Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/65

Th' Hyperborean tracks: his arrowy frosts,
That pierce thro' flinty rocks, the Lappian flies,
And burrows deep beneath the snowy world;
A drear abode! from rose diffusing hours,470
That dance before the wheels of radiant day,
Far, far remote; where, by the squalid light
Of fetid oil inflam'd, sea-monsters' spume,
Or fir-wood, glaring in the weeping vault,
Twice three slow gloomy months with various ills475
Sullen he struggles; such the love of life!
His lank and scanty herds around him press,
As, hunger-stung, to gritty meal he grinds
The bones of fish, or inward bark of trees,
Their common sustenance; while ye, O Swains!480
Ye, happy at your ease, behold your sheep
Feed on the open turf, or crowd the tilth,
Where, thick among the greens, with busy mouths
They scoop white turnips: little care is yours;
Only at morning hour to interpose 485
Dry food of oats, or hay, or brittle straw,
The wat'ry juices of the bossy root
Absorbing; or from noxious air to screen
Your heavy teeming ewes with wattled fence
Of furze or copse-wood in the lofty field, 490
Which bleak ascends among the whistling winds:
Or, if your sheep are of Silurian breed,
Nightly to house them dry on fern or straw,
Silk'ning their Fleeces. Ye nor rolling hut
Nor watchful dog require, where never roar 495
Of savage tears the air, where careless Night
In balmy sleep lies lull'd, and only wakes
To plenteous peace. Alas! o'er warmer zones
Wild terror strides, their stubborn rocks are rent,
Their mountains sink, their yawning caverns flame, 500
And fiery torrents roll impetuous down,