Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/174

 The stag's large front: he then is loudest heard, When the night staggers with severer toils, With feats Thessalian Centaurs never knew, And their repeated wonders shake the dome.

first the fuel'd chimney blazes wide; The tankards foam; and the strong table groans Beneath the smoaking sirloin, stretch'd immense From side to side; in which, with desperate knife. They deep incision make, and talk the while Of 's glory, ne'er to be defac'd, While hence they borrow vigour: or amain Into the pasty plung'd, at intervals, If stomach keen can intervals allow, Relating all the glories of the chace. Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst Produce the mighty bowl; the mighty bowl, Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams liberal round A potent gale, delicious as the breath Of Maia, to the love-sick shepherdess, On violets diffus'd, while soft she hears Her panting shepherd stealing to her arms. Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat Of thirty years; and now his honest front Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid Even with the vineyard's best produce to vie. To cheat the thirsty moments, whist a while Walks his dull round, beneath a cloud of smoak, Wreath'd fragrant from the pipe; or the quick dice, In thunder leaping from the box, awake The sounding gammon: while romp-loving miss Is haul'd about, in gallantry robust.

last these puling idlenesses laid Aside, frequent and full, the dry divan Close