Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/103

 Blue, thro' the dusk, the smoking currents shine; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, aukward: while along the forest-glade The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Rous'd by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells; And from the crouded fold, in order, drives His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.

luxurious, will not Man awake; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, To meditation due and sacred song? For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half The fleeting moments of too short a life; Total extinction of th' enlightened soul! Or else to feverish vanity alive, Wildered, and tossing thro' distemper'd dreams? Who would in such a gloomy state remain Longer than Nature craves; when every Muse And every blooming pleasure wait without, To bless the wildly-devious morning-walk?

yonder comes the powerful King of Day, Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all, Aslant the dew-bright earth, and coloured air, He looks in boundless majesty abroad; And sheds the shining day, thad burnish'd plays On