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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.

The crested cock, with all his female train,
Pensive, and dripping ; while the cottage hind
Hangs o'er th' enlivening blaze, and taleful there
Recounts his simple frolic: much he talks,
And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows
Without, and rattles on his humble roof.



Now when the cheerless empire of the sky To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields, And fierce Aquarius stains th' inverted year ; Hung o'er the furthest verge of heaven, the sun Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day. Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot His struggling rays, in horizontal lines, Through the thick air ; as clothed in cloudy storm, Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky ; And, soon descending, to the long dark night, Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns. Nor is the night unwished; while vital heat, Light, life, and joy, the dubious day forsake. Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast, Deep-tinged and damp, and congregated clouds, And all the vapory 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. 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 discolored flocks, Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. Along the woods, along the moorish fens, Sighs the sad Genius of the coming storm ; And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook And cave, presa geful, send a hollow moan, Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear.


Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swelled, And the mixed ruin of its banks o'erspread, 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, Calm, sluggish, silent ; till again, constrained 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. APOSTROPHE TO THE GRANDEURS OF NATURE ; WINDS. Nature ! great parent! whose unceasing hand Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year, How mighty, how majestio, are thy works! With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul, That sees astonished, and astonished sings ! Ye too, ye winds ! that now begin to blow With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. Where are your stores, ye powerful beings ! say, Where your aerial magazines reserved, To swell the brooding terrors of the storm? In what far-distant region of the sky, Hushed in deep silence, sloop ye when 't is calm ? THE WINTER TEMPEST. — SIGNS OF ITS APPROACH; SUN;

CLOUDS ; STARS ; WIND ; HEIFER; TAPER. When from the pallid sky the sun descends, With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb Uncertain wanders, stained ; red fiery streaks 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-colored east, the moon Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. Seen through the turbid fluctuating air, The stars obtuse emit a shivered ray ; Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. Snatched in short eddies, plays the withered leaf ; And on the flood the dancing feather floats. With broadened nostrils to the sky upturned, The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. E'en as the matron, at her nightly task, With pensive labor draws the flaxen thread, The wasted taper and the crackling flame Foretell the blast.


CATTLE ; POULTRY; THE COTTAGER HOUSED. Then comes the father of the tempest forth, Wrapt in black glooms. First joyless rains obscure Drive through the mingling skies with vapor foul; Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, That grumbling wave below. Th’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, 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 th' untasted fields return, And ask, with moaning low, their wonted stalls, Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. Thither the household feathery peo owd,



But chief the plumy race, The tenants of the sky, its changes speak.

Retiring from the downs, where all day long
They picked their scanty fare, a blackening train
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.
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,
And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice,
That solemn sounding bids the world prepare.

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Where now, ye lying vanities of life! Ye ever-tempting, ever-cheating train! Where are you now? and what is your amount ? Vexation, disappointment, and remorse. Sad, sickening thought! and yet deluded man, A scene of crude disjointed visions passed, And broken slumbers, rises still resolved, With new-flushed hopes, to run the giddy round.

Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, And hurls the whole precipitated air Down in a torrent. On the passive main Descends th' ethereal force, and with strong gust Turns from its bottom the discolored 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 : Meantime the mountain-billows, to the clouds In dreadful tumult swelled, surge above surge, Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, And anchored navies from their stations drive, Wild as the winds, across the howling waste Of mighty waters : now th' 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 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.



ETC. -THE SUCCEEDING CALM Nor less on land the loosened tempest reigns. The mountain thunders; and its sturdy sons Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. Lone on the midnight steep, and all agbast, The dark wayfaring stranger breathless toils, And, often falling, climbs against the blast. Low waves the rooted forest, vexed, and sheds What of its tarnished honors yet remain ; Dashed down, and scattered, by the tearing wind's Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, The whirling tempest raves along the plain; And on the cottage thatched, or lordly roof, Keen-fastening, shakes them to the solid base. Sleep frighted flies ; and round the rocking dome, For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. Then too, they say, through all the burdened air, Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant


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 With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure ; Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss !

THE SNOW-STORM. – THE FIELDS ; THE OX; BIRDS. The keener tempests rise : and fuming dun From all the livid east, or piercing north, Thick clouds ascend ; in whose capacious womb A vapory 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 Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day With a continual flow. The cherished fields Put on their winter-robe of purest white. 'T is brightness all, save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low the woods Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun Faint from the west emits his evening ray, Earth's universal face, deep hid, and chill, Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide The works of man. Drooping, the laborer ox Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around The winnowing store, and claim the little boon Which Providence assigns them.

