; and, rous'd by fear, Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight. 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-air'd mountain by the north. He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, And plunges deep into the wildest wood ; If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track Hot steaming, up behind him come again The inhuman rout, and from the shady depth Expel him, circling through his every shift. He sweeps the forest oft, and sobbing sees The glades, mild opening to the golden day, Where, in kind contest, with his butting friends He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. Oft in the full-descending flood he tries To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides ; Oft seeks the herd : the watchful herd, alarm'd. 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. Inspire the course ; but fainting breathless toil, Sick, seizes on his heart : he stands at bay, 430 440 460 AUTUMN. 15 And puts his last weak i'efu<,'e in despair. The bii^ round tears run down liis dappled face. Tie L,n'oans in ani^uish ; while the growling pack, Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest, And mark his beauteous chequer'd sides with gore, Of this enough. ]^ut if the sylvan youth. Whose fervent blood boils into violence. Must have the cliase, behold, despising flight, The rous'd-up lion, resolute and slow, Advancing full on the protended spear, And coward-band that, circling, wheel aloof. Slunk from the cavern and tlie troubled wood. See the grim wolf : on him his shaggy foe Vindictive lix, and let the ruffian die ; Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar Grins fell destruction, to the monster's heart Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm. 400 The Chase of the Fox. 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 unearth 'd. Let all the thunder of the chase pursue. Throw the broad ditch behind you : o'er the hedge High bound, resistless ; nor the deep morass Refuse, but through the shaking wilderness Pick your nice way : into the perilous flood Bear fearless, of the raging instinct full ; And, as you ride the torrent, to the banks, 430 Your triumph sound sonorous running round. From rock to rock, in circling echoes toss'd. Then scale the mountains to their woody tops*, Rush down the dangerous steep ; and o'er the lawn, 16 THE SEASONS. Ill fancy swallowing up the space between, Pour all your speed into the rapid game, For happy he who tops the wheeling chase ; Has every maze evolv'd, and every guile Disclos'd ; who knows the merits of the pack ; Who saw the villain seiz'd and dying hard, Without complaint, though by an 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 grac'd ; the fox's fur, Depending decent from the roof ; and spread Round the drear walls, with antic figures tierce, Th(! stag's large front : he then is loudest heard, When the night staggers with severer toils. With feats Thessalian centaurs never knew, And their repeated wonders shake the dome. The Pox-Hunters* Evening. But first the fuel'd chimney blazes wide. The tankards foam : and the strong table groans Beneath the smoking sirloin, stretch'd immense From side to side ; in which, with desperate knife, They deep incision make, and tt ^' the while Of England's glory, ne'er to be defac'd, While hence they borrow vigour : or amain Into the pasty plung'd, at intervals. If stomach keen can intervals allow, Relating all the glories of the chase. Then sated hunger bids his brother thirst Produce the mighty bowl : the mighty bowl Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams liberal round A potent gale, delicious as the breath Of Maia to the love-sick shepherdess, 490 500 610 AUTUMN. 17 Oil violets (lifTusVI, wliilo soft she hoars Her panting shcphcM-rl 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 awhile Walks his dull round, ])(>neath a cloud of .smoke, Wreath'd, fragrant, from the pipe ; or the (juick dice In thunder leaping from the box, awake The sounding ganmion ; while romp-loving miss Is haul'd about, in gallantry robust. At last, these puling idlenesses laid 550 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 Indulg'd apart ; but earnest, brimming bowls Lave every soul, the table floating round, And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. Thus, as they swim in mutual sv/ill, the talk, Vociferous at once from twenty tongues. Reels fast from theme to theme ; from horses, hounds, 640 To church or mistress, politics or ghost. In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd. Meantime, with sudden interruption, loud, Th' impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart. That moment, touch'd is each congenial roul ; And, opening in a full-mouth'd cry of joy, The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse, go round ; While, from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds Mix in the music of the day again. As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep ^^ 18 THE SEASONS. 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 dissolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes, Seen dim and blue, the double tapers dance, Like the sun wading through the misty sky. Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confus'd above, Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers. As if the table even itself was drunk, Lie, a wet broken scene ; and wide, below, Is heap'd the social slaughter', where astride The lubber power in filthy triumph sits. Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side. And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till mom. Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, 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. 660 The Evening Occupations of "Women. But if the rougher sex by this fierce sport 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 stot'd, The cap, the whip, the masculine attire ; In which they roughen to the sense, and all Tlie winning softness of tlieir sex is lost. In then\ 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe ; With every motion, every word, to wave Quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blusli ; And from the su»allest violence to shrink, 670 680 AUTUMX. 