Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/232

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172
WINTER.

Till morn at length, her roses drooping all,
Sheds a long twilight brightening o'er their fields,
And calls the quiver'd savage to the chace. 950

What cannot active government perform,
New-moulding Man? Wide-stretching from these shores,
A people savage from remotest time,
A huge neglected empire One vast Mind,
By Heaven inspir'd, from gothic darkness call'd. 955
Immortal Peter! first of monarchs! he
His stubborn country tam'd, her rocks, her fens,
Her floods, her seas, her ill-submitting sons;
And while the fierce Barbarian he subdu'd,
To more exalted soul he raised the Man. 960
Ye f hades of antient heroes, ye who toil'd
Thro' long successive ages to build up
A laboring plan of state, behold at once
The wonder done! behold the matchless prince!
Who left his native throne, where reign'd till then 965
A mighty shadow of unreal power;
Who greatly spurn'd the slothful pomp of courts;
And roaming every land, in every port,
His scepter laid aside, with glorious hand
Unweary'd plying the mechanic tool, 970
Gather'd the seeds of trade, of useful arts,
Of civil wisdom, and of martial skill.
Charg'd with the stores of Europe home he goes!
Then cities rise amid th' illumin'd waste;
O'er joyless desarts smiles the rural reign; 975
Far-distant flood to flood is social join'd;
Th' astonish'd Euxine hears the Baltic roar;
Proud navies ride on seas that never foam'd
With daring keel before; and armies stretch
Each way their dazzling files, repressing here 980

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