Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze With lights by clear reflection multiplied From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk
Whole without stooping, towering crest and all, My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile With faint illumination that uplifts The shadow to the ceiling, there by fits Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. Not undelightful 16 is an hour to me
So spent in parlour twilight; such a gloom Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, The mind contemplative, with some new theme Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial That never feel a stupor, know no pause Nor need one. I am conscious, and confess Fearless, a soul that does not always think. Me oft has fancy ludicrous and wild Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, towers, Trees, churches, and strange visages express'd In the red cinders, while with poring eye I gazed, myself creating what I saw.
Nor less amused have I quiescent watch'd The sooty films that play upon the bars Pendulous, and foreboding in the view Of superstition prophesying still
Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach.
16 Not undelightful is the ceaseless hum
To him who muses through the woods at noon.
'Tis thus the understanding takes repose In indolent vacuity of thought,
And sleeps and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face"7 Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask
Of deep deliberation, as the man
Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. Thus oft reclined at ease, I lose an hour
At evening, till at length the freezing blast That sweeps the bolted shutter 18, summons home The recollected powers, and snapping short The glassy threads with which the fancy weaves Her brittle toys, restores me to myself. How calm is my recess! and how the frost Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within 19! I saw the woods and fields at close of day A variegated show; the meadows green Though faded, and the lands where lately waved The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share.
I saw far off the weedy fallows smile
17 What's the bent brow, or neck in thought reclined? The body's wisdom to conceal the mind.
Thus pedlers with some hero's head make bold, Illustrious mark !-where pins are to be sold.
Young. Satire ii.
That no rough blast may sweep
His garlands from the boughs.
19 Suave, mari magno turbantibus æquora ventis, E terrâ magnum alterius spectare laborem.
With verdure not unprofitable, grazed
By flocks fast feeding, and selecting each His favourite herb; while all the leafless groves That skirt the horizon wore a sable hue, Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. To-morrow brings a change, a total change! Which even now, though silently perform'd And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face Of universal nature undergoes.
Fast falls a fleecy shower 20. The downy flakes
Descending and with never-ceasing lapse
Softly alighting upon all below,
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives
Gladly the thickening mantle, and the green And tender blade that fear'd the chilling blast, Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil.
In such a world, so thorny, and where none Finds happiness unblighted", or if found,
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 cherish'd fields
Put on their winter robe of purest white:
'Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current. Low the woods
Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun Faint from the west emits his evening ray Earth's universal face, deep-hid and chill Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide The works of man.
21 In the centre of a world whose soil
Is rank with all unkindness, compassed round
Without some thistly sorrow at its side, It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin Against the law of love, to measure lots With less distinguish'd than ourselves, that thus We may with patience bear our moderate ills, And sympathize with others, suffering more. Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. The wain goes heavily, impeded sore By congregated loads adhering close
To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, While every breath by respiration strong Forced downward, is consolidated soon Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, With half-shut eyes and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth Presented bare against the storm, plods on.
One hand secures his hat, save when with both He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. Oh happy! and in my account, denied That sensibility of pain with which Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou. Thy frame robust and hardy, feels indeed
With such memorials, I have sometimes felt That 'twas no momentary happiness
To have one enclosure where the voice that speaks In envy or detraction is not heard.
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. The learned finger never need explore
Thy vigorous pulse; and the unhealthful East,
That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. Thy days roll on exempt from household care; Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beasts That drag the dull companion to and fro, Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. Ah treat them kindly! rude as thou appear'st Yet show that thou hast mercy, which the great With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, Humane as they would seem, not always show. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, Such claim compassion in a night like this, And have a friend in every feeling heart. Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve Ill clad and fed, but sparely time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. The few small embers left she nurses well, And while her infant race with outspread hands And crowded knees sit cowering o'er the sparks, 385 Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. The man feels least, as more inured than she To winter, and the current in his veins More briskly moved by his severer toil; Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. The taper soon extinguished, which I saw
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