| |
| FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, | |
| From streams which northern winds forbid to flow, | |
| What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, | |
| Or how so near the pole attempt to sing? | |
| The hoary winter here conceals from sight | 5 |
| All pleasing objects which to verse invite: | |
| The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, | |
| The flowery plains, and silver-streaming floods, | |
| By snow disguised, in bright confusion lie, | |
| And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye. | 10 |
| |
| No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, | |
| No birds within the desert region sing; | |
| The ships unmoved the boisterous wind defy, | |
| While rattling chariots o’er the ocean fly; | |
| The vast leviathan wants room to play, | 15 |
| And spout his waters in the face of day; | |
| The starving wolves along the main sea prowl, | |
| And to the moon in icy valleys howl. | |
| O’er many a shining league the level main | |
| Here spreads itself into the glassy plain; | 20 |
| There solid billows of enormous size, | |
| Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise. | |
| |
| And yet but lately have I seen, even here, | |
| The winter in a lovely dress appear. | |
| Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow, | 25 |
| Or winds began through hazy skies to blow; | |
| At evening a keen eastern breeze arose, | |
| And the descended rain unsullied froze. | |
| Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, | |
| The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view | 30 |
| The face of Nature in a rich disguise, | |
| And brightened every object to my eyes: | |
| For every shrub, and every blade of grass, | |
| And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass; | |
| In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, | 35 |
| While through the ice the crimson berries glow; | |
| The thick-sprung reeds, which watery marshes yield, | |
| Seemed polished lances in a hostile field; | |
| The stag, in limpid currents with surprise, | |
| Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise; | 40 |
| The spreading oak, the beech, the towering pine, | |
| Glazed over, in the freezing ether shine; | |
| The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, | |
| Which wave and glitter in the distant sun. | |
| When, if a sudden gust of wind arise, | 45 |
| The brittle forest into atoms flies; | |
| The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, | |
| And in a spangled shower the prospect ends. | |
| Or if a southern gale the region warm, | |
| And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, | 50 |
| The traveller a miry country sees, | |
| And journeys sad beneath the drooping trees. | |
| Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads | |
| Through fragrant showers and through delicious meads; | |
| While here enchanted gardens to him rise, | 55 |
| And airy fabrics there attract his eyes; | |
| His wandering feet the magic paths pursue, | |
| And, while he thinks the fair illusion true, | |
| The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, | |
| And woods and wilds and thorny ways appear; | 60 |
| A tedious road the weary wretch returns, | |
| And as he goes the transient vision mourns. | |
| |
