Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/194

 That winding leads thro' pits of death, or else Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford.

lengthen'd night elaps'd, the morning shines Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. And now the mounting sun dispels the fog; The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam; And hung on every spray, on every blade Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round.

see where robb'd, and murder'd, in that pit, Lies the frill heaving hive! at evening snatch'd, Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, And fix'd o'er sulphur: while, not dreaming ill, The happy people, in their waxen cells, Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes Of temperance, for Winter poor; rejoic'd To mark, full-flowing round, their copious stores. Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends; And, us'd to milder scents, the tender race, By thousands, tumble from their honey'd domes, Convolv'd, and agonizing in the dust. And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring, Intent from flower to flower? for this you toil'd Ceaseless the burning Summer-heats away? For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste, Nor lost one funny gleam? for this sad fate? O Man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long, Shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage, Awaiting renovation? when obliged, Must you destroy? of their ambrosial food Can you not borrow; and, in just return, Afford them shelter from the wintry winds; Or