Grace Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough,' was reprinted for the Percy Society-under the care of Mr. Peter Cunningham-as a genuine though unacknowledged production of Thomson, first published in 1729. We have no doubt of the genuineness of this poem as the work of Thomson. It possesses all the characteristics of his style.
We subjoin a few of the detached pictures and descriptions in the Seasons,' and part of the Castle of Indolence.'
The north-east spends his rage; he 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. 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; Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed, Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind, And full of every hope, of every joy, The wish of nature. Gradual sinks the breeze Into a perfect calm, that not a breath
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, 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, 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, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow In large effusion o'er the freshened world. The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard By such as wander through the forest walks, Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.
Birds Pairing in Spring.
To the deep woods 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 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: 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, Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong 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, Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, And bound with clay together. Now 'tis naught 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 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, 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 sympathising lover takes his stand
High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings 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, 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 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, 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.
Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, 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, And if his weary chariot sought the bowers 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. Confessed from yonder slow-extinguished clouds, All ether softening, sober evening takes Her wonted station in the middle air;
CYCLOPÆDIA OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. [To 1780.
A thousand shadows at her beck. First this 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, 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 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 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 shewn Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds. 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. 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
Is also shunned; whose mournful chambers hold→→ So night-struck fancy dreams-the yelling ghost. Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge,
The glowworm lights his gem; and through the dark A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields The world to night: not in her winter robe 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, 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 Sweet Venus shines; and from her genial rise, When daylight sickens till it springs afresh, Unrivalled reigns, the fairest lamp of night.
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