THE ROBIN RED-BREAST IN A SNOW-STORM ; THE HARE ; Then throng the busy shapes into his mind

Of covered pits unfathomably deep,
One alone,

A dire descent! beyond the power of frost ;
The red-breast, sacred to the household gods, Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge,
Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky,

Smoothed up with snow; and what is land unknown, In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves

What water of the still unfrozen spring,
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man In the loose marsh or solitary lake,
His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks,
On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the floor, Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,
Eyes all the smiling family askance,

Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death ; And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is : Mixed with the tender anguish Nature shoots Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs

Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds

His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, In vain for him th' officious wife prepares Though timorous of heart, and hard beset

The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ;
By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, In vain his little children, peeping out
And more un pitying men, the garden seeks, Into the mingling storm, demand their sire,
Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind With tears of artless innocence. Alas !
Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold;
With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad-dispersed, Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow. The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ;

And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,

Lays him along the snows a stiffened corse,
Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind,

Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern blast. Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens

INDIFFERENCE OF PLEASTRE-SEEKERS TO HTMAN MISERY. — With food at will ; lodge them below the storm,

VARIOUS FORMS OF WRETCHEDNESS NOTED. And watch them strict; for from the bellowing east,

Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud, In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing

Whom pleasure, power, and afluence surround; Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains

They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, At one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks,

And wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; Hid in the hollow of two neighboring hills,

Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, The billowy tempest whelms; till, upward urged,

How many feel, this very moment, death, The valley to a shining mountain swells,

And all the sad variety of pain. Tipped with a wreath high-curling in the sky.

How many sink in the devouring flood,


By shameful variance betwixt man and man. As thus the snows arise ; and foul, and fierce,

How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms;

Shut from the common air and common use
All Winter drives along the darkened air ;
In his own loosa-revolving fields the swain

Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup

Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend,

Of misery. Sore pierced by wintry winds, Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,

How many shrink into the sordid hut Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain :

Of cheerless poverty. How many shake
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid

With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on
From hill to dale, still more and more astray ;

Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ;

Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,

They furnish matter for the tragic Muse ; Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of

E'en in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell, home

With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation joined, Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth

How many, racked with honest passions, droop In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul !

| In deep retired distress. How many stand What black despair, what horror fills his heart !

Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, When for the dusky spot, which fancy feigned

And point the parting anguish.
His tufted cottage rising through the snow,
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the track and blest abode of man ;

Thought fond man While round him night resistless closes fast,

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, And every tempest, howling o'er his head,

That one incessant struggle render life Renders the savage wilderness more wild.

! One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fato,






Vice in his high career would stand appalled, E'en beauty, force divine ! at whose bright glance
And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think ; The generous lion stands in softened gaze,
The conscious heart of Charity would warm,

Here bleeds, a hapless undistinguished prey.
And her wide wish Benevolence dilate ;

But if, apprised of the severe attack, The social tear would rise, the social sigh ;

The country be shut up, lured by the scent, And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,

On church-yards drear (inhuman to relate !)
Refining still, the social passions work.

The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig
The shrouded body from the grave ; o'er which,

Mixed with foul shades and frighted ghosts, they And here can I forget the generous band,

howl. Who, touched with human woe, redressive searched Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ?

Among those hilly regions, where embraced Unpitied, and unheard, where misery moans, In peaceful vales the happy Grisons dwell ; Where sickness pines, where thirst and hunger burn, Oft, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs, And poor misfortune feels the lash of vice.

Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll. While in the land of Liberty, the land

From steep to steep, loud-thundering down they come, Whose every street and public meeting glow A wintry waste in dire commotion all ; With open freedom, little tyrants raged ;

And herds, and flocks, and travellers, and swains, Snatched the lean morsel from the starving mouth; And sometimes whole brigades of marching troops, Tore from cold wintry limbs the tattered weed ; Or hamlets sleeping in the dead of night, E'en robbed them of the last of comforts, sleep ; Are deep beneath the smothering ruin whelmed. The free-born Briton to the dungeon chained,

THE WINTER HOMESTEAD; ITS PROPER LOCATION. - STUDY Or, as the lust of cruelty prevailed,

OF HISTORY. At pleasure marked him with inglorious stripes ;

Now, all amid the rigors of the year, And crushed out lives, by secret barbarous ways,

In the wild depth of Winter, while without That for their country would have toiled or bled.

The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat,

Between the groaning forest and the shore
O great design ! if executed well,

Beat by the boundless multitude of waves,
With patient care, and wisdom-tempered zeal. A rural, sheltered, solitary scene;
Ye sons of Mercy ! yet resume the search,

Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join
Drag forth the legal monsters into light,

To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit, Wrench from their hands oppression's iron rod, And hold high converse with the mighty dead ; And bid the cruel feel the pains they give.

Sages of ancient time, as gods revered, Much still untouched remains ; in this rank age, As gods beneficent, who blessed mankind Much is the patriot's weeding hand required. With arts, with arms, and humanized a world. The toils of law (what dark insidious men Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth,

Roused at the inspiring thought, I throw aside And lengthen simple justice into trade)

The long-lived volume ; and, deep-musing, hail How glorious were the day that saw these broke,

The sacred shades, that slowly-rising pass And every man within the reach of right!

Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, PACKS OF WOLVES; THEIR RAVAGES ; THE HORSE ; BULL; Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, MOTHER AND INFANT ; BURIED CORPSES.

Against the rage of tyrants single stood,
By wintry famine roused, from all the tract

Invincible ! calm reason's holy law,
Of horrid mountains which the shining Alps, That voice of God within the attentive mind,
And wavy Apennine, and Pyrenees,

Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death :
Branch out stupendous into distant lands ;

Great moral teacher ! wisest of mankind !
Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave !
Burning for blood, bony, and gaunt, and grim !
Assembling wolves in raging troops descend ;

Solon the next, who built his common weal
And, pouring o'er the country, bear along,

On equity's wide base ; by tender laws Keen as the north-wind sweeps the glossy snow.

A lively people curbing, yet undamped ; All is their prize. They fasten on the steed,

Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, Press him to earth, and pierce his mighty heart.

Whence in the laurelled field of finer arts, Nor can the bull his awful front defend,

And of bold freedom, they unequalled shone,
Or shake the murdering savages away.

The pride of smiling Greece, and humankind.
Rapacious, at the mother's throat they fly,
And tear the screaming infant from her breast.

Lycurgus then, who bowed beneath the force The godlike face of man avails him naught.

Of strictest discipline, severely wise, 1 The Jail Committee, in the year 1729.

All human passions. Following him, I see,




As at Thermopylæ he glorious fell,
The firm devoted chief, who proved by deeds
The hardest lesson which the other taught.

ARISTIDES. Then Aristides lifts his honest front; Spotless of heart, to whom the unflattering voice Of Freedom gave the noblest name of Just; In pure majestic poverty revered ; Who, e'en his glory to his country's weal Submitting, swelled a haughty rival's 2 fame.

Servius the king, who laid the solid base
On which o'er earth the vast republic spread.
Then the great consuls venerable rise :
The public Father' who the private quelled,
As on the dread tribunal sternly sad ;
He, whom his thankless country could not lose,
Camillus, only vengeful to her foes ;
Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold;
And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough.


CIMON Reared by his care, of softer ray appears Cimon, sweet-souled ; whose genius, rising strong, Shook off the load of young debauch ; abroad The scourge of Persian pride, at home the friend Of every worth and every splendid art ; Modest, and simple, in the pomp of wealth.


Then the last worthies of declining Greece, Late called to glory, in unequal times, Pensive, appear. The fair Corinthian boast, Timoleon, happy temper! mild, and firm, Who wept the brother while the tyrant bled. And, equal to the best, the Theban pair,3 Whose virtues, in heroic concord joined, Their country raised to freedom, empire, fame.


He too, with whom Athenian honor sunk,
And left a mass of sordid lees behind,
Phocion the Good ; in public life severe,
To virtue still inexorably firm ;
But when, beneath his low illustrious roof,
Sweet Peace and happy Wisdom smoothed his brow,
Not Friendship softer was, nor Love more kind.

And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons,
The generous victim to that vain attempt
To save a rotten state, Agis, who saw
E’en Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk,
The two Achaian heroes close the train :
Aratus, who a while relumed the soul
Of fondly lingering Liberty in Greece ;
And he her darling, as her latest hope,
The gallant Philopæmen ; who to arms
Turned the luxurious pomp he could not cure ;
Or toiling in his farm, a simple swain,
Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field.

Thy willing victim,2 Carthage, bursting loose From all that pleading Nature could oppose, From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith Imperious called, and Honor'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 ; Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while Restrained the rapid fate of rushing Rome ; Unconquered Cato, virtuous in extreme ; And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart, Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urged, Listed 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?

VIRGIL. - HOMER AND THE GRECIAN WRITERS. Behold, who yonder comes ! in sober state, Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun : 'T is Phæbus' 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, Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame. Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch Pathetic drew the impassioned heart, and charmed Transported Athens with the moral scene ; Nor those who, tuneful, waked the enchanting lyre.

THE SOCIETY OF THE WISE. - FRIENDS. - POPE. 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, Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign To bless my humble roof, with sense refined, Learning digested well, exalted faith, Unstudied wit, and humor ever gay. Or from the Muses' hill will Pope descend, 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.

A TRIBUTE TO MR. HAMMOND. Where art thou, Hammond ? thou, the darling



Of rougher front, a mighty people come ! A race of heroes ! in those virtuous times Which knew no stain, save that with partial flame Their dearest country they too fondly loved : Her better Founder first, the light of Rome, Numa, who softened her rapacious sons ;

1 Lucius Junius Brutus.

2 Regulus.

2 Themistocles.

1 Leonidas.
3 Pelopidas and Epaminondas.

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