Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/199

 The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste, Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth, Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies, Disclos'd, and kindled, by refining frost, Pour every lustre on th' exalted eye. A friend, a book the stealing hours secure, And mark them down for wisdom. With swift wing, O'er land and sea imagination roams; Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind, Elates his being, and unfolds his powers; Or in his breast heroic Virtue burns. The touch of kindred too and love he feels; The modest eye, whose beams on his alone Extatic shine; the little strong embrace Of pratling children, twin'd around his neck, And emulous to please him, calling forth The fond parental soul. Nor purpose gay, Amusement, dance, or song, he sternly scorns; For happiness and true philosophy Are of the social still, and smiling kind. This is the life which those who fret in guilt, And guilty cities, never knew; the life, Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt, When angels dwelt, and himself, with Man!

! all-sufficient! over all! Inrich me with the knowledge of thy works! Snatch me to heaven; thy rolling wonders there, World beyond world, in infinite extent, Profusely scatter'd o'er the blue immense, Shew me; their motions, periods, and their laws, Give me to scan; thro' the disclosing deep Light my blind way: the mineral strata there; Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world; O'er