Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/224

 Frosty, succeed; and thro' the blue serene, For light too fine, th' etherial niter flies; Killing infectious damps, and the spent air Storing afresh with elemental life. Close crouds the shining atmosphere; and binds Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace, Constringent; feeds, and animates our blood; Refines our spirits, thro' the new-strung nerves, In swifter sallies darting to the brain; Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool, Bright as the skies, and as the season keen. All Nature feels the renovating force Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye In ruin seen. The frost-concocted glebe Draws in abundant vegetable soul, And gathers vigour for the coming year. A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek Of ruddy fire: and luculent along The purer rivers flow; their sullen deeps, Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze, And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost.

art thou, frost? and whence are thy keen stores Deriv'd, thou secret all-invading power, Whom even th' illusive fluid cannot fly? Is not thy potent energy, unseen, Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shap'd Like double wedges, and diffus'd immense Thro' water, earth, and ether? Hence at eve, Steam'd eager from the red horizon round, With fierce rage of Winter deep suffus'd, And icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career Arrests the bickering stream. The loosen'd ice, Let down the flood, and half dissolv'd by day, Rustles