Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/138

 With love illumin'd high. "Fear not, he said, Sweet innocence thou! stranger to offence, And inward storm!, who yon skies involves In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee, With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft That wastes at midnight, or th' undreaded hour Of noon, flies harmless: and that very voice Which thunders terror thro' the guilty heart, With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. 'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus To clasp perfection!" From his void embrace, Mysterious Heaven! that moment, to the ground A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid. But who can paint the lover, as he stood, Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life, Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe! So, faint resemblance! on the marble-tomb, The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, For ever silent, and for ever sad.

from the face of heaven the shattered clouds Tumultuous rove, th' interminable sky Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands A purer azure. Nature, from the storm, Shines out afresh; and thro' the lighten'd air A higher luster and a clearer calm, Diffusive, tremble; while, as if in sign Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, Set off abundant by the yellow ray, Invests the fields: and nature smiles reviv'd.

' beauty all, and grateful song around, Join'd to the low of kine, and numerous bleat Of flocks thick-nibbling thro' the clover'd vale. And shall the hymn be marr'd by thankless Man, Most-