19 Unequal, then the loveliest in their fears — And by this silent adulation, soft, To their protection more en^ai^ing man. Oh may their eyes no miserabh; 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, And, fashion'd all to harmony, alone Know they to seize the captivated soul, In rapture warbled from love-breathing lips ; To teach the lute to languish ; with smooth step, Disclosing motion in its every charm, To swim along, and swell the mazy dance; To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn ; To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page; To lend new flavour to the; fruitful year. And heighten nature s dainties ; in their race To rear their graces into second life ; To give society its highest taste ; Well-order'd home man's best delight to make ; And, by submissive wisdom, mod(!st skill, With every gentle care-eluding art, To raise the virtues, animate the bliss. Even charm the pains to something morc^ than joy And sweeten all the toils of human life. This be the femah^ dignity and praise. 190 «oo n A View of an Orchard. Ye swains, now hasten to the hazel-bank. Where, down yon vah^, the wildly winding brook Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrul), Ye virgins, coun\ For you their latest song 010 IjiMi 20 THE SEASONS. The woodlands raise : the clustering nuts for you The lover linds amid the secret shade ; Ahd, 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, Ab 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 lields. In cheerful error, let us tread the maze Of Autumn, unconfin'd, and taste, reviv'd, The breath of orchard big with bending fruit. Obedient to the breeze and beating ray. From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower Incessant melts away. The juicy pear Lies, in a soft profusion, scatter'd round. A various sweetness swells the gentle race. By nature's all-refining hand prepar'd ; Of temper'd sun, and water, earth, and air. In ever-changing composition mix'd. Such, falling frequent tlirough the chiller night, The fragrant stores, the wide-^ vqjected heaps Of apples, which the lusty-handed year, Innumerous, o'er tlie blushing orchard sliakos. A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen, Dv/ells 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 Who nobly durst, in rhyme-uufetter'd verse, Witli British freedom sing tlie British song : How, from Silurian vats, high-sparkling wines 620 630 640 AUTUMN. 21 Foam in transparent floods ; some strong, to cheer Tlie wintry revels of tlie labouring liincl ; 350 And tasteful some, to cool the summer hours. Bub Dodington's Seat in Dorset. In this glad season, while his sweetest beams The sun sheds equal o'er the meeken'd day, Oh lose me in the green delightful walks Of, Dodington ! thy seat, serene and plain, Where simple nature reigns, and every view, Diffusive spreads the pure Dorsetian downs, In boundless prospect, yonder, shagg'd with wood, Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks. Meantime, the grandeur of thy lofty dome, g^o 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 ! che muses' seat, "Where, in the secret bower and winding walk, For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay. Here, wandering oft, fir'd with the restless thirst Of thy applause, I solitary court Th' inspiring breeze, and meditate the book ^q 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 ; Presents the downy poach, the shining plum, With a fine bluish mist of animals Clouded ; the ruddy nectarine ; and dark, Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious tig. The vine, too, here her curling tendrils shoots ; mo 22 THE SEASONS. i i Hangs out her clusters, glowing, to the south ; And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky. Picture of a Vineyard. Turn we, a moment, fancy's rapid flight To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent, Where, by the potent sun elated high. The vineyard swells refulgent on the day, Spreads o'er the vale, or up the mountain climbs, Profuse, and drinks, amid the sunny rocks, From cliff to cliff increas'd, the heighten'd blaze. Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear, 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, Touch'd into flavour by the mingling ray. The rural youth and virgins o'er the field, Each fond for each to cull th' autumnal prime, Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. Then comes the crushing swain : the country florets, And foams unbounded with the mashy flood. That, by degi'ocs fermented and refin'd, Round the rais'd nations pours the cup of joy : The claret smooth, red as the lip we press In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl ; The mellow-tasted burgundy ; and, quick As is the wit it gives, the gay champagne. Autumn Fogs. Now, by tlie cool, declining year condens'd. Descend the copious exhalations, check'd As up the middle sky unseen they stole. And roll the doubling fogs around the liill. 690 TOO 710 AUTUMN. 23 No inon; the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, And high between contending kingdoms rears The rocky long division, tills the view With great variety ; but in a night Of gathering vapour, from the ballled 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. E'en in the height of noon oppress'd, the sun Sheds weak and blunt his wide-refracted ray ; Whence glaring oft, with many a broaden'd orb, He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth. Seen through the turbid air, beyond the life Objects appear ; and, wilder'd, o'er the waste The shepherd stalks gigantic ; till at last Wreath'd dun around, in deopei" i-irclos still Successive closing, sits the general fog Unbounded o'er the world ; and, mingling thick, A formless grey confusion covers all ; As when, of old (so sung the Hebrew bard) Light, uncollected, through the chaos urg'd Its infant way ; nor order yet had drawn His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. 720 N 780 The Origin of Springs and Rivera. 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, scoop'd among the hollow rocks ; Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains play, And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw. 7