Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/207

 Blank, in the leaden-colour'd east, the moon Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. Seen thro' the turbid fluctuating air, The stars obtuse emit a shivering ray; Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. Snatch'd in short eddies, plays the wither'd leaf; And on the flood the dancing feather floats. With broaden'd nostrils to the sky up-turn'd, The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. Even as the matron, at her nightly task, With pensive labour draws the flaxen thread, The wasted taper and the crackling flame Foretell the blast. But chief the plumy race, The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. Retiring from the downs, where all day long They pick'd their scanty fare, a blackening train Of clamorous rooks thick-urge their weary flight. And seek the closing shelter of the grove; Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl Plies his sad song. The cormorant on high Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land. Loud shrieks the soaring hern; and with wild wing The circling sea-fowl cleave the flaky clouds. Ocean, unequal press'd, with broken tide And blind commotion heaves; while from the shore, Eat into caverns by the restless wave, And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice, That solemn-sounding bids the world prepare. Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, And hurls the whole precipitated air, Down, in a torrent. On the passive main Descends th' etherial force, and with strong gust Turns from its bottom the discolour'd deep. Thro' the black night that sits immense around, Lash'd