Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/205

 Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls, A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world, Thro' Nature shedding influence malign, And rouses up the seeds of dark disease. The soul of Man dies in him, loathing life, And black with more than melancholy views. The cattle droop; and o'er the furrow'd land, Fresh from the plough, the dun discolour'd flocks, Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. Along the woods, along the moorish fens, Sighs the sad Genius of the coming storm; And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, And fractur'd mountains wild, the brawling brook And cave, presageful, send a hollow moan Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear.

comes the father of the tempest forth, Wrapt in black glooms. First joyless rains obscure Drive thro' the mingling skies with vapour foul; Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, That grumbling wave below. The unsightly plain Lies a brown deluge; as the low-bent clouds Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still Combine, and deepening into night shut up The day's fair face. The wanderers of heaven, Each to his home, retire; fave thofe that love To take their pastime in the troubled air, Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. The cattle from the untasted fields return, And ask, with meaning lowe, their wonted stalls, Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. Thither the houshold feathery people crowd, The crested cock, with all his female train, Pensive, and dripping; while the cottage-hind Hangs o'er th' enlivening blaze, and taleful there Recounts